Cool Auntie Cranks Hog

Sis’s music world is a lawless mix of Bluey, Trolls, and those sneaky “educational jams” that actually go way too hard. One minute it’s Queen Poppy preaching the gospel of glitter & friendship, the next it’s some alphabet rap with a bass drop that could level a building. Sis treats it all like it’s the Grammy lineup.

But every so often, Auntie shows up with the contraband. And by contraband, I mean Bilmuri. I’ll be driving, we’ve just survived three straight runs of Get Back Up Again, and I throw on Straight Through You. Sis goes silent. Wide-eyed. Like someone just handed her the cheat codes to life. Then she’s headbanging, princess crown sliding down her forehead, miniature Stanley in hand, screaming like she just found her true calling.

Her other favorite? Talkin to ur Ghost. Which is hysterical because that song hits like a midlife crisis wrapped in reverb. Meanwhile Sis’s only ghost is the cake pop she dropped last week. But she sings it with her whole chest, three years old going on divorced middle manager. Meanwhile I’m in the driver’s seat muttering, “Johnny, you emotional bastard,” while Sis treats it like her personal anthem.

The living room becomes our arena. Air guitar, air drums, air saxophone — the whole air band is present. Sis is frontwoman, naturally, and I’m just trying to keep up on bass while she burns down the stage. Sis wanted to go with us so bad! She told her mom “Auntie Kate is going to Bilmuri concert and SHE’S NOT TAKING ME!” Like she was tattling on me. I wish she could come but it gets tricky. Because the music itself? It’s safe-adjacent. You can blast it with a kid in the car without anyone calling CPS. But the show? That’s where it turns. On stage they’re dropping f-bombs, telling “dick jokes”, and the pit is a contact sport. Try explaining that to a toddler who just wants to scream along: yes, you can sing the songs, but no, you can’t repeat everything the band says on stage in front of boomers.

At the last show, I saw a few kids sprinkled around. Not pit-goblins, not sparkly Troll wannabes — just kids who clearly knew the laws of hanging out in adult spaces. One dad even crowd-surfed his 7-year-old daughter out to security. She was cool. She fit in. She looked like she belonged, just smaller. And the crowd cheered for her like she’d been one of us all along.

And that’s the part that’s equal parts terrifying and exhilarating. Because Sis? She’s headed straight there. One day she’ll demand pit rights, and she’ll walk in all bows and confidence, ready to scream like she invented noise. I’ll be right behind her — not in the pit maybe, but close enough. Clutching my iced coffee like a weapon, praying she doesn’t fracture a tibia, but still laughing my ass off. Because if my tiny glitter goblin wants to crank the hog, then guess what? Cool Auntie’s in.

Later that night, I sent her mom a video of Straight Through You so Sis could watch it when she woke up. But this little sweetie pie was still wide awake. She squealed watching her auntie dance around and rip air saxophone almost as good as Gabi (hair toss). She was sad she couldn’t come, sure, but she was grinning at my video, happy just to watch me vibe.