99 bottles

The other day, I tried to steal myself away for a back-relaxing bath (yes, it's still all locked up), but j bug didn't want to sleep.  Sooooo, I plopped her in a bouncy chair next to the bathtub while I soaked in a hot, hot bath.  But nothing good lasts forever and j bug got fussy.  I resorted to singing, just to buy myself a few more minutes, which brings me to a problem that is becoming increasingly apparent.

I don't know any nursery lullabies.  Not a damned one.  (Okay, except for rock-a-bye baby because I recently read the lyrics in a parenting magazine--and, it's short.)  I mean, I know the chorus and sometimes the first verse, but that's all.  I used to joke that people should be required to pass a test and get a license before becoming parents.  But if it were anything like the US citizenship test, I would fail--badly.  Surely I would be required to sing the full lyrics of Hush Little Baby.

What, I'm sure, would NOT be on such test is 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall, which is what I sang to j bug while relaxing in the bath.  Do they make a "Nursery Rhymes for Dummies" book?  Put it on my Christmas list (make that Easter).  

:: Yes, she's on the counter.  Yes, she's playing with a plastic bag.  And yes, those are kitchen knives hanging to the right.  But hey, at least I wasn't singing 99 bottles of beer....

:: For Valentine's, the man was still out of town and working at the kitchen counter is one of the few activities that doesn't wreak havoc on my back.  Who can go a holiday without grandma's sugar cookies?  (For the record, we did donate half to the community garden bake sale.)  

 
:: My Valentine girl.