Early Saturday morning, as we drove through the gorgeous Kentucky countryside making our way to Tennessee, a small adorable voice beckoned from the back of the van: “Mom, can I play my DS now?”
“You have to wait until we get to Tennessee. You’ve played a lot of DS the past few days.”
And every two minutes for the next 40 minutes, we heard:
“Are we in Tennessee yet?”
“I’m so bored!”
“Pleeeeeeeease let me play!”
“Are we there yet?”
While the continual loop of whining played from the back, I was working my way through my iPod songs alphabetically. I had just reached the Ls, and found the perfect punishment song.
“K,” I said, “If you ask one more time if we are in Tennessee, or if you can play DS, or whine at all, we will listen to this song for the rest of the day.”
I pressed play; my sister and I began to sing along horribly, exaggerating every “dilly, dilly” in an almost drunken-sailor fashion.
When the song was over, I looked in the back seat. My nephew was sitting, sullen. Aside from one minor variation of asking if we were in Tennessee, he did not complain for the remainder of our journey to The Volunteer State.
I wonder if anyone else has recognized the disciplinary powers of Burl Ives…