Sarah Roush

It happens to every parent. Their kid becomes obsessed with some stupid song or program and the music is replayed a billion times a day, causing a semi-permanent eye twitch to the adult who is forced to listen to whatever drivel is being repeated. Interestingly enough, the music starts out as some sort of catchy tune, but, with constant repetition becomes the equivalent of a car alarm that just won’t stop.

Certainly, many parents still, to this day, cringe at the sounds of the following: The theme song to “The Brady Bunch” (1970’s), “The Smurfs” (1980’s), and ANYTHING by “Barney the Dinosaur” (90’s- 2009). As a kid, I remember my mother’s exasperation as I replayed the single record “Go, chicken fat, go!” (1960’s) over and over. For the clueless, this was an obnoxious record that every school in the nation had as a means of encouraging physical activity for children. (Just Google it.) As a four-year old, I thought it was brilliant, and, would dutifully march and do jumping jacks along to the tune. Either that bit of vinyl wore out, or, dad ran over it with a mower.

The song for 2018 that will fall into the “Notorious Earworm” category will have to be “Baby Shark”. Our household hears these mindless lyrics at least 50 times a day:

“Baby shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Baby shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Baby shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Baby shark! “

There are 10 more verses that follow this brilliant pattern.

The first dozen times, it was cute. Sparky would come running whenever it played. Now, he has developed some sort of weird obsession with it. He has figured out how to work the Hubs telephone to find not only the original version, but, the other 15 variations of the same stupid tune. Each of them equally hypnotic to him. He now sings to me “Mama Shark, doo doo doo…”. If I try to get him to sing another song, he will very tenderly, reach up and shut my mouth with a firm, “No! No!”.

That darn melody has even invaded my dreams at night, which does not add ANY sweetness to my morning disposition.

Last night, after wrestling the phone away from Sparky, I made a deal with him. The moment he starts to play rap, or thrasher music as a teen, I am going to play “Baby Shark” to him. Repeatedly. Until his ears bleed, if need be, as a reminder that his tastes in music are questionable. He seemed to be agreeable to this idea, so I jotted our pact down in the little notebook used to remember the cute things he does. (That book is a gold mine of potential mortification material for future use.) I was able to distract him from the song by playing with his cars for a while and storybook time.

Later, when I tucked him into bed with goodnight kisses and promises to see him in the morning; he sleepily rolled over and murmured; “Mama Shark, doo doo doo….”.

And just like that, it was stuck in my head. Again. *sigh*

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