Love my kids. Period. End of thought. They are the be all and end all. A constant source of perspective, entertainment, yadda yadda yadda.

Problem is, The Boy’s singing makes his mom cry. And not in the good way. More like a first-4-episodes-of American-Idol way.

It mostly happens in the morning as he’s getting ready for school, idly singing while he pulls on his underwear. The issue is that the sound is really high pitched and the melody is all over the place. I mean he gives Stravinsky a run for his money. He’s doing a stream of consciousness thing with words and lyrics, which I wholeheartedly support cuz it gets the creative juices flowing, but the result is akin to having a Junebug eat through your brain.

I’m usually out of the house at the gym by the time any of this happens so Sharon gets the brunt of it. As parents, we’re committed to encouraging our kids in whatever they’re doing, so it goes against every fiber of her being to tell him to please-be-quiet-or-mommy-will-poke-out-her-ear-drums-with-her-car-keys. She insists that she closes the door during the ‘caterwauling’ period and grits her teeth. Usually this can carry her through until it’s time to leave for school, but we agreed that if she starts to taste blood than she should ask him to tone it down.

Hopefully, this is just one of those phases that passes and soon he’ll be serenading our mornings with meliflous sounds. Or we pad his bedroom with egg cartons.

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