Last week, I was lucky enough to enjoy a long visit from my parents. While they were here, I had the pleasure of watching them grandparent my kids in their playful way. I observed and mentally took notes on their laid back approach.

Only occasionally did I cringe when they handled the kids’ questions or frustrations with a little song or poem that only marginally (and I use that term loosely) involved the issue at hand. (Case in point, Milo asked my mom something like, “Have you ever lived anywhere except Michigan?” Instead of answering, she started singing, “Have you ever, ever, ever in your knock-kneed life seen a knock-kneed sailor with a knock-kneed wife?”)

I realize that in the big scheme, this is a very tiny problem to have with your parents. Miniscule. But it’s true that, as a kid, I often took their gaiety as flippancy. And, boy did it make me mad.

I would want to discuss, argue or question, and they would break into some little two-step while bellowing The Banana Boat song.

Now, as the parent, I can see their M.O. clearly for what it is: a love of life and song and an attempt to cope with often unreasonable kids. But, good grief, sometimes you just want to wail about how you weren’t invited to some big sleepover. You want your parent to listen, not sing, “Nobody likes me, I think I’ll go eat worms.”

Milo and Belle haven’t seemed to notice or mind yet, though. And sometimes I wonder if I’ve swung too much to the other, serious side of parenting. Certainly, I’m more tightly strung than either my mom or dad. I joke around with my kids, yes. We tickle and wrestle and crack each other up. But I also take things harder, ruminate too much, suffer under the heavy weight of mom guilt.

Maybe it’d be best if I took a cue from my parents and lightened up a little. I think the next time Milo and Belle start whining or arguing, I’ll belt out a few verses to Oh My Darling Clementine.