Last week, my cousin-in-law's father passed away. This is my cousin's wife's father - no actual relation, but I'm close to her, so I wanted to go to the funeral even though I'd never actaully met him. Try explaining that to co-workers - "So it's your cousin's father . . . your uncle, then? No? How did that go again?" They were gracious enough to let me off, and even use berevement leave for the day, but I'm not sure any of them understood the relationship.
ANYWAY, I attended a funeral and got to play with my cousin's twins (extra bonus) and sing in the service (not so much of a bonus, especially for the listeners).
Our family - my folks and my brothers - have always been "the musical family". The quotes here indicate that though other family members think we're the Von Trapps, or maybe the Partridge family, it's so not true. My mom made sure we all had piano lessons (and trumpet and cello and saxaphone and singing for me). We've all done our stint singing in church, and mom's always a pianist or organist in whatever church she's in. My older brother can play any instrument he meets, and plays some local clubs from time to time. He and my mom are both quite talented. My younger brother spent a year singing with Up With People, but I've never actually heard him sing so the jury's still out there. My dad and I are normally passable enough to not deserve to be yanked off stage by a giant hook as long as the genre doesn't steer far from a hymnal. I guess we must not be as bad as I think, because this was the 3rd or 4th funeral I've sung in and I haven't been blacklisted yet.
So we start practicing the night before the service. Mom starts cranking at the piano, and my dad and I start wailing away at The Old Rugged Cross. In the middle of the first verse, in races the Little Man. Screaming. I picked him up, he starts hitting me in the face to get me to stop Stop STOP!!!
We paused, and I explained to him that it was just a rehearsal and that it really would get better. He calmed down. We started back up. And so did he. Going to each of us in turn - putting his little hands under Grandma's bottom to Get Up, and trying to hit Grandpa and I to get us to Shut Up. His dad eventually made him stay in the basement to play because the Music Critic showed up every time we started singing.
He stopped letting me sing lullabyes to him about 6 months ago with similar violent tactics, but I didn't figure he'd do the same thing to his grandparents who he ADORES. Alas, The Critic was more prominent than I had thought.
As we practiced, it became more and more evident that we hadn't sung together for several years. We ended the night sounding ok though my dad's voice was failing and my mom's cold was getting the better of her. The next morning, we didn't have a chance to practice before the service and, though my folks got several compliments on the "lovely music", and I'm sure the family appreciated our effort, I'm inclined to think that the Little Man has a better ear than I gave him credit for.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Posts You've Missed
Here are reports of posts you've missed, primarily because they were written only in my head. If I actually posted as much as I think about posting, this would be a much more interesting place to visit.
FIRST BLOOD
The story of the Little Man's first wound. Chock-full of all the things that make a good drama great - loss of balance, weeping, lots and lots of blood, crying mothers, and grandpas who save the day and make it all better. Notable quotes: "I've finally found something in parenting that instantly makes me lose it - blood on pastel footie pajamas." and "Ironically, the Little Man couldn't have chosen a more boyish wound. It's strategically placed and timed so that he'll look like he has a boogie hanging out of his nose in all of the Christmas photos."
CHRISTMAS FUN
An enchanting pictorial of a giant, noisy, confusing lovely family Christmas. Replete with tales of all five Christmas adventures we undertook, with an in-depth look at the one at my parents' where the living room ended up filled with people, and gifts, and torn paper, and excited kids and babies, just the way I like it. Includes some commentary on "the Little Man received metric tons of toys" and "Where are we going to put all this crap?"
FLOATIES
Commentary on the Little Man's recent predilection for pooing in the tub. Includes thoughts on 'Mommy doesn't think she should be the one to clean and sterilize after each instance even though she ends up doing it.' and 'How, if you know what you're looking for, this can be good practice for pooing in the potty if you can whisk the kid out of the tub and onto the potty fast enough' Notable quote "And then from the bathroom I hear the little brother say 'Why are there little brown things floating in the tub?'"
A Happy New Year to you all, and here's to my blog being more entertaining in the year to come.
FIRST BLOOD
The story of the Little Man's first wound. Chock-full of all the things that make a good drama great - loss of balance, weeping, lots and lots of blood, crying mothers, and grandpas who save the day and make it all better. Notable quotes: "I've finally found something in parenting that instantly makes me lose it - blood on pastel footie pajamas." and "Ironically, the Little Man couldn't have chosen a more boyish wound. It's strategically placed and timed so that he'll look like he has a boogie hanging out of his nose in all of the Christmas photos."
CHRISTMAS FUN
An enchanting pictorial of a giant, noisy, confusing lovely family Christmas. Replete with tales of all five Christmas adventures we undertook, with an in-depth look at the one at my parents' where the living room ended up filled with people, and gifts, and torn paper, and excited kids and babies, just the way I like it. Includes some commentary on "the Little Man received metric tons of toys" and "Where are we going to put all this crap?"
FLOATIES
Commentary on the Little Man's recent predilection for pooing in the tub. Includes thoughts on 'Mommy doesn't think she should be the one to clean and sterilize after each instance even though she ends up doing it.' and 'How, if you know what you're looking for, this can be good practice for pooing in the potty if you can whisk the kid out of the tub and onto the potty fast enough' Notable quote "And then from the bathroom I hear the little brother say 'Why are there little brown things floating in the tub?'"
A Happy New Year to you all, and here's to my blog being more entertaining in the year to come.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Hee Hee Hee, Ho Ho Ho
And lo, holidays are upon us. For some reason I am more seasonally inspired than normal. I'm actually ready for the shopping and the decorating and the baking and the parties and the parades and parades of family. Surprisingly I'm not exhausted by the five holiday parties I've attended in the last seven days, nor am I daunted by the five family Christmas celebrations I'll be attending in the next seven. I have no idea why this is, but I'm certainly enjoying it.
I've been trying to indoctrinate the Little Man in the traditions of winter and Christmas, but with limited success. He likes (read: demands) to have the tree lit, and MUST have a certain drum ornament in his hot little hand NOW if he catches sight of it. Beyond that and playing with my giant 2-foot nutcracker, he could care less about the decorations. Christmas books are shut as soon as they are opened, unread, and pronounced "The End". Santa merited a hug the first time they met, and a screaming fit the second. Sledding is ok, but watching mommy slide down the hill alone and almost land in the drainage ditch is worth doubled-up peals of laughter. (he is JUST like his dad)
Baking is a hit. He likes cookie dough. He likes cookies. He likes banging on all unused (and in-use) bowls. He likes the hand mixer. He likes the stacking and the knocking down of various ingredient bottles, boxes and tubs. And he likes eating cookies. Really. Likes. Eating. Cookies.
His best holiday skill, though, is one that he came up with himself. I don't know if Elmo showed him this, or daycare, or Daddy, or Grandma, or if he just invented it out of his little head. When you say "Hee hee hee" he will reply "Ho, ho, ho", and vice-versa, to infinity. I don't care who taught him, I just care that I can get him to do it over and over and over until I bust out laughing. Ho, ho, ho.
I've been trying to indoctrinate the Little Man in the traditions of winter and Christmas, but with limited success. He likes (read: demands) to have the tree lit, and MUST have a certain drum ornament in his hot little hand NOW if he catches sight of it. Beyond that and playing with my giant 2-foot nutcracker, he could care less about the decorations. Christmas books are shut as soon as they are opened, unread, and pronounced "The End". Santa merited a hug the first time they met, and a screaming fit the second. Sledding is ok, but watching mommy slide down the hill alone and almost land in the drainage ditch is worth doubled-up peals of laughter. (he is JUST like his dad)
Baking is a hit. He likes cookie dough. He likes cookies. He likes banging on all unused (and in-use) bowls. He likes the hand mixer. He likes the stacking and the knocking down of various ingredient bottles, boxes and tubs. And he likes eating cookies. Really. Likes. Eating. Cookies.
His best holiday skill, though, is one that he came up with himself. I don't know if Elmo showed him this, or daycare, or Daddy, or Grandma, or if he just invented it out of his little head. When you say "Hee hee hee" he will reply "Ho, ho, ho", and vice-versa, to infinity. I don't care who taught him, I just care that I can get him to do it over and over and over until I bust out laughing. Ho, ho, ho.
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