Backseat Wiier

Ellie played a little Wii at Grandma and Grandpa's this weekend.  Harry tried to help her out:

Watch out for that panda!!!!

Oh, well, That DOES Make More Sense

It's a strong family tradition.  We've been screwing up song lyrics for decades.  Primarily because my father refused to correct us, probably out of the hope that we'd publically humiliate ourselves at a karaoke bar in Tuscaloosa at the age of 25, but I digress.

In case you didn't know, the incomparable Hall and Oates had a smash hit in the 80s with a song about a ravenous Anteater.  For some reason, this Anteater liked to eat boys.

Sometime previous, there was this fabulous song all about a Secret Asian Man.  Not sure what the secret was.  Maybe he didn't look very Asian, or maybe he was really a she pretending to be a she or vice versa.  Whatevs. 

More importantly, Steve Miller was not trying to get on a Big Ole Jet Airliner.  He was trying to get to Big Ole South Carolina.  That, I completely understand. 

Don't even get me started on Blinded By the Light. But that one has been misinterpreted by thousands trying to figure out exactly what feminine hygiene has to do with anything.

Which is why I was not surprised to find that Old Crowe Medicine Show has a thing for fruit.  The boy has been asking me to play the "Rock Me Mama" song every morning in the car.  I am completely used to him not knowing the titles to songs.  I mean, his all time favorite, Red Solo Cup, is actually "A One Two Tree Pour" according to Harry.  But, those words he actually knows, including what Toby Keith thinks Freddie Mac can do.

As for OCMS's ditty, in Meaty Feet's mind it goes a little something like this:

"Rock me Mama like a 'nana peel.  Rock me Mama anyway you feel...."

Of course it does.  I'm not going to correct him.  I'll wait for his fraternity brothers to do that.

Did You Hear the One About the Blonde Chick...?

Harry's in my office with some phantom illness his preschool swears he has.  They are wrong, but that's for a different blog.

He's got the Nintendo DS because Mama's got hours to bill.  He has become bored with Mario, or maybe he's realized that Mario is a bad influence.  Whatever.  He's discovered the "create your own avatar" function of the DS, and let's just say his sister is going to have lots of fun clearing off the 27 new "Harrys" (or is it "Harries"? not sure what the plural would be) he's created this afternoon.

But, but, but, geez, my kid.  So, this is what the "conversation" is like:

H: (shouting at the DS) NOT BROWN HAIR, NOT BROWN HAIR, NO!!!!!

Me:  Not brown hair?  What color hair do you want? (under my breath) because brown hair is the best, and don't you forget it.  Brown haired girls are nice, and sweet, and cook for you....

H:  NOT BROWN HAIR!!!!!!!

Me:  What color hair do you want Harry, mama will help.

H:  I want da udder color, da wellow, wike Miz Cawwie.  Awwww, no, not DA BROWN HAIR, NOOOOOOOO!!!!!

For.  The.  Love.