Singing in a Bomb

A long time ago, we were out for dinner with the little kids and TW’s ex — back in the days when we thought we might be able to have joint celebrations of big events. By the time we headed home, I’d pretty much had enough of Figlio-togetherness and was just ready for everyone to shush for a few minutes and chill out.

But no. The small children have always known exactly how to push my buttons (and the buttons of every parent/parental unit in their lives) and they were out-of-control on the drive home. TW was not much better, encouraging the wild screeching and storytelling and game playing IN THE CAR.

I hit my limit when Prince J argued something I said with an explanation of why he was right that included the phrase “singing in a bomb”. A totally ridiculous argument to what I said. A totally ridiculous idea that makes no sense under any circumstance. Something way, way out there — even for Prince J, who was (is?) good at pushing the limits of imagination.

“Singing in a bomb” is a very common phrase in our house, now. Unfortunately, only TW and I understand the phrase — the small children were too young to remember that hell night.

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There are some songs or musicians that remind me, strongly, of one of the big kids.
– Nirvana reminds me of Chris.
– Smashing Pumpkin reminds me of Michelle
– Oasis, Vanilla Ice and Gloria Estefan remind me of Jenn.

I could go on, but you get the picture, right? You probably have songs that remind you strongly of people in your family, too.

When I hear those songs on the radio, I turn them up just a little and I say their names. A little prayer sent to them across the country (or across town)? Sometimes I ask TW to text the child, if I’m driving. Sometimes she just takes it upon herself to text them when she hears one of their songs. Sometimes I’ll call shortly after I get home, after I’ve heard one.

The kids have been known to ignore those texts. Or answer with a laugh. They sometimes roll their eyes. But they get it. They understand why these songs remind me of them. They understand that it’s a connection between us.

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A couple of weeks ago, we were riding in the car and Suicide Blonde came on the radio. TW suggested that Prince J might have gotten the lyric of this song just a wee bit twisted and turned “Suicide Blonde” into “Singing in a Bomb”.

And, it all clicked into place.

This would have been a song Prince J would have heard quite often in our house, at that age. It was a popular song in his early, formative years, so he would have heard it on the radio, too. He would not have recognized the word “Suicide” when he was a wee thing. He also would have understood both “singing” and “bomb”. It makes sense out of something that has never made a lick of sense.

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Today, driving to the hospital, Suicide Blonde came on the radio. I asked Siri to text Prince J, just like I would have asked Siri to text Chris if Come As You Are came on. Suicide Blonde is on the radio — so Hi!

I turned the corner and… there were two large diggers, another Prince J thing, so I told Siri to text Prince J… and a digger, too!.

He responded a little while ago with… What?

The boy is determined to drive me over the edge, isn’t he?