Mother Goose never expected there would be a Bennett, I'm quite sure. Her prose and poetry have a wonderful sing-songy, rhyme-like quality. These lovely snippets have been passed down for generations now. That is, until they reached Bennett. They have now come to a screeching halt.
You see, every week Bennett learns a new Nursery Rhyme or small poem to accompany the letter he is learning. His brain, I have come to learn, is wired totally different than that of your average Joe. He has a fabulous memory, but he also has a major filter in that memory. The filter seems to grasp the general idea about the poem and then rewords the poem in a more acceptable manner to it's owner (Bennett).
Take for instance The King of France (studied on 'K' week). It goes like this: The King of France went up a hill, with 20,000 men. The King of France went down the hill, and never went up again.
Bennett's version of that poem is: The King of Fance went up duh hill wid all his men den he came back down again and was never sawn again. I just can't seem to find it in me to correct him for this. For one, its just so cute. And two, how can I stifle his creativity. Afterall, he is interpreting and then rephrasing into his own words. It's kinda like teaching him how to summarize. Yeah...that's what I meant to do all along.
A simple little activity like, Ring Around the Rosey, becomes a hilarious adventure when sung to Bennett's lyrics. They are: Ving avound a vosy, pock-a-pock-a-pock-a-pocka posey, ashes, ashes, we all fall down. At which point he gently pushes Chloe down (I know that sounds like an oxymoron) and then kisses her hand. I can only handle a few rounds of this before the dizzy spells become more than I can bear.
