Tit For Tat

Several weeks ago, the GilGuy discovered a new technique, one that appeared to lull an incosolable toddler to sleep on a regular basis.

For Gil to raise his voice in the wee hours of the night in song is no simple (or pleasant!) feat. Self-described as 'tone-deaf' his voice would startle me as a greater sleep interuption that that of the wailing baby.

I've endured, it, however, this magic-pill of song that Gil has used repeatedly since the first night of success in using the method.

Gil asked me why I, the one with a voice like a songbird, don't sing to the child?

It was a quick and easy answer, I acknowledged. Singing is for daytime, not nocturnal hours.

If it is effective, the GilGuy retorted, sing away!

So, the trend continued. Midnight muse wafting to the ceiling, and, in unison with loud toddler protests, the singing would finally win, and the tiny lad would return to slumber.

That is, until, the showdown.

It happened just the other night. Lights out brought on a hearty complaint from the L'il Man whose bed shares our room. Spoken directives of "Go to sleep, Keller." in a firm voice had little effect.

Finally, in a moment of frustration, the GilGuy busted a chop.

In 1814 we took a little trip
Along with Colonel Jackson down the mighty Mississip.
We took a little bacon and we took a little beans
And we caught the bloody British in the town of New Orleans.

The boy ratcheted up his wailings.

We fired our guns and the British kept a'comin.
There wasn't nigh as many as there was a while ago.
We fired once more and they began to runnin' on
Down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico.

Protests increased from his tiny frame.

Suddenly, Keller shouted: "STOP IT! I said "STOP IT DADDY!"

Gil, in an uncharacteristic temper, retorted, "YOU stop it, Keller!"

"Stop it, Dad! I said Stop!"

"Keller . . ." said Gil in an evenly-contained, albeit quite perturbed voice. "I'll stop it if YOU stop it!"

The inky blackness hid his tiny frame, but in the sudden pause of silence, we heard the equivalent of a full-body belly-flop onto the crib mattress.

The silence grew longer, and greater, and stronger . . . and finally, the sound of sleeping baby breathing.

I stifled an outright laugh.

Keller St. John, in a moment of rational reasoning with his father, decided that *that* deal wasn't such a bad one after all!

I've yet to hear the GilGuy sing again . . .

:giggle: