I'm Siiiiiinging in the Rain. Or Not.

I tend to sing a lot. Not crazy loud or professionally or anything, of course, just around the house and as I go through my day. And definitely in the car. Always, always in the car. I have always done this and probably always will, much to my husband's chagrin. (To be fair, he just doesn't like it when i "'Glee' it up.") It's to the point where it's sort of subconscious sometimes...just singing along but not realizing I am until someone points it out. I distinctly remember a moment with the first family I ever babysat for in my early teens. Making dinner for the two boys, singing as I shuffled around the kitchen, whistling while I worked, blah blah blah ...and the older boy - maybe 6 at the time - was good naturedly asking me to stop singing. "Oh, ok, sorry, no problem." And literally thirty seconds later starting up again without realizing what I was doing. He asked again, I stopped again, and this repeated maybe three times. The boys were cracking up because they thought I was playing a joke, but sadly, no - I am just that dense. It's a character flaw.

So, cut to today, the singing continues. And yesterday in the car Sody and I were rocking out to her Sesame Street cd (ok, using the term "rocking out" extremely loosely here). After the three millionth listen of this particular record, I know the words pretty well. Actually, she does too, which surprises me sometimes. But sure enough, a couple lines in, what do I hear from the backseat?
"Please stop singing, Mommy."

Drat. Another kid who is just hoping I will shut up. Hate to tell you, Darling Daughter, but this is only the beginning...