On Singing

Ryan just went down for the night after a not so bad day that started at 5:50am when he knocked on our bedroom door. Normally when he wakes up at four something (do the minutes really matter when four is the hour) or five something (see the last parenthetical), I hear his door open followed by extremely loud cries for mama. A very pleasant alarm. But this morning! I heard his door open and braced myself for the whole rolling out of bed maneuver my belly requires to get up and calm him down. The wails of the early bird not finding his worm didn't come, but little knock, knock, knocks! I opened our door, and there was the little pantsless son of mine smiling and chirping, "Knocking! Knocking!" With that start, we had a very fine early morning full of a first breakfast and a second breakfast because Ryan's stomach insists on making this home Harrington-shire.

So that is how the day began. Then we had a roller coaster of a morning of a nurse's visit for shots, ice cream to make it all better, and two thrift store stops. I discovered that the key to keeping him in the cart is to only let him hold a trophy if he is sitting down in that portable jail. We will see if it works next time, and there will be a next time because I have the thrifting bug, and I don't know if there is a shot for that. Our afternoon was positively splendid after deciding at the last minute to bike to the park, finding it empty and then Kathryn randomly arrived, followed by Ana, followed by Lauren. Sometimes park days are perfect. 

Back to bedtime. I have been weaning Ryan for the past week so my only magic trick for putting the rascal to bed is to sing. If you were from my family or if you are a random Mass goer who so happened to be sorrily graced by my full heart and voice, you would know that the word magic is spot-on because it would seem impossible for my singing voice to lull any hearing being to sleep. In middle school, I tried out for the lead in the mandatory eighth grade play (there were twenty of us in the grade ... the competition was steep). After my audition, I was at the teacher's desk with other classmates (it was a very informal class), saw my audition form, curiosity killed the Kat, and so I read the words, "No pitch." Do re mi fa so la ti, NO, you are not getting the part. Needless to say, the role went to a very deserving classmate of mine. 

So it is magic that Ryan demands me to, "Sing!" when we lie down on his bed. As I warbled through a hymn and eventually gave in to his requests for the fight song (normally I'm no fun and categorize the victory march as non-sleep inducing), I thought about my own mom's lullabies. They were and are as tone deaf as you can be, save for my own, but I think her singing voice is one of the most comforting things to hear.

Fraulein Maria, I'm not, but a mother, I am. And that trumps any Broadway talent, according to my son. 

Snapped this selfie to preserve the very first time he requested the fight song