Photo: This is the start of something special, I’m sure. Lordy.
I had to blow up my entire morning routine so that I could be at the bottom of my driveway with Major for the bus. Major’s bus driver, we’ll call him Keith, had painted his face in Patriots colors on Friday afternoon, was all smiles and laughter as he drove up. I, of course, was graciously smiling, my head hanging a bit, ready for my punishment. Keith was ecstatic to throw down an ugly, stupid, awful brand new Patriots hat with a stupidly juvenile pom-pom on the top of it. That dumb logo with its weird pointy dude on the front of it, “Patriots” knitted in white all over-sized on the front… I hate the font, too. Everything about the Patriots is the worst. Such tacky.
I picked up the hat and put it on my head. Major roared in triumph, Keith roared in triumph… the whole bus of elementary school kids roared in triumph. I gave a little bow in acceptance. The bet was made and I had lost.
I’ve gotta wear this stupid, awful hat all freaking week. Stupid bet. Stupid Patriots. Stupid New England.
Don’t feel too badly for me: Ursa Major was so invested and excited about the whole thing, and he was thrilled when he saw me put that hat on. I’ll give Keith the money for the hat so that Major can wear it after my week of punishment. I hate the Patriots just as much as I hate the Cowboys, but I won’t deny that child one of the few joys of being a New Englander.
…the things we do for love…
Anyway, I still had to drive Minor to school. He had been waiting in the car for me.
“Why don’t you like the Patriots that much, Mommy?”
“Because they are arrogant and obnoxious and they cheat,” I answered immediately. It was an easy answer and it’s true. So there. Minor doesn’t really quite care about football, anyway. I took him to school and didn’t think anything of it again.
You’ll see from the picture up top that Minor had a big day today. As I wrote last Friday, he expressed interest in the drums and I was very surprised to learn that the music school would take him for lessons. I was further surprised to learn that the sibling discount is one stinkin’ dollar a week. One. Come on! Anyway, I tried to keep Minor focused on it all day. That today’s lesson was just a trial, that he needed to try, that if he liked it, we’d get him a big drum set, etc, etc.
To make the appointment, I had to pick up Major from school. In the Patriots hat.
When Minor and I walked in, the administrator at the desk smile broadly. “I love your hat!”
“Augh… thanks,” I replied with absolutely no enthusiasm. I had a little laugh as the woman looked at me with confusion.
“Mommy has to wear that hat!” Minor announced. “Mommy lost the bet!”
The administrator laughed, the gloating about to begin. “Your mom doesn’t like the Patriots? That’s too bad today, huh?”
Minor grinned. “She hates the Patriots. She doesn’t like them at all.”
The administrator put her hands on her hips, mockingly incredulous. “And why is that?”
Don’t answer, don’t answer, don’t answer, don’t answer… “Because she says they are obnoxious and because she says that they cheat!”
“Baby, you don’t have to say everything Mommy told you,” I hissed as I pulled the child from the desk. The administrator roared with laughter. Minor crawled away, off to find the toys to play with. And I? I had to sit in the office receiving compliments about my stupid hat. The administrator, enjoying herself to the upmost, egged people on: “Doesn’t she just look lovely? Those colors really suit her, don’t they?”
The lesson of the day is: never make bets and never tell your four-year-old anything.
I’m sure you’re probably wondering how that first drum lesson went, yes?
I was so worried that Minor was going to talk his way through it. He is in a phase right now where he will just start talking and won’t stop; speaking and speaking, asking and asking, but never listening. I was worried the poor teacher wouldn’t get a word in, let alone to teach a lesson. I told Minor several times: “We listen with our ears not our mouth!”
Truth be told, I probably didn’t need to give him the pep-talk. He walked into the room, saw the instruments and was spellbound. The teacher adjusted everything for his height and, well, let him bang every single drum and every single cymbal in the room. The teacher was so impressed with the way he could hold a rhythm, how he could calm down and maintain his attention. He’s teachable for sure, and he is certainly in love with the instrument. His favorite piece of the set? Yep, you guessed it, the bass drum. OH HOW HE LOVES IT. Second favorite? Correct again! The cymbals!
“Mommy, do we have a bass drum at home?”
“Can we get one?”
“Baby, let’s have a few more lessons so you can decide if you really like this first.”
“Oh, I really, really like this. I’m gonna be a rock star!”
Ya’ll who have been with me for a long time know: I ain’t got no damn room for a drum set!
Lordy me… somebody help me. 🙂 Grandy would be tickled pink.
It’s a new week. A new opportunity to do the right thing, try something new, achieve something wonderful. Some of us are banging the drums with joy. Others… are looking silly in pom-pom hats. Wherever you are, I’m grateful for another week of sharing.
Until Wednesday, take care.