Ian often wanders around the house singing totally random made-up songs to himself. It's usually endearing and funny, except in the morning when he's Chipper McChippy and I'm... well, not. When I crack up at his little songs he snaps out of it and realizes that I am actually listening to him... At which point he usually can only remember the last line he sang and doesn't understand what's so funny.
So tonight while I was trolling the INTERWEB for fascinating things about which to blog (new cupcake recipe? what Britney's wearing/shaving/eating/dropping these days? silly things that are coming out of GW's mouth?) Ian was in the kitchen singing an operatic rendition of a new made-up song that I decided to transcribe for the sake of posterity, and so you can see what I deal with-- sometimes at 7am:
Fruity plums
Oobie frums
I love bubblegum
Oh my bubblegum
Oh my bubblegum
Tweetle choo and smelly poos
Mine bubblegum
Weeeewww
Big fruity ones
Linty minty chews
Mine bubblegum
Mine bubbleGUUUUUM!!!
And... scene.
So tonight while I was trolling the INTERWEB for fascinating things about which to blog (new cupcake recipe? what Britney's wearing/shaving/eating/dropping these days? silly things that are coming out of GW's mouth?) Ian was in the kitchen singing an operatic rendition of a new made-up song that I decided to transcribe for the sake of posterity, and so you can see what I deal with-- sometimes at 7am:
Fruity plums
Oobie frums
I love bubblegum
Oh my bubblegum
Oh my bubblegum
Tweetle choo and smelly poos
Mine bubblegum
Weeeewww
Big fruity ones
Linty minty chews
Mine bubblegum
Mine bubbleGUUUUUM!!!
And... scene.
