And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts." - William Shakespeare, As You Like It
Maeve does not seem so much to be acting her way through life as singing through it. She has an excellent mentor in this arena, as I tend to sing in a manner some might feel is nigh-constant, but it is nothing compared to how many hours a day my kid is trilling a tune.
And her singing, although occasionally is a variation on a tune she already knows, is most often a sort of two-note repetition of a phrase. I heard this one yesterday: Pinecones, pinecones, pinecones, pinecones, I'm putting pinecones in the puddle, I'm putting them in a line because they are pinecones, pinecones...
I'll tell you what, though, I'm a singer. So when I hear Maeve singing her own little soundtrack to her day, I just say, I like your pinecone song, honey, and leave it at that. Because who am I to judge?