My Husband Has Terrible Taste

Which I can prove beyond all reasonable doubt with the following paragraph:

Dowlan is Buffy The Vampire Slayer fan. But wait, there's more. There was a special musical episode of Buffy that was known as "Once More, With Feeling." Not only did he record it and watch it on multiple occasions, he then recorded himself a CD of the songs on it. But here's the true kicker: within a few days of its broadcast, I took him to see a touring Broadway group's rendition of Les Miserables. It was fantastic, beautiful, moving and perfect in every way. When I asked him what he thought after the show he made some ridiculous noise about it being okay, but not as good as "Once More, With Feeling."

Heretic.

I say all this because there is an aspect to the story line of the Buffy Musical that is seeming quite familiar. A spell is cast that makes the characters dance more and more wildly until they are so out of control that they spontaneously combust.

See, I am a little worried that this might happen to my girls.

Not due to dancing, but because of the insane amounts of escalating giggling. Here is a recent example:

Melody comes up to me and asks for juice. Being the lazy parent I am, I tell her that I forgot how to make it. So she tells me. I tell her, "Nope, that doesn't sound familiar. I don't think I can do that."

She giggles, and climbs on top of me while I'm doing my Kakuro puzzle. (Kakuro is like Sudoku, only hard and interesting.) I take the logical next step and draw a smiley face on the bottom of her big toe. This triggers more giggling and a request for the complementing toe on the other foot to be smiling likewise. I acquiesce.

Then I draw one of those little puppet faces on the side of my hand. Each girl wants one as well. We start making our hands be Ursula, Ariel and Eric. Then they start kissing and biting each other. Then Charlie decides to climb atop the fray.

Charlie does not smell good.

Mommy: Girls, get off me. I need to change your brother's stinky bottom.
Melody: His stinky bottom? His binky doddum?
Dixie: His stinky booty? His dinkie dootie?
Please tell me I don't have to spell out the rest of that portion of the conversation.

Mommy: Yes. Please, get off me now.
You can imagine how well that worked.

Finally, I had to bodily remove them under threat of imminent and lasting psychological harm. Melody's feet hit the ground running as she sprinted into the closet/nursery and hurled herself upon the changing table.

Again with the threats and throwing the kid about a bit. Lucky for me she doesn't weigh much.

So the giggling continues to escalate into pitches that left the neighborhood dogs whimpering. I begin changing the foul gift that Charlie had prepared for me when it suddenly became very dark.

Mommy: Melody, turn that light on right now!
Melody: I can't.
Mommy: Why not?
Melody: Because it is dark and I cannot find the light switch.

So I have a few choices. Stand and wait until Melody finds the switch in the dark and hope that Charlie doesn't decide to create further gifts or explore the current selections with both hands. Leave a poop smeared baby alone on the changing table to go across the small space and reach for the light switch and hope that he doesn't take this moment to explore the wondrous sport of diving. Pick up the partially-covered foul stench that is my infant son and take it with me to turn on the light.

As I am contemplating, Melody's hand manages to bump the dimmer switch enough for me to see what I am doing. The giggling continues to grow as she climbs into the crib. I finish the diaper duty, shut off the light and close the door. Melody does not appreciate my gesture.

So the girls then begin to run in screaming giggling circles throughout the house until they begin falling over themselves, and fall into one giggle-infested heap of girly-ness.

I think I distinctly smell smoke.