I wonder how many kids still hear the old superstitions. You know — “Step on a crack, break your mother’s back.” or “Step on a line, you have to pay a fine.” I was never one for paying too close attention to superstitions (I love black cats), but I remember walking home from the bus stop many days and carefully avoiding any lines or cracks in the sidewalk.
I’ve read about lawyers who hold tight to superstitions during a trial, out of worry that any change in the routine could jinx the case.
In my house, we hold reason and science above all else. But there is one thing that gives us pause.
Mopac and the curse of the crying baby.
Nearly every time we drive Mopac — north or south — between LaCrosse (Wildflower Center) and 2222, my daughter cries. Hard.
We have often ventured south to visit friends off Slaughter Lane, and many times on the way home, Mads has wailed — loudly. Luke and I do our best to soothe her by singing our favorite tunes. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.
It’s become something of a joke now. “Uh-oh. We have to go south. Will Mads cry?”
Until she actually starts crying. Because it’s not fun being in an enclosed space with an unhappy baby.
What do we sing? I’m pretty proud of my repertoire, which has grown by leaps and bounds since Luke was a wee babe. My go-to hits are “The Rainbow Connection” and “Moving Right Along” from the Muppet Movie. I also know quite a few Laurie Berkner tunes and “Bushel and a Peck.”
Why not just put on soothing music for babies? Well, it’s doesn’t really work for Mads. She quiets down much more quickly when a real person sings to her. And since I don’t mind singing in public or being goofy, it works for me.
I wonder what people think when they hear me singing a Kermit the Frog song? It can’t be any worse than the curse of South Mopac.