not just a tattoo artist anymore

So, remember the original poetry Drew was reciting in the car that sent John into a frenzy of grimacing and earplugging? I happen to have some of it here for you. Ahem:

The Color Rap

Green, green, Ding dong ding

Red, red, Happy head

Yellow, yellow, Lemon Pillow

Black, black, Looking back

- Andrew, copyright 2008

I think it's practically perfect. In every way. (Just like Mary Poppins). And you know it thrills my little heart to see his creative juices flowing. It's so amazing being a part of the miracle of bringing a child into the world, and so rewarding when they enter it and start bringing yet more wonderfulness with them - poetry, inventions, questions that you got too old and smart to ask.

In the case of this rap, though, I'm afraid there is further proof of my influence in Drew's life besides the creative urge. His pronunciation of "pillow". I'm afraid I say it wrong. Michael has been trying to tell me so for years, and I was all - who cares? So I say "pellow", it's not like "supposably" or something. Most people won't even notice the E in my pillow. I only feel a little badly about this now, because after all he is in the formative years of pronunciation. Teach them wrong at this age, and they'll say basghetti their whole lives. (I love that one. And it took forever, but they finally say leaves instead of fleaves.)

So anyway - Drew writes a poem, and I realize how intensely he's been hanging on my every word. Gotta love that. And besides - yellow, yellow, lemon pillow - I think Seuss would approve.