Scene: A few weeks ago, driving in the car with the kiddo in the backseat. We’re listening to Florence and the Machine, music the kid apparently hates.
The kid: “I want the giffee!”
Me: “The giffee? What is the giffee?
Kid: “The giffee! The giffee! Please Mama. I don’t like this. Don’t like this.”
Me: “Don’t like this? This song?”
Kid: “Yeah, don’t like. Want the giffee. I say please. I say please.” (he is becoming increasingly hysterical at this point)
Me: “The giffe is a song? Which song is it?”
Kid: “Giffee song. Giffee song NOW!”
Me: “I don’t know which song that is.” (now I am growing a bit desperate as full on toddler meltdown seems imminent) “Can you sing some of it for me?”
Kid: *moves his lips and sings in the tiniest possible whisper*
Me: “I can’t hear you. Please try louder, buddy. I want to find the giffee for you.”
Kid: *very quietly and totally tunelessly* da da da da
At this point I have no clue what song he wants. 20 minutes,15 rejected songs on three CDS and many three-year old tears later, I finally figured it out.
Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the giffee, AKA The Song I Have Heard 1000 Times Since I Figured it Out, AKA my three-year olds favorite song:
Things like this are why parents drink.