Conversation in the car:

“Mommy, is that a Beatles song?”

“Yes.”

(Few minutes later.)

“Mommy, is that a Beatles song?”

“Yes.”

(Few minutes later.)

“Mommy, is that –”

“Yes!”

“Mommy, don’t you think the Beatles sing that song better?”

“Well, they are good. But sometimes don’t you think it’s fun to listen to someone else sing a Beatles song?”

“Oh, yeah, like how I like listening to you sing Hey Jude.”

To be honest, that hadn’t occurred to me — no, really, it hadn’t — but I beamed.

Sophie already yells, “STOP IT!” when I sing, but AB still indulges me. Which I don’t deserve, since I always screamed at my own mother to shut up when she tried to sing along to the car radio. Annabelle projectile vomited as an infant, just as I did, so there was some degree of karmic revenge in that department.

But for now, at least, I’m right up there with Paul and John.

I’m certain that just means Annabelle’s as tone deaf as her mother. That’s cool. I’ll take it.