Happy Day to you, awesome readers!
Last week I was driving with my teenage son when something awesome happened:
First, he complained about the radio station he always listens to. Then he changed the station.
If you can’t grasp how awesome-times-a-hundred this phenomenon was, imagine this:
It’s 6:30 A-freaking-M and you’re driving because “somebody” forgot to tell you the night before that he wanted to get to school early. Not such a big deal except that the hamster is a sadistic asshole who likes to wake you up at 2 a.m. so that you can ponder life-threating details together like the laundry you forgot in the washing machine thee days ago. You take a quick peak into the rear-view mirror and give yourself a dose of unconditional love as you accept the plate-sized bags under your eyes. And the fact that you’re leaving the house in your pajamas.
It’s. All. Good.
Except for the bubble gum music pumping out of the radio that’s making you WANT TO SMASH YOUR HEAD FROM SIDE TO SIDE BETWEEN TWO PRISON BARS.
Side to side – boing, boing boing – with all of the aggravated might you can muster.
Suddenly the music changes to something a little less furious and the head crashing stops.
Can you feel the relief?
PS. That radio station was MY favourite radio station up until a few years ago.
PPS. It has just dawned on me that possibly by the time my son is my age he’ll be 237 years old.
In other news, it’s time for the weekly wrap-up!
The zombie dogs I’ve always wanted
Wherein I share a hermetic secret. PS. The voices in your head may hate me for this.
See y’all next week!
Meanwhile, keep reading!
I’m Happily enjoying this time in life whereby my son will also happily listen to whatever music I put on the radio. Classical. Kid’s music. Top 40. Country. Occasionally he’ll ask me to sing the Wrecking Ball song to him, because hey, what 3 year old DOESN’T think that a Wrecking Ball is the most awesome thing in the world?!
And soon he will be “parenting” you all the time 🙂
Very. Scary. Thought. And so I choose to just not think about it.
Scary thought. I hate how true that is.
I have a video of my kid rocking out at the age of three to Led Zepplin’s Heartbreaker for later blackmail material. He used to sing along to Day Tripper. And once at the age of four when we were riding in the car of one of my less musically discerning friends, he announced very loudly at the top of his lungs during a Beyonce-or-JLO-something-or-other: WHAT IS THIS NONSENSE?