THE KNACK - They were right - the little girls do understand.

Dawn breaks over a perfect June morning. A gentle breeze wafts through the window. My husband sleeps evenly next to me. Outside, a mourning dove coos.

A sound brushes the scene, a gentle shwoosh. I dismiss it. But a few moments later, it comes again: shwoosh, barely audible. My brow crinkles in bewilderment. Shwoosh, shwoosh, shwoosh. I ease out of bed and tiptoe in search of the noise, which leads me into my 4-month-old daughter's room.

She is blinking in her crib, her tiny fists and feet moving in the space above her. At the sight of me, she gurgles and pushes her right foot against a candy-like red-and-white noisemaker on a hanging busy board, heretofore untouched. The cheerful barrel spins in response, making the shwoosh noise. She giggles. I giggle. She does it again.

"What is that and did my little snooker-wooker make a noise?" She spins the barrel again and again. We both laugh and revel in this benchmark.

Little do I know.

Fast-forward a few years. I am unloading the dryer while my preschooler colors in the next room. The '80s pop mix CD she favors plays softly on the stereo. Is it my imagination or did the volume increase? I cock my ear. A shock of sound blasts through the house. I startle, then grin as I realize it's my kid discovering the wonders of the stereo controls.

All of a sudden the Thompson Twins come to a screeching halt. I creep around the doorjamb to spy. Sure enough, she is plopped in front of the stereo orchestrating a regular kidapalooza. Wang Chung blares and is nixed for Gary Numan who gives way to the Knack, specifically "My Sharona." She pauses. About halfway through the song, she plays it from the top. Isn't she adorable? She plays it again. How cute!

My toothy smile starts to wane at the fifth playing.

My Sharona!

Again and again and again. All day. And the next day and the next. "At least it's not that creepy Barney "I Love You' song," I say to my husband without conviction. "Uh-huh," he says listlessly.

Should have taken down that busy board as soon as she figured out how to bean the spinning drum thingie with her foot, I think.

Eventually, she tires of Sharona and re-enters investigative mode, wherein she discovers the likes of "Uptown Girl," "What's New Pussycat," and Shirley Bassey's "Goldfinger," which is kitschy and fun - until you've heard it 10 times in a row. Can this get any worse?

Somewhere between Polly Pocket and Bratz, outside forces descend in the form of other 7- and 8-year-old girls. And they bring along Aaron Carter, an androgynous N'Sync-esque pretween heartthrob whose profound artistic efforts include titles such as "Crazy Little Party Girl" and "You Get to My Heart."

"Payback for your Partridge Family days," says my husband. I silently concede.

The Mini Cooper, however, is my domain. With an iron fist, I insert my mix CDs into the dash. To my wonderment, the kid takes to Lou Reed's "Adventurer" and Soul Coughing's "Screenwriter's Blues," which is great until the line, "And the radio man laughs, because the radio man fucks a model too" spills out of the speakers and I'm left stumbling through the sorry-you-can't-listen-because-there-is-some-very-rude-language-in-that-song speech as I negotiate the mean streets of Parma, Seven Hills and Independence. But things progress nonetheless. She falls in love with Gillian Welsh as well as Rosemary Clooney.

Any grounds I gain courtesy of the Mini Cooper are eventually usurped by demon Disney and an unwatchable TV show called Hannah Montana, an episode of which cannot be missed under any circumstances despite the fact that every show is virtually identical. The title character is played by one Miley Cyrus, spawn of Billy Ray "Achy-Breaky Heart" Cyrus. And when the show is over, we enjoy Miley's solo talents as "We Got the Party," "True Friend" and "I Miss You" spew from the stereo speakers. Joy!

But one golden-egg-laying goose isn't enough for King Walt and his minions. So he goes and starts another diabolical phenomenon: High School Musical 2, which is what you get when you rub Grease all over a Tiger Beat magazine, then soak the whole mess in Disney Bleach until the smell of Cosmic Sparkle Berry Fruit Body Mist fills all of tweenland. And how many times can I listen to the pained, mournful chorus of please please please please please pleeeeeeeease, Mom, please! Until I break down and buy the whole soundtrack?

So now in addition to watching High School Musical 2 Every. Single. Time. It. Comes. On. I get to listen to gems like "Gotta Go My Own Way" and "Bet On It" endlessly. How can I impart to you the nuance of HSM2? I know! Here's a sample lyric:

I'm not gonna stop, that's who I am

I'll give it all I got, that is my plan

Will I find what I lost, you know you can

Bet on it, bet on it, bet on it, bet on it

I never thought I'd say it, but I miss

the Knack.

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