Shhhhh....it's a secret.

I'm not sure if you know this about me.

I'm going to let you in on a little secret.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I'm kinda an awesome singer.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Hahahaha...April Fools! I'm a totally awesome Singer! Duh!


Like I could win award, I'm so awesome. If you've seen me intoxicated (*which I would estimate the vast majority of you have*), you've seen me dance. You probably have not heard me sing. I'm actually as awesome at singing as I am at dancing. Draw your own conclusions.

As a master singer/songwriter, I've decided to use my many talents to encourage Clare to eat food that even Serena (the fattest dog alive) won't touch. Clare is on the BRAT diet (self-explanatory as to why if you choose to Google) and thus is enjoying a vast variety of foods.

Chris, confused by this concept, suggested several options for her for dinner last night:
-PB&J with bananas on top
-Bananas mushed up on crackers with chocolate drizzled on top
-Grilled cheese with rice layered in between

I had to explain that the BRAT diet was actually the entire, all encompassing list of foods she was to eat. Not a suggested list of ingredients in a large, fat laden dinner.

However, back to my singing. So, I was talking to Clare yesterday about dinner for us tonight (assuming we are off the BRAT diet) and asked if she wanted homemade chicken potpie. She said, "No". I asked her again (because, really at 18 months old, she might change her mind) and still heard, "Noooooo". So, I started singing her my new favorite song:

ChickiePotPie, ChickiePotPie,
I want me some yummy ChickiePotPie.
Chickie, Chickie, Chickie
(**insert chicken dance arm flapping and chicken sounds like bwaaack, bwaaaack, bwaaack**), Chickiepotpie.

Clare's thoughts? She cried.

Because nothing makes you want something to eat like being reminded of the sound the animal made while alive, right?

I, so in love with my new song, sang it for my sister last night. She hung up on me.

This morning, we had multiple variations of this theme revolving around toast, bananas and applesauce. All big fat fails on the encouraging Clare to eat front.

While she's not on a hunger strike, she has started crying every time I start singing.

I'm going to assume it has nothing to do with my voice and everything to do with her cranky attitude.



*Side note: Honestly, I don't even know if anyone reads this blog that hasn't seen me drinking. If so, please leave a comment, because I'm not sure we've met.

**Do you love the mental picture of me singing and doing the chicken dance? It was hot.**