My children love music. They are more apt to jam out to their cd's than watch television. I have them listening to everything from Barbara Mandrell, to ABBA, to Disney. I should have known that they would pick up some music taste from The Man as well.
Last year my mom got my precious children their very own sophisticated karoke machine. Dual mics, great sounds, portable... yep she is the ulitmate grandmother! However, they used it occassionally and then lost the mics. Last night the mics surfaced. We sent the kids upstairs to get ready for bed around 730, me trailing behind dragging blankets and clean clothes to put away. As I'm piling clothes in the upstairs hall closet, I notice the wall moving. The bass on that machine was up on high and they were rocking. I open the door to hear my four year old sing this:
Well I gathered up all my guns
And a pipe bomb just for fun
And I drove to her house and parked on the lawn
That's right I always was a crazy one.
Well her boyfriend was sure nice to me
Said calm down would you like a drink
And then I shot him full of holes
From his nose to his knees
It went like this from there:
"Husbanddddddddddddd, GET UP HERE!"
The Man runs from downstairs, thinking that the girls have killed me or something, "WHAT?"
"Look at YOUR children"
Pause while they restart the song, they moved down off the bed to center stage for more room to shake their tushies, Princess upped the bass and off they went. I stood there watching horrified with my hand over my mouth waiting for my husband to get indigent and livid!
Because as proper parents, June or Walt Cleaver-ish, we should, right?
Nope, The Man is grinning ear to ear as he turns to me and says, "Our kids are cool. They love Reckless Kelly!"
Crap, does this mean I'm a bad parent? Can I still be June Cleaver?
