The Story of a Song

      I love children's music (I guess I am that kind of woman).  I love other music as well, but there is just something special about children's music.  I used to sing to the kids I babysat, then to the kids I nannied, the kids at the childcare, and eventually to my own children.  I love the variety of ways in which music can enter into the everyday moments of a child.  We had hello songs, cleanup songs, learning songs, playing songs, celebration songs, and goodbye songs.  My all time favorites, however, are the lullabies.  They are the places in which children learn what academics refer to as the co-regulation of emotion.  But music is a feelings thing for me, and there are not always words to express clearly what is present in some of the shared experiences around lullabies.
      There is one lullaby that has a special place in our family.  It's funny, but I don't even know the name of it, only how to sing it.  I used to drive from Minneapolis to Prior Lake to nurse my youngest daughter when I had a long enough break between classes.  Sometimes it would play in the crib room where we sat, and I would rock her and sing softly.  After she weaned, I rarely sang that particular song.  After we moved I didn't sing at all for a while.
     When she was about 4 her favorite blanket finally disintegrated in the wash machine.  Any parent who has witnessed this understands what I mean when I tell you she was devastated.  There was no anger or frustration, just a deep and profound sense of sadness and loss in her eyes and her voice (she really loved her bunny blanket).    As I was tucking her in that night, I agreed that extra lullabies were in order; one was not sufficient for a day like this.  So we went through every lullaby I could think of.  As I was getting ready to leave the room she begged for one more; she insisted that there was a special one I did not sing for her.  I couldn't remember anything else, and was dismayed as she became tearful.  I asked her if she knew what it was called. "No."  So I asked if she could hum a bit. "I can't remember."  Did she remember any of the words? "Hearts and cheeks," she sobbed.
      There was a hint of a memory, so I started humming.  After a few notes, it was a tidal wave; lyrics from one verse, the refrain, music, images, and the profound sense of peace that I felt in those moments we shared.  I don't know what the lullaby evoked for her, but whatever it was, she needed it that night.  My memory was imperfect, as all memories are, but it was good enough to help her get through the demise of bunny blanket.