"You Gotta Sing the Face Wiper Song!"

It's funny, the things that stick in a child's brain. I learned pretty early on in my nannying career that Mary P. was right about the spoonful of sugar. One of the sweeteners for me was always making cleaning up a messy baby's face after a meal a humorous event. With Felix, I somehow got the Cliff Hanger theme song in my head, and adpated the lyrics for my own silly purposes. More on that later.

Now, despite my having a pretty decent, and decently trained, if rusty, set of vocal chords, O doesn't like it when I sing. I don't know why, and he's not telling, but perversely, I don't always stop just because he doesn't want me to sing. Especially in the car. I'm the Driver, and the Driver is an absolute authority, as far as I'm concerned.

This afternoon, while I was swiping off sweet potatoes and zwieback cracker schmear from my wee cherub's face, I skipped the song. I was in a hurry, and I just didn't sing. Felix complained, as usual, about the clean up, and I said to him, "Felix, we do this at least three times every day, can't we do it once without complaining?"

O looks at me, and says, "You gotta sing the face wiper song!"

And so, together (and when did he internalize my stupid lyrics?), we sang:

Face Wiper!
Wiping off your face!
And that's why I'm called Face Wiper!