After nearly two years of constant badgering (like being pecked to death by an adorable chicken!!), I have finally given in and agreed to allow Ben to take music lessons.
It’s not as though I don’t see the inherent value of music lessons, of course I do, but I’ve never wanted to be one of those parents who overscheduled the heck out of their little kids, shuttling them back and forth to various lessons and sports, and not giving them a chance to be children. Soccer takes up a modest two days each week, and you know what? I admit that sometimes Dave and I get a little bitter about the imposition each and every Saturday morning, because who DOESN’T want to lounge around in their jammies on the weekend (okay, so that’s every day for me)?
Ben is thrilled, as I am not sure that any child in the history of children has ever loved music as much as he does. When we met for our parent-teacher conference this week, his teacher mentioned that he was “auditorially gifted,” which I’ve translated into “loving music” (mainly because people who mention in polite conversation that their children are gifted make me want to hurl. Remember when only the truly amazing kids were called “gifted” and not every player on a team got a trophy? I do. Hell, I still shudder when I see red ink!).
From the time that he was a wee babe, music has always soothed some savage beast within him. Having a tantrum? Put on music. Crying about having to eat *gasp* real food? Play some tuneage. All of his worries and cares vanished. I’m fortunate that things still work that way. This week, he’s gotten addicted to YouTube videos, which is nothing short of hilarious (mainly because I’ve gotten him hooked on “Electric Avenue” and Milli Vanilli.), and nearly as cute as his own renditions of “Ring of Fire” and “Jackson.”
My boy, he does love his Johnny Cash.
And The Beatles.
And The Rolling Stones
And Bob Dylan.
(My masterful plan of raising a child in my likeness is working! Cackle, cackle, cackle. Soon we will take over the WORLD!).
Interestingly (probably just to me), the only drama that we’ve had in this situation is between Dave and I. I cast my ballot for Ben learning to play the cello, not only because I played for a decade and a half, but because I OWN a cello (if I can get it back from my friend) AND it would be easier for me to teach him by myself.
(and I hate, hate, hate, hate, there are not enough hates in the world to describe the loathing I feel for the violin. Not only do I dislike it’s timbre and pitch, unless it is played extremely well, it sounds like teeth on a chalkboard. And I might argue, especially if I’m feeling superbitchy, that it NEVER sounds good. Maybe I’m a bit bitter from years of having to play the bass line, and therefore never playing the melody, but it’s the one instrument that I am not thrilled about. Oh, and the drums. Ew.)
Dave, on the other hand, PLAYED the violin for a couple of years, so is convinced of his own expertise with all things violin-related. Therefore, HE is not concerned about having to listen to squeaky-awful renditions of “Mary Had A Little Lamb” and “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” scratched out over and over again in our house. Nor is he the slightest bit upset about having to attend orchestra concerts FULL OF CHILDREN WHO CANNOT PLAY INSTRUMENTS AND THEREFORE MAKE MY EARS BLEED. Or maybe it’s simply because he works approximately 1,795 hours a week and thereby will not be home to listen to and direct said practicing of this instrument.
And as for me, I’m just going to invest in some industrial strength Valium (I should’ve named this blog Mommy Wants Valium or Mommy Wants Percocet.) and those huge Bose noise-cancelling headphones for both myself and Alexander. Then we’ll be set.
(is it just me who has to listen to other parents drone on and on about their “gifted” kids? I mean, I love my son with all of my heart, don’t get me wrong here, but I’m shy to use the word “gifted” on ANY of the kids I’ve met.)