Well, it appears that our little Barbie Girl has turned into a bit of a Bratz doll of late. We got an email from Mr. Z's teacher today that mentioned that the boy was a little disruptive in class today. She said, "He arrived this morning singing during our morning opening activity and disturbing others."
I don't think I have to mention the song he was singing.
We had a little talking to after school today, but something's up with that boy. He sat in his room for most of the afternoon drawing and listening, repeatedly, to "The Song." Repeatedly as in ALL FUCKING AFTERNOON. He told me, "I don't know what it is, but that song really helps me come up with some great stuff to write about!" He's insane. If this keeps up, I may have to call that Jeff VanVonderhoovenvanvooven guy from that "Intervention" show on A&E. (If you haven't watched that, by the by, do. Riveting. There was this self-mutilator last night that freaked out my shiznizzie.)
On a positive note, Miss O sat in her room this afternoon and listened to ALL the songs on her copy of the mix CD. The highlight of my day was right before dinner, when she repeatedly sprinted around the kitchen-hallway-living room-dining room loop singing "S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y NIGHT!" And I'm not making any promises, but there could be a chance that a version of "Xanadu," with Miss O handling the vocals, might just make its way onto the next disk.
Maybe when Mr. Z wakes up tomorrow, this whole "Barbie Girl" fetish will be behind him. Maybe he'll have moved onto another song. Something more benign... like "Wang Dang Sweet Poontang."