It's not normally too hard to get the little one in hysterics because he's such a comedian he manages to do it himself and his brother and I just trail in his wake.
Last night though, he surpassed himself in the kind of high brow manner you might expect on this here blog *cough,* such is life with two boys aged eight and four.
It's been a long time since either of them requested a lullaby at bedtime, but after a particularly fractious one recently and lying between them both on the bottom bunk bed as I am wont, it seemed an appropriate move.
The eldest revels in them and my attempt at such a desperate relaxation technique will work for him. The youngest will prefer to tolerate my singing whilst picking his nose and when I tell him my mum used to sing 'Golden Slumbers' to me when I was little, he'll have no problem hiding his indifference, but be polite enough to pronounce that 'Cool.'
But he asked for Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and the eldest obliged with his truly delightful singing voice and, for a moment, pure pleasure permeated our hearts.
But when you add 'Poo pants, poo pants, poo pants, poo' to the tune - and 'Poo pants, poo pants, poo pants, poo,' again, continuing with 'Poo pants, poo pants, poo pants, wee, Poo pants, poo pants, Halloween, punctuated only by bursts of helpless giggling by the gifted little lyricist and vocalist joining in with his version, your joy can know no bounds.