Since the birth of my oldest, I've been an emotional ninny at moments that defy explanation. Fireworks get me every time. Parades, too. Walking into Disneyland. Pretty much any music with a swooping crescendo somewhere. Christmas lights.

Boy, don't you want to hang out with me?

The latest entry in the weird crying jag roster is Christmas carols. I can handle Jingle Bells and Santa Claus is Coming to Town, but don't even get me started on O Holy Night. Seriously, I have to skip that one. Just thinking about it makes me cry. And I'm not even religious.

My son came home from school singing a delightfully off-key version of The Twelve Days of Christmas last week. He is clearly my son, because he's got through the six geese a laying down, but after that, all the stuff is pretty much interchangable.

"On the tenth, no wait, eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to meeeee...what was ten again? Pipers? Drummers? Ladies? Let's say ladies."

And so on, and so forth.

We also enjoy throwing our heads back and howling "FIVE GOOOOOLDEN RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINGS!"

So, anyhoo. We're driving along the other day, and my son and I get started on the Six Days That We Actually Remember and The Rest That We Sort of Mumble Of Christmas. Soon the girls were howling along, and inspired by whatever that version of the song that has the true love giving "Three French Toast, Two Turtlenecks and a Beer" (anyone?) we started mangling away the remaining lyrics.

Five onion rings
Six buffalo wings
Seven trash cans
Eight traffic lights
Nine hamburgers

And... I forget the rest, because that's what I do. I forget the lyrics to this song, even if I'm partially responsible for making up the new lyrics. It is a talent. Surprisingly, it doesn't make me cry.

We were driving home, shouting along in a singalong that raised eyebrows and earned startled looks from fellow motorists. When we pulled into the driveway. We all shouted out the final verse and then sat there with the van walls vibrating from the shockwave created by our voices.

And then we busted out laughing. You can keep your O Holy Night. I'll take The Eleven, no, Twelve Days of Random Stuff any time.