Thanks to my husband's strange obsession with police shows, most notably Cops, my two boys can now sing the words to Bad Boys. You know the ones, "Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?"
Such wonderfully well written lyrics, sure to make any mama proud.
Now, when I tell Bug or Boo that something they've done is bad, I get the song sung to me. Loudly and off key. Most often accompanied by dancing and shaking their booo--tay. This makes appropriately disciplining my children a challenge, to say the least.
A part of me laughs whenever I'm treated to this Broadway calaber peformance. The rest of me cringes, seeing a future as trailer trash whose one shining moment of glory is being caught in the back seat of their Ford Pinto with a *ahem* lady of the night.
I don't know whether to cry or be proud. I mean, one day I might be able to brag to my fellow blue hairs that my son was on television!
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