And she's buying a stairway . . .

As all good children must, at some point in our lives, my siblings and I each, individually, in small groups, and collectively, took it upon ourselves to drive our mother stark raving mad.

PJ and I both took piano lessons for eons (ok, maybe just years). And the number of times mom took it upon herself to remind us to practice our lessons was at least a bizillion (that one's literally true, I swear). Browsing the sheet music at the local mall one day, PJ and I happened upon a piano transcription of "Stairway to Heaven". We bought it, took it home, and proceeded to play it as a duet, quite loudly, at the slightest provocation. We imagined my mother, whose musical tastes ran to Barry Manilow, Anne Murray, and Neil Diamond, hands over her ears, gnashing her teeth in agnoy.

Flash forward to a couple of weeks ago. PJ, Steph and my parents were all here to help us with the painting of the new house. I'm up on a ladder, roller in one hand and brush in the other, when I realize my mother's singing along to the radio:

"There's a lady who's sure, all that glitters is gold . . ."

I locked eyes with PJ, who's on the other ladder, and we both busted out laughing. Mom locked up at us: "What?!"

"Nothing mom. We just never realized you were a Zeppelin fan."