The Great ABC Controversy
Yesterday afternoon, three-year-old Punky and I were taking turns singing songs to Bruiser. I sang “Hey Diddle Diddle.” She sang her ABCs.
“A, B, C, D, E, F, G,” she sang loudly. “H, I, J, K, Indoman, P…”
For over a year now, I’ve let the “Indoman” part go because it’s hard for a toddler to master the ridiculously fast L-M-N-O-P part. Really, what was that ABC songwriter thinking? Yesterday, though, I decided it was time for her to grow up. A little.
“Hey, Punky,” I interrupted her, “It’s L-M-N-O-P.” I said each letter distinctly. “L-M-N-O-P.” I sang. “L-M-N-O-P.”
“No,” she said, giggling a bit at my idiocy. “It’s Indoman P!”
“Uh uh,” I repeated, “It’s not Indoman P. It’s L-M-N-O-P.”
She frowned, gasped melodramatically and ran out of the room. Meanwhile, I continued singing the ABC song, knowing she was listening just around the corner.
“Noooooo!” she squealed, running back into the room when I got to the L-M-N-O-P part. “It’s Indoman P, Mommy! Indoman P!”
I persisted, singing L-M-N-O-P for her over and over again. Bruiser watched us like we were both crazy. Punky, exasperated, ran out of the room again. After a minute, I heard her in the den, singing the ABC song with different words.
“Mommy issss singing it wrong,” she sang, “I will have to showwww her.” Oh, brother. She came back in the room, a defiant gleam in her eye.
“A-B-C-D-E-F-G,” she sang to Bruiser, ignoring me. “H-I-J-K- Indoman P!”
“L-M-N-O-P,” I sang, unable to resist.
“NOOOOOOOOO!” she bellowed.
“Punky,” I reasoned, “It’s L-M-N-O-P. Think about it. Those are letters. You know those letters.”
“It’s Indoman P!” she whined.
“It’s not.”
“It is!”
“I mean, what is an Indoman? That’s not even a word.”
“Yes it is! Yes it is!” she shouted.
“What does it mean then?”
“I don’t know,” she said, quickly changing tactics. “You’re wrong Mommy,” she said, putting her face inches from mine and waving her hands around like some kind of street punk. Where had she learned this tactic? “You’re wrong, you’re wrong, you’re wrong!” I refused to be intimidated by a three-year-old.
“L-M-N-O-P,” I sang through gritted teeth.
She ran out of the room.
I grabbed the Magnadoodle and headed out after her. “Look,” I said, “I have something to show you.” Reluctantly, she looked; she’s a sucker for the Magnadoodle. I sang the ABC song, writing each letter as I sang it. “L-M-N-O-P,” I sang, writing each letter down. “See, Punky? It’s all the letters. You know all these letters. It’s L-M-N-O-P.” Finally, I saw recognition dawn in her eyes. I smiled benevolently at her, ready to open my arms and offer forgiveness. She turned and stared at me for a long moment.
“I LIKE SINGING IT WRONG!” she shouted. “OKAY?!” She turned and ran away, singing her flawed ABCs at the top of her lungs.
And I thought my teenagers had attitude.
This post originally appeared on Parents.com.
