If my life had a soundtrack, it would totally rock. I got my first kiss at a fifth grade lock-in while slow dancing to Bon Jovi's “Never Say Goodbye.”

When my house burned down in third grade, the only thing I mourned was the loss of my KISS records. I was dumped right before junior prom, while Cinderella's “Heartbreak Station” played in the background.

I discovered that nihilism can be cool thanks to Bad Religion's “Stranger than Fiction,” which had lyrics like “Procreation without gain or purpose/languid wills and torpid minds/catapulted ever faster by the arrow of time.”

I got into my first fight at a Slayer concert, only to realize that I was the only one fighting.

The only “Our Song” I ever participated in choosing was “Love of a Lifetime” by Firehouse (she wanted “Eternal Flame” by the Bangles). I got an autograph from Kip Winger in a Woolworth's, where he was reading a “Hit Parader” magazine with himself on the cover. The first CD I ever bought was Tom Petty “Live,” because I confused “Don't Do Me Like That” with “The Break-Up Song” by the Greg Kihn Band.

Dylan and Springsteen taught me that there was more to music than AquaNet.

I fell forever in love with My Lovely Wife because she knew the words to “Informer” by Snow (all I knew was “licky boom boom down”) and would spontaneously break into “Regulators” by Warren G. She's the only person I've ever met who might have more songs in her head than me—although her musical stylings lean more toward Indigo Girls, Loggins & Messina and the “Sister Act 2” soundtrack.

For our first Christmas, I bought her the “Easy Rock” set from all those infomercials. To wrap up her tastes in a nutshell: My Lovely Wife loves The Beatles, but only albums before “Sgt. Pepper.”

But if I was married to someone who threw up the devil horns (a heavy metal salute) when someone got voted off “Biggest Loser,” it would be kind of redundant; that's my thing!

Yet, I fear our shared musical obsessions have transferred to Jellybean. As the Go-Go's might say, “she got the beat.” From “Glee” to Disney, “Grease 2” (possibly the most unintentionally funny movie since “Urban Cowboy”) to “Little Shop of Horrors,” if there's music, Jellybean will watch it. And she'll listen to just about anything, save for Judas Priest, which she calls “Screaming Man.”

If she hears it once, it's stuck in her head until something else comes along to knock it out of there. That's why she's been walking around for the past week shouting, “Who let the dogs out/who/who?” and “We will/we will/rock you (occasionally adding “F-O-E-V-E-R”).

She also makes up her own songs with non-sequitur lyrics and titles like, “This is My Love Who is a Zombie but Looks like a Cute Little Puppy Dog.”

Those are cute.

Her latest song is a musical mystery that's steadily driving the entire household mad. We've been told it's a song she learned in chapel, but nobody at daycare has ever heard of it. It goes a little something like this: “Roll of God of cherry in of all/roll of God of cherry in of all/and we lock tag a line behind.”

You've got to do that first part twice, or she starts all over again. And she's not playing around. Get the words wrong and be prepared for a Gene Simmons-sized tongue lashing.

Who knows? Maybe that's how Pat Benatar got started. Parenting—much like love—truly is a battlefield.