That’s when there’s a lot of screaming and running around until you finally get it cornered in one room, take the screen out of the window, and wait.

I SAW A SHIP A-SAILING

I saw a ship a-sailing,
A-sailing on the sea;
And, oh! it was all laden
With pretty things for thee!

There were comfits in the cabin,
And apples in the hold;
The sails were made of silk,
And the masts were made of gold.

The four-and-twenty sailors
That stood between the decks,
Were four-and-twenty white mice
With chains about their necks.

The captain was a duck,
With a packet on his back;
And when the ship began to move,
The captain said, “Quack! Quack!”

The absolute deranged ending always made us think “That’s how long it takes for LSD to hit your system – 2 1/2 stanzas.”

BUT coming from New England all my boys have been bounced to:
Trot, Trot to Boston
Trot, Trot to Lynne
You better watch out or
You might fall in

Then you open your lap and let the little guys fall between your legs. No. They don’t hit the ground. You catch them before that. Jeesh!

Hey diddle diddle
The cat & the fiddle
The cow jumped over the moon
The little dog laughed to see such fun
And the dish ran away with the spoon.

Or

With a ping and a pang the fiddle-strings broke
and the cow jumped over the moon
the little dog laughed to see such fun
and the Saturday dish went off at a run
with the silver Sunday spoon

since I was in love those books too and I get the two versions confused in my head anymore.

Two favorites here…

I still tend to recite this one on rainy days:

One misty moisty morning,
When cloudy was the weather,
I chanced to meet an old man,
Clothed all in leather.
He began to compliment
And I began to grin.
How do you do? And how do you do?
And how do you do again?

My daughter and I enjoyed clapping the hand motions faster and faster while reciting this favorite:

Pease porridge hot,
Pease porridge cold,
Pease poridge in the pot,
Nine days old.
Some like it hot,
some like it cold,
Some like it in the pot,
Nine days old.

The Northwind doth blow and we shall have snow
And what will poor Robin do then?
Poor thing.
He’ll sit in the barn to keep himself warm
And hide his head under his wing,
Poor thing.

Which, now that I think about it…is a weird thing to sing to your baby/toddler/child/teen (oh, yes I did and if she’d sit still long enough I’d sing it to her now — in her 20s).

It was the rhythm of it.

Those were the best days.

Thanks for reminding me.