I was sitting at the dining room table, sewing.

whirr whirr whirr

Peter was sitting at the dining room table, singing.

the icky bicky spider

I paid him no mind until he said, “Mommy, can I wash my hands?”

I looked up and realized he had been playing with the syrup on his breakfast plate.

squish squish squish

Both hands were covered, dripping.

I took him to the sink, and he continued singing.

the icky bicky spider

“Itsy bitsy spider,” said I.

“Icky bicky,” insisted he.

“No, itsy bitsy meaning tiny, not icky bicky meaning cover-your-hands-in-syrup,” I chided.

“But I can’t say itsy bitsy,” he said.

“Why not?” I queried.

“I free {three}. I can’t say itsy bitsy,” he said clearly enunciating every word.