Oppan Gangnam Style.

DAY NINE - 9 November 2012
My car on the way home sounds like a (really bad) high school musical audition.

First there is my five year old singing, in his deepest, most bad-ass voice, "Oppan gangnam style! Eh- sexy lady!" I don't think there is anything funnier right now than listening to him. Really, you have to trust me on this. It's freaking hilarious.

Almost as entertaining is my seven year old singing, "I could be your Buzz Lightyear, fly across the globe" (lyrics courtesy of that musical genius, the Bieb).

Heartwarming and touching is my one year old singing, "Tinka tinka up up up," which loosely translates to "Twinkle, twinkle little star. How I wonder what you are."

Above this lyrical cacophony is the uplifting tune of "Hot Cross Buns," being played at top screech on his beloved recorder by the nine year old in the back seat.

I nurse my migraines with both wine and ibuprofen. I rub my temples because honestly, without naming names, some of my children couldn't carry a tune if I crazy-glued it to their palms. I get teary-eyed, patiently waiting for the musical chaos to cease. I grind my teeth, hoping to ease the auditory pain by replacing it with a nice little case of TMJ. At this point, I am sure you are right there with me, wondering where in the hell this is going and how it could possibly end on a note of gratitude. Believe me, I ask myself the same thing as each day's music lesson begins and I, for the first time each day, am thankful for the slight hearing loss I have due to too many concerts in the days of yore.

There is, at the end of it all, a moment where the screeching, screaming, tra-la-la-ing ends and there is a pause; though I am thankful for that pause, that is not where my gratitude lies. It is in that, regardless of how good they are or how much room there is to improve, my children LOVE music. They love listening to it, singing it, dancing to it, making it, reading it, playing it, living it. They want to play instruments, be in the choir, dance across the room, and sing everything at the top of their lungs as if the whole world needed to hear (and, need it or not, they do!). So, once the ibuprofen kicks in, I smile at their love of and passion for any sound that resonates not just within the frame of the car, but inside themselves, as well.