The Bane of My Existence

Flynn's been carrying this thing around for the past couple of days.

And I hate, hate, hate it.

If I could shoot laser beams from my eyes, that unholy candy-colored machine would be toast.

I don't know how she found it stashed away in the basement. But she did. And she brought it upstairs.

When Evan was a wee toddler, I purchased one of these at a garage sale for something like 25 cents. I figured he could croon along with his then-favorite group, The Wiggles, and it would be super cute.

It was until he discovered that if you hold the microphone in one hand, you can swing the tape recorder part around and around over your head. It then became a weapon and I relegated it to the basement, where, in our house, all noisy and destructive toys go to be forgotten until they're unearthed by a nosy child and receive a stay of execution (until I can hide said toy again or smuggle it out of the house and give it to Goodwill or our preschool's rummage sale fund raiser).

Flynn's been more attracted to the (accursed) Playskool tape recorder than Evan ever was. She carries that thing around with the mic pressed up against her little mouth so the only sounds we (meaning her father and I) can decipher are ones akin to those uttered by an adult in a Peanuts special. And because she insists on keeping the microphone so close to her lips, there's also a lot of feedback.

She howls into the mic pretending to be a wolf. My ears bleed.

She sings Hannah Montana songs, which is very cute but very loud. The sound of fingernails scraping down a chalkboard doesn't bother me. My daughter belting out "We Got The Party With Us", however, sends the shivers up and down my spine - and not in a good way.

She makes up her own songs (again, very, very sweet but incredibly loud). I grit my teeth and tell her, yes her singing is lovely, but to bring it down a notch. Or two. Or to please stop.

Last night as she climbed into bed, noise maker clutched lovingly to her chest, I told her that the microphones had to stay out of the bed. "But, Mommy," she protested,"if I wake up in the night I can use the microphone to call you and you will hear me nice and clearly."

She then proceeded to interview the 900 stuffed animals in her bed. All the animals responded to her questions with animal noises; ducks quacked, seals barked, dogs woofed, cats meowed. Except for her current favorite, a lamb she dressed in a Baby Born swimsuit. Lambie answered the question, "What would you say to Flynn?" with the following statement, "I would tell Flynn that I love her and that she is the best girl. And that I love Flynnie."

Heartwarming, yes, but I'm still planning on "accidentally" backing over that tape recorder with the car. A few times.

Did I mention that I hate that thing?