Crackle, Crackle

I never knew that ANYONE would want me to sing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" enough times to make my throat crackle.

But the tiny twinkling fingers reaching towards the sky in the rearview mirror and the "Twinkle, Twinkle again Mama" was enough to keep me going, off key, and holding back laughter at how terrible my concert for one really was.

Amazingly, each chorus was sung with more and more conviction until, I believed, as my son believed, that that was the best that song could be sung.

The concert ended with the two of us serenading the crescent moon through the moon roof heading Northbound on the Gandy Bridge, he in his red striped jammies and me in my flip flops, three days after Thanksgiving.