Like Baby, Baby, Baby!

Last night I watched in horror as Coulter my 5 year old, stared (I mean, like, seriously stared) in the mirror trying to arrange each last little piece of hair to resemble Justin Beaver. (Yes, I know it's Bieber, but you try telling that to Coulter.) We are so infatuated with Justin right now that Coulter talked my parents into taking him to see the movie, "Never say Never." You really need to know my parents to understand the gravity of such an event, but let me just say that when we were growing up we were allowed to listen to a) classical music b) Amy Grant or c) Sandi Patty. When my sister was in high school she somehow, and no-one to this day knows how, came into possession of a Chicago 19 cassette tape and once my Mother got wind of it, she snapped it in two with her bare hands. Now, we're not talking Kiss or Ozzy or even Michael. This was Chicago.

It was only when we got into my Dad's truck that we were able to explore new musical horizons (read: Country) and to this day I get a little teary and lonesome for my Dad whenever I hear Dolly. But as much as I like a good country croon, I know all too well how quickly children memorize lyrics and the last thing I need is for Coulter to go around singing "Get the Sheriff on the phone. Lord have mercy, how's she even get them britches on." And I only use that example because I once had a 4 year old in Kindermusik that brought "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk" on her iPod as an example for tempo and she sang word for word the entire song. It scared me to death. I turned my car to KLOVE and have had it there ever since. (Side note for Suzanne: if you mention this blog to my sister, the brilliant music historian, professor and lecturer, please tell her that I, a classically trained pianist and teacher, eagerly and regularly expose my children to all sorts of classical music even though nothing could be further from the truth, unless you count Veggie Tales, which I'm pretty sure you can't.)

Lately though, I've had some kid-free, adult-tunes time. I've started spinning class. The instructor, one of my first friends in Fremont is sweet and petite and soft spoken, but get her on a bike and she's a mountain climbing machine! Sometimes it's so hard that I try to focus on my childbirth memories just to get my head off the fact that I can't feel my legs. And if I do start to feel a little better or have any shred of confidence, I look over to see a woman nearing her 9th month in her own pregnancy and then I just get mad. It's not normal for someone to be able to work out that hard while being pregnant. I would've needed a step ladder just to get on that thing.

Wait, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, the music is great. One of my favorites is this "Bottoms Up" song which for someone who doesn't drink seems a little ironic, but while most people are dreaming of a cold beer, I just keep thinking about Emma Claire who likes to take her clothes off and stick her "bottom up" while screaming "BUNS TO THE WORLD!" (don't ask!)

OK., so I think it was about 500 words ago, but I was actually talking about Justin. One afternoon, after repeated requests for "Like Baby, Baby, Baby" I did a search on you tube (seriously, who needs an iPod?) an played it for the kids. We had a dance party and were singing our hearts out until I saw Eminem come on the screen. Remember my sister, the historian, professor and lecturer? She had actually warned me about this and called it cross-pollination (at least that's what I think she called it) which sounds like something you would do with a tulip and a daffodil, but as Fancy Nancy would say it's actually just a fancy word for trying to introduce my innocent little Justin Beaver fan who still thinks that flag football is called fake football and that out of order means the ball has crossed over the line, to the likes of Eminem. No thank you for that! I turned the computer off and explained to Coulter that this other singer wasn't someone that we could listen to.

So, fast forward several days. I'd been having one of those, "my children don't listen to me and I'm a terrible Mother" kind of days when Coulter bolted into the car. "Mom! Mom! Guess what? Mr. Wisdom played music today during p.e., well he always plays music, and I mean we don't dance or anything, he just plays music for us to listen to. Actually today we rolled these things out on our arms and my belly really hurts, but today he played, 'Baby, Baby,' only guess what, Mom?

"What?"

"He played the whole song, even the part with that guy that we don't listen to. I tried to close my ears but, Mom, I did hear part of it, you know, part of that other guy."

Oh, how my children make me smile. We may not be listening to Mozart and we may, at the moment have "Beaver Fever," but the fact that Coulter would try to hold his ears during p.e. knowing that his Mom doesn't approve of  "that other guy" tells me that out of all the voices playing in his ear, my little guy is still listening to his Mother after all.