Can someone PUH-LEEZE tell me how I ended up with three daughters and yet STILL we have to discusses male parts on an almost weekly basis? It is, pardon the pun, nuts.

Zeb was out of town a few nights last week and every night when I put Sadie to bed she asked me to sing, “Da Ding-A-Wing song.” And I was all, “Whaaaaaaaa?”

So when Zeb came home, I was about to put Sadie to bed and I called him into the room and said, “What is she talking about? What is the Ding-A-Wing song?”

Zeb laughed. “You don’t have to sing it. She’s knows the whole song. Sadie, sing for Momma, ‘When I was a little bitty boy…'” Sadie didn’t miss a beat. She sang the first two verses of Chuck Berry’s “My Ding-A-Ling.”

When she finished I shook my head with tears streaming down my face (from shame or utter hilarity, I’m not yet sure) and asked him, “So are you proud of yourself?”

THIS is why men need a chaperone almost all of the time. I’m not sure if this was a ploy to get me to stop asking for help at bedtime, or what he considered appropriate lullaby material for his two-year-old daughter. This may explain why my five-year-old was trying to download T-Pain to my iPhone.

What has your husband done lately that made you question leaving him unsupervised with the kids?

(Men, I’m joking. Sort of. If my husband didn’t help me at bedtime, my kids and I would be UP a creek. Vive la Ding-A-Ling.)