My daughter is capable of driving me nuts without any help from you, Mom (LONG)

Last Christmas my sister perpetrated upon my household a Barbie karaoke machine. It was her gift to my delighted 4 year old daughter, and also, I suspect, her revenge on me for sneaking up behind her once and sticking her with a pin. This thing works just like a real karaoke machine, with a cool echo effect that I’m amazed still works, considering how my darling daughter has abused it in the 2 months since Christmas. It came with some music-only tapes, which mini-marli never bothered with, since she couldn’t read the lyric sheets and wasn’t familiar with any of the songs. She used it mostly to sing nursery rhymes, and to amplify her voice so she could sound more impressive when fighting with her older brother.

You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you, Mom?

Yesterday my mother, who is supposed to love me, sent my daughter home with a tape she made for her. “She loves this song!” Mom told me. “When she was here last weekend she sang it over and over, and danced, it was really cute!” I, of course, always anxious to witness my children being cute instead of obnoxious, immediately requested a concert. Mini-marli dragged out her Barbie karaoke machine, inserted the tape, and began singing to me.

I’m a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world/Wrapped in plastic/It’s fantastic…

She belted it out, grinning and just generally hamming it up. I’m thinking, well, I don’t like this song, but okay, she’s having fun. The song ended and I began applauding. “Wait, Mommy!” she said. “It’s coming on again!”


She sang it through again. I started to clap. “No, Mommy, I’m going to sing it again!”

I began to have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I politely sat and watched her run through it a third time. “Can I clap now?” I asked.

“Not yet,” she said.

“Hold that thought, sweetness, Mommy wants to call Grandma real quick…”

“How many times is that unholy song going to repeat?” I asked when my mother (who is supposed to love me) answered the phone.

“I recorded it 10 times on each side so she wouldn’t have to mess around with rewinding it,” she informed me.


It must be understood that my daughter is very persistant and capable of great feats of concentration. She finds something she likes to do and she will continue to do it in spite of hell. Distraction techniques didn’t work on her when she was a baby and they don’t work now. I needed to do something quick or that godawful song was going to implant itself so deep in my brain not even a stick of dynamite would unearth it. After the 4th rendition I said, “That was very nice, sweetness, now how about we put that up and I’ll read you a story?”

“No,” she said as the song began again.

After repeat #6 I said, “Honey, you’re going to wear out the batteries in that thing. Why don’t we put it up.”

“No, I want to sing to you! Don’t you like it?” she said, throwing in the big blue puppy-dog eyes for good measure. What am I, heartless?

Rendition #7: I began rummaging for a stick of dynamite as the neverending loop of hideousness started again…

Rendition #8: “You’re such a good singer! Why don’t you go back to the computer room and sing to Daddy for a while?”

“Okay!” She went. I fled.

It was too late. Even as I sit here typing, that craptacular song is playing itself in my head, over and over and OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER…I fear I may go insane prematurely. Left to her own devices, it would probably have taken my daughter another 8 or 9 years to succeed in driving me over the edge of utter madness, but thanks to your assistance, Mother (you’re supposed to love me - remember?) she very nearly accomplished it in one day.

And if I find the criminals who unleashed this fuming wad of vilest excreta on the world (I’m too traumatized to google and find out who the “artists” are) I’m going to shove the microphone of that Barbie karaoke machine straight up their asses and turn the echo up to 11. The sound of their flatulence reverberating through the hills and valleys forever would overfill my soul with a gentle and profound sense of contentment.

(BBBRRRAAAAPPPppppp…) (yea, verily, my cup runneth over…)

The “artists” in question would be Aqua.

I bought my baby brothers electrical instruments just after moving out of the house. It was planned revenge.

Allow me to feel your pain, the child living downstairs from me has a Pippi Longstockings tape she is VERY fond of. So fond in fact, that she feels that the rest of the house needs to hear it too. :slight_smile:

Four words (and a comma): Big magnet, apply liberally.

It would be a real shame if those batteries stopped working while the sweet child was sleeping.

But revenge via children is fun! One christmas I bought my 3 year old niece a floormat drum machine - it took about 3 months for my brother to forgive me.


A couple of years after moving out of my parents’ house (read: being evicted without the eviction notice), I finally got revenge.

My little brother was in his Pokemon phase.

I got him TWO Pokemon CDs. One was a soundtrack from the first movie, the second was just some fucking album.

I hear he adored those CDs, and still has them around.

Dave Barry did an article about his daughter’s unceasing playing of a video. My son did the same with the Muppet’s cassette. I got him a comfortable pair of headsets.

There are just some times when a parent has to put their foot down and just declare that some forms of entertainment are inappropriate and therefore are never to be played again “while you’re living under my roof.”

This sounds like one of those times.

And then there are other times, when one should tell the grandparents that some things are just a bad idea. Like, recording a Barbie song ten times.

**Marlitharn, ** I do feel your pain. However, it’s not because of my daughter’s grandparents. It’s because my husband is a musician, and my daughter has inherited his considerable musical talent. This delights me. But, she’s only six years old.

She’s got a butt-kicking keyboard that she plays an awful lot, but said keyboard also has a bunch of pre-programmed songs in it. And when she’s in a listening mood instead of a playing mood, I hear “A Whole New World” from Aladdin approximately 487,000 times a day.

I used to kinda like that song. Now, it makes me want to curl up in a corner and beat my head into the wall. And trying to gently explain to a six-year-old why Mommy is sobbing and sucking her thumb between shots of Jack Daniels in a desperate attempt to erase that song from her head… well, kids just don’t understand that sort of thing, unfortunately. :eek:

Yes. Display your vertebrae.

My dear 12 year old son, bless him, took pity on his poor mother and gave his sister his HitClips thingy to listen to. All day as she went about her business, I could hear her mumblesinging, “Who let the dogs out…who, who, who…”

I let her take it to Mom’s tonight. :smiley:

I suppose I could have put my foot down and made her turn off the Barbie Annoyance Amplification Machine From Hell, but she was having fun and she was so eager to entertain me. I think it may be time to teach her the Time Warp dance.

Next Christmas, my youngest niece gets a singing Barney. My sister wants a war? I’ll give her a war! Bwahahahahah!

Hee hee hee…I delighted in giving my nephew a line of quacking ducks. Mama Duck and four or five Little Ducklets were connected with a cord, and when you pulled them along the floor, they all went Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack (I trust I’ve made my point.)

Before you get the thumping sticks, let me explain. For the longest time, my two kids were the only grandkids. They got showered by numerous noisy toys from all members of the family. I felt I was entitled to some revenge.

Besides, that’s what grandkids are for. They are your parents’ revenge for having you as a child. Just wait until Mini-Marli grows up. :smiley:

That’s just evil!


ivylass- My daughter got one of those when she was like 3. The evilness of the machine can only truly be known when such happens that the string breaks in such a manner that the incessant quacking never ends.


With quacking.

She’s four, which is old enough to count.

Tell her that that next time she wants to perform for you, she can only do the song twice in a row. Tell her that if she sings longer than that, the specialness of the song is lowered tremendously.

Her feelings won’t get hurt, I promise.