The bright side of two kids bawling at the same time is that they end up in the same rhythm and harmony.

It's almost inspiring me to write a violin concerto. Almost.

Sometimes, no matter how wonderful, and perfect, and angelic my kiddos are, they decide that the only way to end a great day is by having a meltdown. I'm sure this has something to do with the full moon or the galactic pull of Saturn's fifth ring, but it happens and I seem to have no control over what, when, where, why or how. Just the Who is constant. And the howling.

My favourite is when the meldown happens on the 401 (the major highway in Ontario), between destinations. It starts, like any good classical music piece, with the setting of the sun (or the dimming of the house lights).  The string section begins gently plucking away with a gentle, "Mom, how much farther?" and, "I think I have to pee."  Then the baby starts fussing, quietly like the gentle grunt of a hungry oboe.  Once the baby gets loud enough, the drums begin to beat against my seat via my elder child's shoes. Within minutes of kicking, I've got a real, live, concerto happening in my backseat.

Only, this one kind of makes me want to take the exit marked "Gingerbread House" and leave them with the first old lady in a pointy-hat that I see.

At times like these, I remember the old "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em" phrase my mother used to say. I think, when I was a kid, that motto meant that since you can't beat your children anymore, you might as well join them in their antics, although I'm not 100% sure that's where the motto comes from originally. The seventies were a strange time.

And so, amidst the chaos reigning in the backseat, I take a deep breath, turn on the radio, and begin singing as loudly as my children.  It takes a lot of practice and inner fortitude to try and out-sing an entire orchestra, but ... well, let's just say they got their musical talent, and stamina, from me. I've both got what it takes, and the will to outlast them.  They're just kids, right? I mean, how long can they possibly cry?

For the record, that length is from London to Guelph.

Of course, my kiddos have orchestrated themselves to sleep, and I'm half-hoarse from singing.  And I still have a half-hour to go before we get to my sister's.  I plug in my iPod and turn on my "Classical Music" playlist and get on my merry way.