While my husband was out of town, I was a less-than-stellar mom, and took my heathens out to eat most nights.

Our local neighborhood is blessed with a tiny, family-owned Mexican restaurant that we absolutely love. We eat there so often that they know us by name, and usually have my margarita poured before my backside hits the chair. The boys love it because all the servers tease them and call them “amigo,” which for some reason, makes my six year-old feel super special.

The other night, I promised the heathens that if they were good while I voted, then we could go eat there. Had I known it was that easy to bribe them into submission, I probably would have tried it sooner.

As we were enjoying our meal (and Mama was enjoying her happy-hour margarita), my youngest child excused himself to go to the restroom. About 45 seconds later, I hear a sound. And it gets louder. My baby is in the restroom…singing.

My son never sings. Even at school and Mass, he’s just not compelled to sing, especially if someone wants him to. Imagine my surprise when both myself and the ENTIRE RESTAURANT (it’s tiny after all) are treated to his unexpected bathroom concert.

And that frakking child wasn’t just singing, he was belting it out, Bette Midler-style. I tried to get my oldest child to run in the restroom and tell him to shut up, but HE was laughing so hard that tears were pouring down his little face.

In the meantime, most people were staring at me like I needed an intervention.

Luckily, the impromptu song ended when he came out of the restroom.

And I went back to my fajitas like it never happened.