Ukka, bukka
I said awhile back that I hadn't been bored since 1983, which was when I graduated from high school. I loathed high school. I thought it was a giant waste of time because I could get straight A's, even though I never took books home. (I did my assignments sometimes while the teacher took attendance or during my lunch hour in the library.) I had more Important Things To Do, though I hadn't figured out exactly what those things were.
As it turns out, I understated how boring my days actually are. Repeating the same mundane tasks over and over bores me silly, as do the games and shrieks of toddlers. Washing twenty-seven glasses a day and folding clothes and stepping on Cheerios in the kitchen is dull.
Great stretches of my days are boring, leaving me with nothing to write about beyond, "I woke up at 7:43 a.m.," and "the three-month old spit up in four places on my blue shirt and I'm still wearing it now."
But, the boredom is peppered with funny little moments, like yesterday when my husband took our 7-year old son with him to the marsh to release the three captive frogs. My blond son gently freed the frogs and said wistfully, "I'm going to miss those frogs." Pause. "They grow up so fast."
My husband reported to me that he couldn't tell if our son was joking. That boy can keep a straight face and sometimes you just can't tell.
My daughter sings all the time. The tunes are familiar, but the words are often nonsensical. She belts out these words (to the tune of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star"):
Swinkle, swinkle, little star;
How I wonder what you are;
Ukka, bukka, world so high;
Like a diamond in the sky;
Swinkle, swinkle, little star;
Ukka, bukka, world so high;
Like a diamond in the sky . . .
And so on. It's the song that never ends. My favorite part is the "ukka, bukka."
She ambles around the house, making up words to songs, cradling her babydolls. And every morning, she greets DaycareKid's mom or dad with the cheerful promise, "Today, I will not hit [DaycareKid]."
On the way to the store tonight, she yawned and then piped up from the back seat: "I am not tired. I did not yawn."
And before I put her to bed she says earnestly, "Tonight I will not cry."
Really, it's the little things I hope I remember, the sporadic dots of vibrant color in the gray monotony of my day-to-day routine. Because soon, she'll realize that little stars twinkle up above the world so high and the ukka-bukka will be forgotten like so much dust under the bed.
As it turns out, I understated how boring my days actually are. Repeating the same mundane tasks over and over bores me silly, as do the games and shrieks of toddlers. Washing twenty-seven glasses a day and folding clothes and stepping on Cheerios in the kitchen is dull.
Great stretches of my days are boring, leaving me with nothing to write about beyond, "I woke up at 7:43 a.m.," and "the three-month old spit up in four places on my blue shirt and I'm still wearing it now."
But, the boredom is peppered with funny little moments, like yesterday when my husband took our 7-year old son with him to the marsh to release the three captive frogs. My blond son gently freed the frogs and said wistfully, "I'm going to miss those frogs." Pause. "They grow up so fast."
My husband reported to me that he couldn't tell if our son was joking. That boy can keep a straight face and sometimes you just can't tell.
My daughter sings all the time. The tunes are familiar, but the words are often nonsensical. She belts out these words (to the tune of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star"):
Swinkle, swinkle, little star;
How I wonder what you are;
Ukka, bukka, world so high;
Like a diamond in the sky;
Swinkle, swinkle, little star;
Ukka, bukka, world so high;
Like a diamond in the sky . . .
And so on. It's the song that never ends. My favorite part is the "ukka, bukka."
She ambles around the house, making up words to songs, cradling her babydolls. And every morning, she greets DaycareKid's mom or dad with the cheerful promise, "Today, I will not hit [DaycareKid]."
On the way to the store tonight, she yawned and then piped up from the back seat: "I am not tired. I did not yawn."
And before I put her to bed she says earnestly, "Tonight I will not cry."
Really, it's the little things I hope I remember, the sporadic dots of vibrant color in the gray monotony of my day-to-day routine. Because soon, she'll realize that little stars twinkle up above the world so high and the ukka-bukka will be forgotten like so much dust under the bed.
posted by Melodee at Thursday, August 25, 2005
5 Comments:
The ukka bukka is my favorite part, too.
Mr. Personality does a bit of the same thing with songs, and it is so very cute to listen to what they come up with.
Oh definitely ukka bukka is the best part. I think they should change the words to that song, incorporating ukka bukka.
I just happened across your blog, clicking my way across Blogistan, and I just had to respond. My almost-three-year-old does the same thing to that song. Only she says, "uppa uppa world so high" and it is also my favorite part!
I'll have to listen to my little one more closely. I'm not sure what she is singing, because she usually makes me sing with her. She does insist on singing "Twinkle, Twinkle little heart." She likes hearts better than stars and has a fit if I forget and sing star.
Hey Mel, I think it's awesome that you blog about these moments. That way you can always go back and read them later. (You probably have a much better memory than I, but I swear when I go back and read posts from just a few months ago I am always surprised by things I had already forgotten.)
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