Everybody's a Critic

One of Monkey's Christmas presents from Grandma L was a book of songs and an accompanying cd (with recorded versions of what the songs are supposed to sound like, as opposed to my warbling renditions).

While the cd has been used a few times, the book is in very heavy circulation. Most nights, Monkey will find the book and present it to me, asking me to sing to her.

So I sing.

She'll flip open the book to a page, and I'll start singing whatever song is there (with some exceptions of truly unsingable songs, which I ignore). Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, Old McDonald, Bingo, Sleep Baby Sleep, Hickory Dickory Dock, It's raining, The Itsy Bitsy Spider, and so on. All the classics are there.

The only problem? Half the time, I'll be only a few refrains into the song and Monkey will blurt out "No, no, noooo..." and change the page.

Everybody's a critic.