The Kids Have Them Some Talent

In the most enormous news of the century, I would just like to state that I apparently have some mad Grabbing and Clinging Skillz, which more than likely saved my life this morning.  I am a heroine unto myself.

It was a dark and stormy night.

Or maybe it was actually a bright and sunny morning, because LAND, HO!  SPRING MAY BE ON OUR HORIZON!  And because the sunshine inspired me, I wore my cowgirl boots today, because of NO ICE TO SLIP ON WHILE I’M WEARING THEM, because of SPRING! SPRING! SPRING!  My cowgirl boots and the ice, which has been an ever-present danger since November in Small Town, do not get along.  If Hubs has any inkling on collecting the life insurance policy that he has on me and buying himself a mocha at Starbucks with it (because I’m not worth very much, financially speaking), he would only have to encourage me to wear my cowgirl boots in January, and an entire pot of Starbucks’ Italian Roast coffee and a bottle of mocha-flavored syrup would be all his for the taking.

So I thought I was safe today, and I slid my feet into them and said, “Good morning, Little Cowgirl Boots.  I’ve missed you!”

And then I walked down a staircase, immediately caught the heel of my boots on one of the top stairs, and was nearly catapulted to the bottom, as I spun my arms like a windmill on crack.

I grabbed for the railing.

And missed.

And I bobbled down the next two steps, still in the upright position, while I continued to spin the arms like someone frantically signaling the mothership in the sky to say, “No!  It’s unsafe!  Do not land!  UNFRIENDLY!!” I grabbed for the railing a second time and caught it.  And the downward motion ceased as abruptly as it had begun, while I hung and clung to the railing like flood survivors cling to floating debris.

I was alive.  I was out of breath and panting.  I’d torn my Rotator Cuff, chipped my brand new French manicure, had a dislocated hip, and all of my hair was stuck in the lip gloss I was wearing.

But the boy, at least, would not be motherless quite yet, and since I was all alone, I do not fear being featured this afternoon in a You Tube video, although I probably could have received more hits for my early morning performance than Greg Heffley and Rowley Jefferson got on the video of Mrs. Heffley dancing on the sidelines to the music of Rodrick’s band.

With that said and the bragging of my mad survival skillz behind me, we can move on to other things.

This was the week of the musical performances at school.

The boy plays the piano (he’s had private lessons for two years, which cost more than my first PE salary right after college graduation, and he takes a keyboarding class at school), and I’m just going to be the Proud Mother who throws it out there:  HE’S GOOD.  My kid may not be able to bring all of his stuff home from school in the afternoons, which necessitates many trips throughout the week BACK to the school building to gather up pertinent books for homework assignments, but he can pound the potatoes out of a piano keyboard and make some beautiful sounds.  Just this week, he was humming the tune to the Pink Panther, and then I saw him run downstairs, and the first notes of the tune began to play.  People, it took the kid ten minutes, and he TAUGHT HIMSELF, without sheet music of any kind, to play that silly panther’s theme song.

My musical talent is this:  I can swiftly and successfully smack a radio dial to turn from Hubs’ AM talk-radio programs to an FM music station faster than a frog can pounce a walking fly.  Hubs seldom even knows that I’ve struck, until it’s too late, and Kim Komando has ceased telling us about the merits of one hard drive over another, because an old John Cougar song is being belted out in her place.  And really?  I don’t know why my doing this upsets Hubs like it does, because he seldom nods his head in agreement with Kim, and instead tells her from the driver’s seat of our Suburban, “Kim, Kim, Kim!  I don’t know why you insist on telling people this on public radio, but you’re about to mess up everyone’s home computer, and then I’m going to have to fix them all.  I would never buy THAT hard drive, Kim; clearly, you need to have me as a guest on your show.”  And then he launches himself into an explanation, apparently for MY benefit and enlightenment.  I think that it goes without saying that instead of being benefited and enlightened, the information simply sails right over my head and becomes nothing but a bunch of words lost in outer space, because both Kim AND Hubs lost me at “hard drive.”

It may have something to do with the small fact that the last time I took a computer class, I learned to do things in DOS, but I’d like y’all to know that I could lay down some DOS commands with the very best of them.  And then boys and the quality of my hairstyle overtook any and all need that I had to learn anything else about computers.

Because of this lone musical talent of mine, where I am so good at changing radio stations, I stood in awe of our son’s ten-minute trial-and-error plunking, before the Pink Panther cartoon’s entire theme song emerged flawlessly.  I stood at the top of our stairs and clapped wildly for him, without plummeting to the bottom at all.

At any rate, the boy had a little piano recital at his school on Tuesday morning, which warmed my heart greatly.  He and his best buddies played their little tunes, and Hubs and I marveled at their keyboarding teacher’s ability to handle the boy, Kellen, Carter and Enzo all in the same class! What was even more unbelievable is that she had them sitting together at neighboring keyboards, which is a strategical battle error that their classroom teacher would NEVER make.  Either the boys have her buffaloed with fake good behavior, or she’s made of Very Stout Stuff.

The boy stood up before the audience and introduced himself and the piece he’d be playing.

The boy’s performance was sweet and wonderful, and I wanted to just pinch him, he was so stinking cute!

Mam and Pa, and Grammy and Sister all came to watch the boy play the keyboard yesterday morning, and the boy’s cousin, K, was toted along, because he’s only five years old and can’t be left alone at home yet.  K was not as impressed with the concert as everyone else was.  K, in fact, didn’t understand why he had to be subjected to thirty entire minutes of such sheer torture and boredom, but he did sit still very, very well.  He was a Very Bored Angel.

You can clearly see the raw enthusiasm on his face.  What you can’t HEAR, though, are the sixty-seven quiet sighs that he made, when he realized that yes!  Yes, STILL ANOTHER CHILD would be playing a musical number on the keyboard, and no!  No, he wasn’t finished being a member of the quiet audience just yet.

And then this morning, my cute cowgirl boots and I joined the family at my niece’s violin recital at her school.  Since I had acted as my own lifesaver by snagging the stair railing as expertly as I did, I was able to still show up at the concert as planned.

Isn’t Little L darling and sweet?  I asked her what happened to her cheek, and she simply explained the I Have a Brother Syndrome in vivid detail.

(Sometimes Sister’s Husband lands in a snapshot or two, and then they don’t turn out too well.)

(I really do adore him, but don’t tell him that.  Compliments go to his head quickly.)

And poor K!  As if sitting through the boy’s piano performance the day before wasn’t enough, he had to sit through his sister’s violin recital this morning.

He was the VBA (Very Bored Angel) once again.  Although he sat quietly and used his Very Good Manners, K is hoping with every fiber in his soul that he has absolutely ZERO musical shows on the horizon for the rest of the week.

Regardless of the fact that Hubs spent HIS band class being sent to the principal’s office for blowing boxelder bugs out of his trumpet for entertainment purposes, we appear to have some musical prodigies in the family.  I think it’s safe to say that with the boy’s and Little L’s and MY musical talent, we’re just a couple members and one painted bus short of being the Patridge Family.

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