Who Stepped On The Cat?

I can't carry a tune to save my life. I know this. I don't sing in the shower. I will not partake in karaoke.

Hell, I don't even like to sing Happy Birthday to anyone before they blow out their candles. Seriously, you will always find me standing next to the light switch, in the dark, mouthing the words.

I really believe I am that horrible. I refuse to subject anyone to my vocal inadequacies.

Okay, except for my children. Upon their insistence, I will sing them a song before bed. But only if they ask. Nicely. And I will sing with them in the car. With the music loud enough that they can't really hear me anyway. And with the windows rolled up. Tightly.

I knew from a young age that I sucked. I never, EVER, joined any of the school choruses. In fourth grade when the choir went to practice in the lunchroom, I stayed behind with the other tunefully challenged kids. Which really was fine with me because I did have a crush on the new boy in class. Who wound up being my boyfriend all through high school, but that's another story. Entirely.

Where was I? Oh yea. So I, at only nine years old, recognized my limitations. I, my friends, am a realist.

So, how can it be, that my child, the fruit of my loins, who apparently has been cursed with a male version of my voice, acts like he's in line to be the next King of Rock 'n Roll? W. has been serenading us, frequently, with his crooning. At.The.Top.Of.His.Lungs. Believe me boy, we can hear you. There's really no need to shout.

I love my son, with all of my being. I don't want to hurt his feelings. I can't crush his self-esteem. But do I really have to lie when he asks how he sounds? I mean, how do you sugar coat, "Like nails on a chalkboard?"

When he is in the shower, it's worse. For some reason he has been singing the same five or six lines from two different songs. Two completely different types of songs. He mixes them together and sings them over, and over, and over, and....well, you get the picture.

Tonight I was folding laundry. The downstairs bathroom is right next to the laundry room. W. jumped in the shower and immediately burst into song. I felt my eyes roll and my shoulders tighten a bit.

He begins, "This could be the start of something new, it feels so right to be here with you!" from High School Musical. Those must be the only words he knows from the song because he then switches it up and I hear Lips Of An Angel by Hinder.

I continue to fold the towels from the dryer and I hear, in a very nasally tone, "Honey why are you crying? Is everything okay? I gotta whisper cause I can't be too looooouuuuuud."

And lightning strike me down, I think, "No! Everything is not okay, she's crying because you won't stop singing to her!!! And that's NOT a whisper!!!"

I'm a terrible mother and person.

I just hope that American Idol is off the air by the time he's old enough to try out. I really couldn't bear seeing him on the bloopers show.