It’s the question that keeps on giving. Annie Lennox even sang an entire song about it. I never did care much for that song.
Many years ago, I asked each of our relatives to write a letter to each of our kids detailing a life lesson they wished to pass along. The way I saw it, the art of cursive has already gone by the wayside, and in all likelihood, by the time our kids are 25, they’ll wonder what a handwritten letter even is.
Anyhoo, my dad’s life lesson was “never stop asking questions.” He told each of the kids (in cursive) that any time they didn’t understand something, they should ask someone to explain it.
Which is precisely why when the inevitable Why? phase commences, my response is simple: “Call Poppy.”
Poppy, I just thought you should know. Since that phase seems to be upon us for the fifth (and final) time.
When adding to your to-do list, at what number do you realize that you’ve clinically lost your mind?
Yesterday, that realization slammed into me I wrote “34,” and had officially begun the 4th legal-size sheet of to-dos. Adding insult to injury, I went back and looked at #1 and wasn’t even sure what it meant.
There must be another way, I thought.
So here’s the new plan: I shall now stop at 10. Once I write to-do #10 on the list, I am not allowed to write down another one until one of them has been crossed off. Hence, no more than 10 to-dos on the list at any given point in time.
It’s totally refreshing. Except that to-dos #11-34 are still lurking in my frontal lobe. So what’s the cure for that?
Have you ever sung a song so many times that you fail to think about the absurdity of the lyrics that are coming out of your mouth — until someone else sings them completely differently and you go, “Oh, is that what he’s saying?”
It would appear that I’m chronically lyrically challenged.
I’ve previously mentioned that, until this past December, I sang a line of my favorite Christmas song, “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” as follows: “Hang a shining star upon the highest cloud.” I see nothing wrong with my interpretation. I mean, wouldn’t you hang a star on a cloud?
Then there’s the timeless “Let’s Go Crazy” by Prince. Great song. You know the intro, wherein The Artist Formerly Known As (or whatever moniker he’s going by these days) declares, “‘Cause in this life, you’re on your own?”
Me either.
Because, until two weeks ago, I was sure it was, “‘Cause in this life, you and you.”
Because that makes total sense.
How about “Voices Carry” by Til Tuesday? Love that song. At one point, Amy Mann sings, “Hush hush, darling, she might lowalee.” Right? Oh, it’s “She might overhear?” Hm. I really thought it was lowalee.
A few weeks ago, I tweeted about the song Footloose and someone responded on my Facebook page with the line: “8 hours, for what?”
“For what?” I questioned. “I thought it was ’8 hours, full up.’”
Now, surely you’ll agree that the best all-time summer song is “Boys of Summer” by Don Henley. I’ll never tire of that song, and I love to sing out the car window (loudly). Which, I recently realized, has likely been royally confusing to those around me when they heard me belt out, “I can see her; her breasts get shabby in the sun.” I never understood Don’s motivation with those lyrics, but perhaps that’s because he was saying “her brown skin shining in the sun” which, of course, makes far more sense given that it’s a beach kind of song.
But I still like to sing, “Her breasts get shabby in the sun.” Just for old time’s sake.
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What lyrics did you chronically screw up until someone knocked some sense into you? If you, too, had trouble with the above songs, here they all are, downloadable for your (properly) singing pleasure.
*From You Cannot Be Serious: and 32 Other Rules that Sustain a (Mostly) Balanced Mom
It’s the question that keeps on giving. Annie Lennox even sang an entire song about it. I never did care much for that song.
