Rus Wednesday

Bekah was born on a Monday evening...perfect at 7 lbs 3ozs and 19" long. In a moment she turned Rus and I into parents and the three of us into a family. Scary. The day we got to go home we carefully loaded her into her brand new carseat, gently wedged her into the backseat of my Cadillac, and slowly drove the two miles home.
There Rus got to really use his first Father's Day gift that had been purchased the month before: a LazBoy rocker/recliner. He swaddled her, laid her on his chest and went to sleep, all worn out from the delivery, you know. ;)That rocking chair was also the first place Bekah laughed, and she did it for Rus. He had her standing on chubby wobbly legs and was singing an awful song that his grandfather had sung to his father. It went something like this:
"Oh I got a bucket,
Oh I got a bucket of lard.
I ain't got no money,
But I've got chickens in my backyard.
Yodelay-he-hoo, Yodelay-he-hoo, old time blu-ues..."
That wonderful bubbling sound just popped out of her like wind chimes suddenly feeling a burst of wind.
She did not have a very discriminating sense of humor, as you can see. But it worked and it took weeks more before she laughed again. Rus was very proud of himself and I was secretly jealous. I think I even tried singing that song to her to get her to laugh but it didn't work. So then I just told Rus that he was funny looking, and that's why.
Later Jacob, and then Beau were also treated to Daddy's special song to rock them to sleep when they were babies. (Better to sleep than to listen?) Sometimes he snuck this other one in just to change things up:
"Oh my daddy had a fiddle it was made out of wood,
Best darn fiddle in the neighborhood.
With it's corn cob neck and horse hair string,
Oh how my daddy would-a-fiddle and sing!"
And while I'll admit they are the corniest songs in creation, I have to also say that they've become a very special part of my parenting memories...Rus singing to our new babies, Rus singing to cranky babies in the middle of the night, Rus teasing babies with his off-key tunes and making them laugh...a dark room in the middle of the night with only the sounds of Rus's footsteps, his hand patting a baby's back, and him very softly singing about a bucket of lard.
Priceless.
I wouldn't change those lyrics or even the old-time-tunes for the world. They're keepers.
And so is Rus.