Sing your crabbies out

In the midst of throwing together apple crisp last night, B kept coming in asking if she can help. Normally I say yes. Last night, however, I was not in the mood. I told her that I was crabby and would appreciate it if she could go play somewhere other than right in front of the frig or right by me. She happily said OK and trotted off. Into the living room. To play the piano. To sing her crabbies out. *grin, despite being crabby myself*

A few minutes later she came back in and happily told me that she had sung all her crabbies out and that maybe I should try it.

Ouch.