Wooo. Those are...
um...
..... ok I don't know what they are!
Closest I can come is the tale from this past weekend: sharing with my delightful, delicate daughters the tale of my mother always singing carols while we decorated the Christmas tree. (In all seriousness, it was a magical thing, as my mom had a voice like one of the silver bells you've heard so much about).
"Ooooh yeah! Let's do that!"
I clear my throat and ponder whether I want to do the full operatic version of "O Holy Night."
The girls dive into a rousing chorus of "Mr. Hanky, The Christmas Poo."
with apologies to Dave Barry: I am NOT making this up.