Like father like daughter

Dearest Daughters,

When babies are born to biological parents, people insist on discussing which parent (if any) the baby looks like.

Usually it's the father. So, he doesn't abandon the newborn. And continues to hunt, providing the cub with sustenance.

And as the child grows, even us parents, like to categorize, to hypothesize, to see ourselves in our children. But, the truth is, daughters: you are not me. And you are not your father. You are parts of us. Parts of us are you. And then, there are lots of other factors and influences thrown in there.

Nevertheless, like a case of cliche parenting diarrhea, I can't help, but compare and contrast. I like to think of Babybel as my little protege, with your precocious auto-corrections and love of sitting still.

But, there are times when it is AS CLEAR AS DAY that you are also your father's child.

Since her album came out in January 2011, Adele's 21 has been on repeat in our car CD player. More specifically "Rolling in the Deep" has been on repeat. Even with the word "shit" in it, it's my go-to song when there's nothing on the radio, when you both are yelling like crazy animals or crying like the hungry, tired toddlers you are. It usually gives you something else to concentrate on other than driving me insane.

Babybel has come to call it "My Song."

"Mommy, I want to listen to my song. PUHLEEEASE? And then we can listen to your song. Deal? Okay?"

Sometimes, Bel insists on listening to "Danjo's song" which technically is "Moves Like Jagger," but in reality is anything with a good beat: "My song, then Yelly's song, THEN your song, Mommy. Deal?"

On such an occasion, I turned on the radio. LMAFO's "Sexy and I Know It" was playing. (Aren't you glad I let my children listen to such wholesome music?)(Listen, a mom can only take so much Raffi and Disney Princess music.)(So, shut it.)

"This song is funny," Bel said, twisting up her face.

I thought to myself: Lo! What a cultured child have I! Wanting only for the smooth sounds of a truly talented artist. I shall put Adele back on!

"It makes my booty move!" you declared, laughing, your sister fist pumping along in the backseat.

I laughed, of course, admitting to myself, that there's a little bit of Daddy in there somewhere.

And to emphasize just how much the music compelled your body to move, you gave it to me in another language too, in case I didn't understand English, "It makes my bubot* move!"

You are both made of awesome sauce.

Love,

*Note: "bubot" is the word my grandma Marie used for "butt." She was kind of a crazy and sometimes vulgar lady and given that neither Lola nor I know Tagalog AT ALL, it's kind of a guessing game as to the accuracy of the words we use and their appropriateness. We try not to used them with any amount of confidence, particularly amongst Filipinos who actually speak the mother tongue(s). But, since I'm an Awesome Internet Researcher and Obviously Expert Linguist, I've determined that word we've been using my whole life actually, literally means "crude" or "unripe, immature." Likely, Grandma was referring not to a body part, but to a behavior, as in "Don't be a butt-head!" "Don't be a crude, immature ass!" a mis- or intentional translation which kind of fits perfectly with her personality.)

Comments

[amy]

I love knowing what Bubot means now! I've heard it for so many years.
And let 'em listen. They don't really get the lyrics anyway. I mean, they GET some of them, but they don't have anything to stick it to yet.
Melissa used to have the song "She's a Brick House" (you know, "She's mighty mighty, lettin' it all hang out...", sung with a nasal leer) on in her car and her kids would be singing at the top of their lungs in the back seat. Totally didn't warp those two...