But they’re also very cute when they want to be, so maybe I should mention it now and then. Ever since the girl could talk, she’s been singing. She sings every song she knows and many she doesn’t. but the best songs are the ones she writes herself. We’ve had The Grass Song (“It’s a song about grass, it’s the grass song. . .”), The I Love Mom Song (“I love Mom, she’s the best, I love her, I love her hair. . .”), The Poop Song (“Poop, poop, poop, poop, Rocky poops, Angus poops, everybody poops, poop, poop, poop. . .”), and may more soon to be classics. But lately her songs have been changing to All Love Songs All the Time.
She now sings heart wrenching love ballads that have lots of “Baby” and “Oh Baby” and “I love you, Baby” in them. Since mr b and I are more likely to call each other “Scrotum” than “Baby”, I’m not sure where all the “Baby” is coming from. But she loves nothing more than to sit with her guitar and sing about “her baby.” Her most recent songwriting effort was called “I Want it Back”. It went, “I want my life back, Oh Baby, I want it back, I want everything back since you broke my heart. . .”
I’ve mentioned before that she is a little boy crazy. And she loves the older men. Like 8 year old Roman. And 11 year old Luke (to whom she recently wrote a love letter), and Troy. And Sayid (I can’t blame her on that one). I guess she gets the older men thing (along with a lot of other things) from me. Which is how I know that my mother’s “I Hope You Have Kids Just Like You” curse worked. Oh baby. We’re alike in a lot of ways – looks ebing right on top. . .
The Girl: Mom – when is Disney?
Gina: In October.
The Girl: I can’t wait.
Gina: Me either. What are you looking forward to?
The Girl: Belle! And Ariel!
Gina: What about rides? You’ll be big enough to ride some cool stuff this year, like Soarin’
The Girl: I don’t wan to ride that.
Gina: Why not?
The Girl: I don’t like Whorin’.
Gina: Soarin’. And how do you jnow you dont like it if you haven’t done it? It’s not scary.
The Girl: No – you can ride Whorin’. I’ll wait.
Gina: But I want you to ride with me.
The Girl: No. Whorin’ in your favorite, so you can do it. I’m not doing it. You can.
Gina: Well, I used to, anyway. . .