What do two priests of almighty God sing around the table with their son in his most malleable years? You're probably thinking the Te Deum or the collected translations of John Mason Neale (to which, indeed, we are partial). But no. Tonight's playlist went like this:
At Baby A.'s request:
Followed immediately by:
But then Fr. A. suffered the agenbite of inwit, and wondered aloud whether his own preoccupations hadn't excercised a corrupting effect on the poor boy. "Could we try something less, um, comicky?" he asked meekly.
So Mother A. launched unbidden into her idea of family classics:
(And yes, we actually decided, while singing, whether to use the Season One or Season Two variant). This was followed inevitably by:
Hawaiian Eye was actually stuck in here somewhere, too.
After all this, poor Fr. A -- who had welcomed his kid home from the hospital with the words "Arma virumque cano," etc., and who still occasionally tells adulterated bits of Hesiod and Ovid as bedtime stories, wondered whether we couldn't just sing something more ... traditional? And immediately, Mother A. complied. Here's "traditional":
And yes, the whole family sang along. We know these things by heart.