It has been well documented on my blog that I am having problems with my mom.  I did, however, hold out hope that someday we could work out our differences and come to a place of understanding.  I was blissfully unaware of just how much she hates me until this week, when she took my son for his birthday and brought him back… with a karaoke machine. 

This monstrosity of a machine comes equipped with a microphone and a volume that goes up high enough that some dogs may not even be able to hear it.  This would be bad enough if C. was just using it to sing, loudly.  But oh no, that’s not what he uses it for at all.  Instead, my son puts the microphone as close as he can get to his mouth without actually chewing ON the microphone and proceeds to make the most annoying sounds known to man, as loud as humanly possible.  There are no words, just “OOOOOOOOH!!  OOOH, OOH, EIIIIIII….” and so on and so on.  AND ON AND ON AND ON.  He sits so close to the machine that there is screeching feedback on top of the noises that he is already producing with his mouth.  The poor dog sits and stares, cocking his head to one side and with one ear raised, wondering where in the world these hellish sounds are coming from.  My husband and I hunker down in another room, waiting for the sky to open up and swallow us whole, because this can only mean that the world is coming to an end. 

My dad is running a close second with the bell he got C. for his bike, but at least that has to be used OUTSIDE, where C. can torture his friends and our neighbors.  Alas, the karaoke machine is an inside toy, and a painful reminder every day of what my mother thinks of me.  Little does she know that I’m on to her, and I’ve already started to pave the way.

I’ve told C. that his grandmother LOVES kerokee, especially otherworldly sounds, and that this may be a toy that is best put to use when he goes over to visit.  HA!


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