Life Goes On

A big Southern-accented thank you to all of you who have emailed, commented, Tweeted, left a Facebook message, called or given me great in-person hugs regarding the loss of Elvis. God is good - He always shows you how many wonderful friends you have when you need them the most.

And so life goes on - and the humor that highlights every day of life with the Princesses makes it that much more precious...and/or head-bangingly crazy. Case in point: The Great Car Music Fight of 2009.

Here's the deal. I didn't know it when I bought it, but apparently the only music that can play in my car is one of the three High School Musical movie soundtracks. (I guess I should be grateful there are three to choose from.) Princess E always sings Gabriella's part (and the British chick from the third movie - E apparently has a talent for mimicry and can do a spot-on British accent), while Princess G owns Sharpay. (And I mean owns it - when we're watching any one of the HSM movies at home, she'll act out every scene verbatim. It's flippin' hysterical.) I, of course, am asked to sing all the guy parts. Given my singing voice, that's probably pretty accurate.

Anywhoo, The Great Car Music Fight occurs whenever one of the princesses dares to encroach upon the lyrics of the other. It usually goes something like this:

Princess G & E: "I want fab-u-lous"

Princess G: "Hey, that's my song!"

Princess E: "I like that song, too!"

Princess G: "I don't care! It's my song, isn't it, Mom?" (I, of course, have turned up the music to eardrum-splitting levels in the hope that it will drown them out. What? Me, passive-aggressive? Nooo! Heh heh.)

Me: "Ladies, either we all get to sing whenever we want, or the music goes off."

Backseat: grumble, grumble "Okay, Mom. Sorry."

Princess G (loudly singing): "I want fab-u-lous!"

Princess E (louder): "That is my simple request!"

Princess G (screaming and glaring at Princess E): "I want fab-u-lous!"

Princess E (shrieking and glaring back): "Bigger and better AND BEST!"

I click music off: "That's it. Music's off. We're listening to nothing."

Backseat (sobbing): "But Mom, she's started it! She's so mean! You make me so mad!"

Me: "That's it. Now you've done it. Mom gets to choose the music now." Click on the local sports talk station.

Backseat: "Nooooooo!!! Mom, please, we'll be good. We promise! Please not just talking!!"

Guess I should apologize now to their future husbands for developing in them an early hatred of sports talk. Eh, if that's the worst thing I instill in them, you should just thank me and move on.

Me: "Nope. You choose the behavior, you choose the consequences. (Ah, the wisdom of Dr. Phil.) We're listening to this all the way home. And if you whine about it, we'll listen to it at home, too."

Backseat: sniffle, sniffle, big sigh, whisper, whisper, "We're sorry, Mommy."

Me: "Thank you, ladies. Let's just turn the radio off completely and play a game, okay?"

Backseat: "Yeah! Let's play I Spy! No! Let's play Find the Alphabet! Mom, you never play the game I choose! Mom, she is so pushy - why does she always get to choose the game?"

At which point I grab my iPhone, stick an earbud in one ear, (The other by now is completely deaf. I told you God is good.) and play my favorite music until we arrive at home and I can duct-tape them to the kitchen chairs for a good half-hour session of sports talk radio.

Oh, like I'd do that. Seriously. Fifteen minutes is my absolute sports talk limit for them. Heh heh.