Emilia loves Hannah Montana. She’s not entirely sure who Hannah Montana is – she’s never seen the show or heard the music – but she knows that some of the older girls at school like her and that the boys don’t like her and that she has something to do with music and dancing and that’s good enough for her. She’s been composing odes to Hannah Montana, because she worries that Hannah might feel bad that boys don’t like her, which of course means that there would be far fewer people for Hannah to play with, hence the feeling bad, etc. It’s complicated.I haven’t bothered to explain that attention from boys and having enough playmates are the least of Hannah Montana’s problems. I haven’t bothered to explain anything, really. I’m kind of hoping that she’ll continue to think that Hannah Montana is just some make-believe character that she can appropriate for herself and tell stories about and maybe form a band with. And with any luck, she’ll lose interest in it all by the time she’s five, and I’ll never have to take her to a Hannah Montana concert or explain that Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus is a dubious role model, not so much because of that whole half-naked Vanity Fair photo spread – although there is that – or the unfortunate MySpace photos – there is that too – but because her music is totally mediocre and her wig is hideous and really, can’t Disney do any better than these bland pop tarts?

In the meantime, I’ll just enjoy the spectacles that are Emilia’s Very Special Performances To Benefit Hannah Montana (the ‘She Needs A Friend’ single soon to be available on iTunes), tell myself that tribute bands are a noble musical genre, and try to resist turning into a stage mom. Because, seriously:

And also:

I know, right? Hannah Montana should be so lucky.

Emilia: “Mommy, I want to change my name.”

Me: “Oh?”

Emilia: “I want you to call me Hannah Montana Smarty Candygirl.”

Me: “Hannah Montana…?”

Emilia: “… Smarty Candygirl. That’s important.”

Me: “…?”

Emilia: “Candygirl because I like candy. Smarty because I’m smart. Not like the other Hannah Montanas. I’m the smart one, and I like candy. Hannah Montana. Smarty. Candygirl.”

Me: “… the other Hannah Montanas…?”

Emilia: “Actually, I don’t want to be called Hannah Montana.”

Me: “…?”

Emilia: “No, I don’t. So, Mommy. You can just call me Smarty Candygirl.”

Done and done, baby. Done and done.

Our household is still beset by the plague, but the children are greatly improved, my husband is no longer vomiting, and although I can still barely lift my head, I no longer feel that Charon is about to usher me across the River Acheron to Hades. Which, you know: WIN.