I love country music. The twang, the lyrics. Love it. Always have. Always will. Turns out Grady loves it, too. And he’s very proud that we have this in common because (so far) Annie Bea is not a fan.

Anyway, last night after Grady’s karate lesson, I took the kids for pizza. They were misbehaving and stressing me out. By the time we got in the car it was 8 PM. They were overtired and behaving even worse than they were at the pizza place. I HAD HAD IT.

Me: Ok, enough! No more talking. I’m putting some country music on for the ride home. And you know what’s awesome about country music, guys?
Grady: I know! I love it!
Annie Bea: No. What’s so awesome about country music?
Me: The stories. Every country song tells some kind of cool story. Beginning, middle and end. So I want you guys to sit back, relax, look out the window and just listen to the story in the song. Ok? Just listen to the story.

I’ve been on a Kenny Rogers kick lately so I played “Ruby, Don’t Take Your Love to Town.”

While Kenny sang about his bent and paralyzed legs from fighting in the war and how he wished he could reach his gun and put his cheating wife 6 feet in the ground, I tapped the steering wheel and hummed along.

When it was over, Grady said quietly under his breath, “That’s some story.”

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