Saturday, December 15, 2012

Radio Popped It...

While cruising around town in the Volv-Ro, I normally have some type of music playing. The codependents like the hot station. You know, the one that plays the top 40 hits. During the last few months, I have realized that allowing WZYP and KISS FM to play in my car is not a wise parenting move; however, it has already been established that I am not the most responsible parent on the block. In fact I am a most pitiful excuse for a parent. I try very hard, but this whole nurturing thing just doesn't come naturally to me.

Side Bar: Hadley had to write about her role model for school. She told me she didn't have one. I implied that I could be her role model. She promptly told me that I am not role model material. Yep, my own child realizes that at any moment DHR is going to come in and scoop all the codependents up for a more suitable and responsible home.

So the radio plays. I don't pay a whole lot of attention to the songs until I notice one of my offspring rocking out to a particular song. In the last year the following conversations/events have been precipitated by a radio song...

-Payphone - Thank you, Maroon 5. We went on a whole payphone expedition in an effort to find one because my children didn't know what a payphone happened to be. This one is kind of my own fault though. I didn't have to take the payphone hunt all over North Alabama. I could have given this one up or shown them a picture on the Internet. Instead, I launched an all out fatwa to find a working payphone.

-Too many boys. - Taylor Swift. Sweetheart, let's talk. Ella tried to convince me that Ellie Goulding was the artist behind one of your songs because she didn't want to admit you had been dumped. Again. Her reasoning? She is convinced that every song you sing is about a different boy that broke up with you. To quote Ella, "Too many boyfriends." That's right. My nine year old thinks you're a floozy based entirely off the number of songs you have played on the radio.

-Menage a trois - Thank you, Katy Perry. There was a most uncomfortable moment in our local Burger King when Layton began singing about last Friday night. In my usual state of dishevelment, I hadn't even noticed that three-ways were mentioned in your hit song. Thank you so very much for that Kodak moment at the BK.

-What's sex? - Did you know there is a song called Birthday Sex? Well, there is, and I kind of fell apart when Ella asked, "What's birthday sex?" Layton followed it up with, "You know, it's sex on your birthday." The obvious next question was, "What's sex?" Meanwhile, Hadley is sitting shot gun laughing out loud while squealing, "I haven't told them a thing." Don't forget, she was corrupted by middle school. Thank you, radio stations of the world. My children were further corrupted by an innocent drive home. I successfully avoided that question with the littles. Distract and Redirect. Works every time.

-Let' get the hell out of here. - Thank you again, Katy Perry. Ella may or may not have yelled, "Let's get the hell out of here" after hearing Waking up in Vegas. I ran like hell because I was afraid someone in an authoritative position might over hear my child's somewhat colorful quote. We had a talk about how little girls shouldn't talk that way, but that Mommy can blog that way. Ha!

-You're not sexy. - Thank you, LMFAO. Your songs are delightful. They are less delightful when a seven year old boy starts to dance in the grocery store while singing I'm Sexy and I Know It. Need I
say more?

-Jack Daniels v. Scope - Thank you, Ke$ha. My little cherub of a son just loves to tell people that he brushes his teeth with Jack Daniels.

You would think that at some point I would pull it together and turn off the radio.