A Promotion & A Song

Conversation in the car with my recently-turned-four-year-old:
Jillson: Papa said that some mommies go to his school.
Me: Yes, that is right, there are some women who go to his school.
J: Why don't you go to his school?
Me: Because it is only for [people who do what the Gutsy Dad does].  And I am not a [person who does what the Gutsy Dad does].
J:  No.  You are a Choir Singer.

Yes, that's right folks, after a full year of me singing with our choir at the cathedral, my daughter has finally promoted me.  Presumably, I will no longer have to listen to this conversation or its variations:

Random Person: And what does your mommy do?
Jillson: She's a Vacuumer.

Perchance I will hear instead:
Random Person: And what does your mommy do?
Jillson: She's a Choir Singer.

I'll take it.

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Not two minutes after this conversation, Jillson composed a song.  Or, I should say, she taught me new lyrics to a tune she knows from church.  (The tune is the Sanctus or Holy, Holy, Holy by Robert Powell, which you can find as S129 in the 1982 Episcopal hymnal, if you care to try to sing along.)

I'm not sure if this will be as amusing to you as it was to me, if you do not know how the words fit in with the tune, but here you go anyway.

Her song:
Holy, holy--this is a dilemma--
A dirty flip-flop!

We practiced this portion for a few minutes, and then she taught me the rest of the words:
A dirty tree and a dirty sky--
Sun!  Alleluia!

I dutifully sang this song with her all the way to the grocery store, since I am, after all, a Choir Singer.