scooping up the field mice.

My kid loves to sing. She'll sing to her dolls and hum while playing, but mostly she wants to sing along with an audience. More often than not, Miss Independant wants me to start her off and then (for lack of a better term) shut up and smile. She's so polite about it, first showing me the palm of her hand and then, "mommy, no please."

All my life I've heard grown-ups refer to being a grandparent as "payback". This euphoric look would pass over their faces as they'd rub their hands together at the mere thought of their babies having babies. But I argue that these satisfied grandparents had it backwards, and missed all the fun the first time around: children are an excellent excuse to get back at your parents.

So when Miss Emily wanted the mom-bank to suggest a song to sing during a car-ride the other day (and my mom just happened to be present), I leapt for the opportunity.

Me: "How about...'Little Bunny Foo Foo'?"

Emily: *perplexed stare*

My Mom: "Oh, n...."

Me, cutting her off: "Little bunny Foo Foo, hopping through the forest, scooping up the field mice and bopping them on the head..."

It goes on, but it's basically a tale of an insubordinate rabbit that goes through the woods terrorizing these poor field mice. A 'Good Fairy' comes down, gives him 3 tries to shape up, and threatens him with her turning him into a 'goon'. The best part is that once the Fairy returns to wherever it is that she came from, the rabbit goes back to doing exactly what he was doing before: giving the singer the opportunity to repeat the annoying little tune as many times as they see fit. Which, if you're me, looking forward to the pure, unadulterated joy I experience when seeing my mother's painfully squinting face as I sing this little ditty, is a lot. *bwwaahaha*

Unfortunately, after the 7th or 8th round we arrived at home and the song came to an end. (Looking back it was probably a good thing because my husband was also in the car, and this song is only funny if you're the one singing. While nearly worth the marital conflict, it probably wasn't.) As we're exiting, my mom says to me, (in this I'm still your mother tone of voice) "You know that song is a testament to bad parenting, right?" Which wasn't really a question, of course. Drat.

Alas, she's right. I mean, who gives a misbehaving kid 247 chances to "be good", as the song goes? Even 3 chances is 2 too many in our house. Double Drat.

Still, seeing that squinty look on my mom's face as she genuinely tried being irritated while her uber-cute granddaughter discovered a new song was totally worth it. I win.

Step aside, Kate Spade.

First pair of flippies. Thank you Poppy!

The seasoned traveler.

Scooping the ice cream out of Daddy's hair. Oops!