Our summer vacation plans required us to spend lots of time in the car. And, because, to my utter dismay, NOT ONE of the top car companies has seized upon my genius idea of installing a limousine-type partition between the front seat and the back, we figured we were in for our fair share of "don't make me come back there" type eruptions.
We were wrong. Two things soothed our savage beasts-- books on tape and the radio.
All of a sudden my kids love pop music. Taio Cruz, Katy Perry, Jason Derulo-- they sing along with all of it. My son's favorite is "Billionaire" by Travie McCoy because he gets to say the word frickin'.
"I want to be a billionaire so frickin' bad," he croons, heavily stressing what I assume he thinks of as the "F-word."
I let it slide (and blast the song) because I remember being a kid and singing along gleefully with Jim Croce: "bad, bad Leroy Brown, baddest man in the whole DAMN town..."
And as my sweet innocent little girl chirps about California girls (or gurls) being so hot they'll melt your popsicle I cringe a little bit; but then I remind myself that I missed every single dirty lyric as I sang along to Grease and that I didn't realize until I was about 30 that "Nights in White Satin" by the Moody Blues was spelled n-i-g-h-t-s and wasn't about a bunch of guys from King Arthur's court inexplicably wearing sheets.
Happy September!
Oh, and 1990's me wants to remind you all that tomorrow is September 2, 2010. That's right: 90210.
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