chicken wing, chicken wing
This one’s for the parents out there.
Let's talk about the soundtrack of our lives. No, not the angsty 90s rock we used to blast (though I still sneak that in when I'm feeling nostalgic). I'm talking about the never-ending, always-repeating, slowly-driving-you-mad tunes our kids fixate on.
In my house? It's "Chicken wing, chicken wing, hot dog and bologna." On. Repeat. Forever. 🔁 LORD HELP US
My darling daughter, age 5 (going on 15), has decided this is her anthem. It's her good morning song. Her bath time jam. Her "Mom's on an important work call, so I better sing at the top of my lungs" power ballad.
At first, it was cute. Then it was annoying. Now? It's transcended into some sort of Stockholm Syndrome situation where I find myself absentmindedly humming it while making coffee. (Side note: Is it possible to get a noise-canceling parental filter that only blocks out specific songs? Asking for a friend. That friend is me. I'm desperate.)
But here's the thing – and stick with me here because I'm about to get all sappy and sentimental (blame it on the lack of sleep and excess of caffeine ☕) – when I take a step back from the chaos, I realize something.
This little ditty about poultry appendages and processed meats? It's keeping me young. 👵
No, really. Think about it. When was the last time you, as a supposed "grown-up," sang about chicken wings with such unbridled joy? When did you last belt out nonsense lyrics in the grocery store without a care in the world? (Okay, maybe after a night out, but that's different, and we don't talk about that.)
She’s not just singing a song. She's teaching me – heck, she's teaching all of us – a lesson in pure, unadulterated fun. The kind we used to have before we got all wrapped up in adulting and forgot how to be silly. WHEN DID I FORGET HOW TO BE SILLY.
Sure, in the moment, when it's 6 AM and I haven't had my coffee and the chicken wing song is already in full swing, I might roll my eyes so hard I see my own brain. But then I catch myself smiling. Because, dammit, it is catchy. And because seeing her so happy, so carefree, so utterly herself – it's a reminder of the joy we sometimes forget to embrace.
So here I am, a (somewhat) responsible adult, finding myself doing chicken wing dances in the kitchen. I'm letting loose, being ridiculous, and honestly? It feels pretty rad. (Yes, I said 'rad'. Deal with it, Gen Z.)
To all the parents out there with your own versions of the chicken wing song – whether it's "Baby Shark" (my condolences), the Peppa Pig theme, or some other earworm that's currently nesting in your brain – I see you. I hear you. And I'm telling you: lean into it.
Because one day, probably sooner than we'd like, our kids won't be singing these silly songs anymore. They'll be too cool, too grown-up. And we'll find ourselves missing the days when our biggest problem was getting "chicken wing, chicken wing" out of our heads.
So for now, I'm embracing my role as backup dancer in the show of her life. I'm belting out "hot dog and bologna" like it's my job. Because in a way, it is. My job is to nurture this joy, this silliness, this pure kid energy – not just in her, but in myself too.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a chicken wing chorus to perfect. And maybe, just maybe, I'll add some cool mom moves to really embarrass her later. Because that, my friends, is what keeping young is all about. 💃
P.S. If anyone has any tips on how to get this song out of my head, hit me up. I'm this close to hiring an exorcist. (JK... maybe.) 😅
xoxo Kate 🦄✨
