Husbands say the darndest things

I'm quickly realizing that becoming parents introduces a whole new world of conversation topics. If you were a fly on the wall in our kitchen the other night, here's the gist of what you would have heard (can flies hear??)...and I know, I know...you probably won't think it's as funny as I do.

Dameon: (holding Henry and whistling, trying to get him to calm down) Oh, you don't like that song? I guess I won't whistle "Camptown Races" anymore.

Lindsay: (thinking his version of that tune was just much too "all over the place" for Henry to enjoy) Babe, why don't you try "Yankee Doodle"? He likes that one.

Dameon: Okay. (and launches into this crazy trilled-out version of some sort of theme of "Yankee Doodle". Henry = still fussing.)

Lindsay: No, no. The kids' version of "Yankee Doodle".

Dameon: There is no kids' version. That's "Yankee Doodle".

Lindsay: No, just do the basic "Yankee Doodle went to town..." You know.

Dameon: Oh, you mean the trio?

(Yes, I am married to a band director.)

Lindsay: Uh...sure.

Dameon: Okay. (sings) "Yankee Doodle went to London riding on a hmmm-hmmm. Doot do doot do dee dat dat doo" Wait...what are the words?

Lindsay: (sings the correct words and then says) Do you know nursery rhymes and stuff? Because we'll need to teach them to Henry.

Dameon: Yeah, of course I do. Hickory Dickory Dock, the mouse ran up the clock. Okay, what's the rest?

Lindsay: The clock struck one...

Dameon: Yeah, I don't know that.

Lindsay: Okay, try this one: Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat, where have you been...

Dameon: I've never heard that one.

Lindsay: What?! Didn't you learn these as a child?

Dameon: Yeah, I think so. Hey Diddle, diddle the cat...(he trails off) Well, we will have to get him a book of Nursery Rhymes. You know, like those Old Mother Hen ones.

Lindsay: Huh? You mean Mother Goose?

Dameon: Yeah, Old Mother Goose.

Lindsay: There's no "Old". It's just Mother Goose.

... looks like I'll be the one in charge of the nursery rhyme teaching around here :)