Nanny nanny boo boo

I’d like to find the child who invented this phrase. From every generation across all seven continents, it seems to be one of those elements of childhood that comes hardwired. Out-stuck tongues, thumbs in ears, eight fingers waving in the air, mocking my every word, and that annoying little axiom droned to the tune that is the same for children throughout time and place: “Nanny nanny boo boo”!

I don’t know who started it, or how they found my children, but like so many maddening phases of childhood, it seems to be living in and among us, forcing mom and dad to turn to the Tylenol, bring out the belts, or simply run for cover when it rears its ugly head within our children.

We don’t watch South Park. We’ve managed to avoid Sponge Bob. We haven’t even started public school for goodness sake. But regardless of our efforts, it seems someone who holds great influence or clout in they eyes of my children has introduced these angels to one of the most annoying and ridiculous sayings of all time.

Not only that, they’ve brought with it the ability to play the “last word” game like old pros. You know the one. It’s the game they play when we’re driving in the car, no viable means of escape, and they begin to argue back and forth-over nothing really-just to see who can get the “last word”.
“No you didn’t.”
“Yes I did.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Yes I did.”
“No you didn’t…”
Well, you get the gist.

Or on Sunday morning when the house is in chaos, and you’re trying not to be late, and you barely have time to brush everyone’s teeth, but somehow the children find time to stand at the bathroom sink and go at it.
“Stop it!”
(Pestering with a poke.)
“Stop it!”
(Poking again)
“Stop it!”
(You get the last word; I get the last poke.)
And on and on they go.

I’ve talked to the boys about what “the nanny” phrase means. About how it could be taken by another child, and could even hurt someone’s feelings. The both seemed to understand, and will even catch themselves “mid-nanny”, but at this point it’s a habit, like picking their nose, or heaven forbid, sucking their thumbs. It’s like a sewage that just comes gushing out in the middle of an otherwise pleasant day.

And when Brisco does his sumo-wrestler dance-arms outstretched, hopping from one foot to the other on every down beat of his insult-it’s almost enough to force a mother to hide her face in disbelief and humiliation…and yes, a little amusement.

I guess there will always be elements of raising children that can’t be avoided. Habits that seem to appear out of nowhere and are monsters to undo. Cooper told me the other day that in six years, he’d be 10. I can only imagine the challenges that will arise in that short amount of time.

I know being a parent is a job that never ends. These boys will be my babies years from now, when they are grown and have babies of their own. Babies who fuss and argue and irritate and amuse. And when they come to me with stories of their precious angels, I’ve prepared in my mind the perfect piece of motherly advice: “Nanny nanny boo boo!”

And that’s All in a day’s work!