This morning I took the girls out for breakfast. Pancakes with apples and a toy (don’t judge) for Kaya and sweet-potato mush for Brennyn. I stick with coffee-cream no sugar.
The high-chair appears to be a death trap though I sit Brennyn in it anyways. The table sticky and germ-infested but we sit regardless. Settling in, Kaya comments “This maybe is Raffi Mom” and I do not know if she has asked a question or stating a fact. I have not even noticed music is playing. I stop, fully expecting to hear “Everything grows and grows…” as usually one note is all that is needed for her to spot Raffi. I do not answer her immediately but I see that her brow has crinkled. Like she is not so certain of her magnetic Raffi ears in this moment. Her shoulders go up. A shrug. “Maybe!” she wants to believe.
“Hmmm, or maybe not.” I break it to her.
“This is a guy named Jim Morrison from The Doors.” I teach her as he hypnotically mumbles in the background,
‘This is the end
This is the end
My only friend, the end…’
She shrugs again then clambers up to the play area ignoring (I hope) the Oedipal ravings. I just laugh and sit in wonder at how the melodic teachings of Raffi and the melancholy rants of Morrison compare so closely in the ears of a three-year old.