Life has a soundtrack. What’s yours?

Everything has music built in. I just know it.

I came to this realization long ago, when I was about six I think, watching the Muppet Show. As it started, and that bouncy Muppet Show song came on, I just knew:

This song was strumming my pain with its fingers.

You know, telling my whole life with his words.

Perhaps, not, however, killing me softly with his song. Because, they’re Muppets you know. It’s a happy thing. They don’t do killing.

Linking up with my favorite people today! Five Minute Friday. And the theme?


Oh, I have a lot to say about this. But, alas, I have to pick my children up from school in a bit so I’ll keep it short.

So, yes, I realize that sounds like I’m alas-ing about the kids showing up here. Not quite. They’re the ones that bring a lot of noise and all. Chaos. Child-chaos, the most mind-fizzling kind. Like trying to stuff a bunch of small kittens down a swirly slide while a small parrot sits on your head and repeats the 10 Commandments at you.


But, back to singing.

I sing a lot. I have my Jesus music on all day, because if I don’t I start to listen to what’s going on in my head, and no  one wants to do that. I sing along. I tend to think I could very well be a backup singer for Journey, if they needed one, you know. Don’t worry – I know very well I can’t actually be the headliner, but totally could nail backup, right?

There’s a band, Travis, from the 90’s that came out with a song called, (you guessed it) “Sing.” I love Travis. They’re all ironic lyrics and tousled British looks and jangly banjos. They were hipster before hipster was cool. And the lyrics tell us:

“But the love you bring, won’t mean a thing,

Unless you sing.”


It’s true. We need to sing at life. Every day has a soundtrack. Some lyrics are AC DC, some are Neil Diamond.

Some are ABBA and you KNOW those are gonna be good days.

My children have a propensity for singing, especially Red. He likes to sing in the bath, and often makes up his own lyrics. A few nights ago he was in there singing something about Luke Skywalker and I so wanted to video it, but artistic license, you know. They both have it in their contract (renewed when they turned six-ish, that no more videos of bathing time would occur. The lawyer had that instilled after one unfortunate incident involving some gospel, the cat, and a naked Red. Lawyers are such a pain.)

One night, while I was trying to scrape together dinner (literally because I had spilled the pasta and by God we were GOING to eat pasta, even floor pasta. Don’t judge.) it seemed that we were going to have a particularly musical evening.

Musical, not so much in an Andrew Lloyd Webber way, but more in a Bludgeoning You Upside the Head Way.

It involved a lot of noise from Red who was asking me, in operatic style, to build Tatooine with him in the living room. Because he NEEDED TATOOINE RIGHT NOW IN THE LIVING ROOM HOW CAN YOU, MOTHER, IGNORE MY PLEA (insert endlessly repeating chorus here).

On the radio, was the twanging of Johnny Cash. He goes with everything, as you know.

And then, Blonde decided to go upstairs and get his recorder. “Do you want to hear a song?” he asked and I looked at him, wide-eyed, because what? Like a song ON TOP  of all the other songs going on right now? I mean, maybe some harmonies would be doable but really? MORE song?

If the dog had started howling the moment would have really defined itself as The One Time That She Ran from the House with the Dishtowel Over Her Head, Screaming.

I didn’t. The dog didn’t. We soldiered on and I think I did the most logical mom thing:

I snatched that blasted recorder right out of Blonde’s hands and hid it where the sun don’t shine.

There’s only so much music one can take, y’all. I’m not Julie Andrews.

We sing, because we have to. The soundtrack of my life is very Muppet Show with a little Les Miserables mixed in. As well it should be. I regularly sing Master of the House to the babies as their lullaby.

That explains a lot, actually.

So, also, is this little gem  – it’s a part of our soundtrack on the repeat around here:



Wednesday and What We’re Watching – #NetflixKids and #Streamteam


The list of things I can do that still create awe in my children is slowly diminishing.

Used to be, the list was endless.  I could do all sorts of things that they would watch in wonder – things like:

1.  Once I pulled a plug out of the wall and there was a small zap of electricity (old house, don’t get me started) and Blonde saw it and said, “You made FIRE COME OUTTA YOUR HANDS!?”  Of course, I answered, “Yes.  Bwah hah hah!”  and left it at that.

2.  Whistling.

3.  Really, that’s all I can think of – but both are pretty cool.


I have been accused of being a cheerful whistler.  My husband one morning astutely noticed that I was walking around, whistling while I worked, and announced, “You’re whistling.”  He said it in precisely the same tone that I say to him: “You’re snoring.”  (Only he didn’t have to thwack me awake to tell me so.  Bonus.)  I interrupted my cheerful montage by commenting that he was very observant, and proceeded to UP the volume just a bit.  That’s marriage.

One time, I was whistling away while in the workroom at church  (I was prepping for a Sunday school lesson, so it was SPIRITUAL whistling).  I am not gonna lie, my whistling skills are pretty on mark, but this time?  My pastor happened to meander through the room just as I melodically trilled the equivalent of a piercing wolf whistle.  I then spied him, and he froze in his tracks like a frightened rabbit, but with a bible.

It was an awkward moment.

I decided to cover for it by wolf whistling as a greeting to at least three more people in the church office that day.  I think it worked.  ‘Course, now no one that works at the church will make eye contact with me, but at least they won’t be hitting me up for helping with vacation bible school or something.




My sons and I have been working out way through the Disney options on our #Netflix – and recently we came across this gem:




Ok, here’s the thing: this movie is adorable.  It has a baby bunny in it (no bible though) that has adorable lispyness that makes you want to go out and grab your own baby bunny, pronto.  It has a Robin Hood that is dashing and has the perfect British accent that makes you want to either start speaking JUST like him, or at least watch Masterpiece Theater a lot more.  It has a Scottish hen lady-in-waiting that has a killer football montage that my boys still try to emulate when they play, WITH THE ACCENT (we’re big into accents around here.  We’re from the Midwest.  Vanilla voices.)

AND:  We got Roger Miller as the crooning Rooster – he narrates the movie for us with his sweet country twang (I know. We have Scots and Brits and now, the South.  It’s Disney.  Don’t fuss.)

And… he whistles.  A WHOLE song.  JUST whistling.  And it’s a really catchy little number.

My boys were transfixed.   What was even better was that I whistled along with the song.  Ba jing!  Momsie is DA COOOOOOLEST.


I recommend it highly, this cute little movie.  And the whistling.  Toddlers’ whistling (or attempting to) can be rather wet at first, but it’s cute too.

And some day, their skills might merit me becoming this:

Get it?  GET it?  You see what I did there, right?

Get it? GET it? You see what I did there, right?



But I do suggest not practicing your warbling skills anywhere near a man of the cloth.

It can be rather problematic.