Music and the Spoken Word

I don't know why I thought it was a good idea to take my two-year-old to the symphony. Maybe it was because I was hard up for a babysitter. Maybe I thought an early dose of art and culture would be good for her. But in any case, by the time I got around to asking myself what I was thinking, it was too late.

The symphony is one of those places where quiet and stillness are very important. I am not being a paranoid mother about this, there is an entire section about concert etiquette on Wikipedia, which everyone knows is the ultimate authority on everything:

"Concert etiquette is particularly strong at concerts featuring music from the Classical tradition, especially those featuring an unamplified orchestra. Such audiences have come to expect quiet, and disapprove of fellow members making any kind of noise louder than light breathing."

Did you get that last part?

We were attending the symphony with the Pratt Family. Ben Pratt was playing the viola in the orchestra, and we were seated with his wife, Cami, and their two daughters, who are Cora and Sydney's ages.

Maryn was fascinated with the chairs. They were the kind that fold up when you get up off of them. She was testing as many of them as she could-- folding herself up so that her feet were near her head, laughing, and then moving on to the next one. But this wasn't the biggest problem with Maryn at the symphony. Nor was it the fact that she liked to swing on the handrails in the aisle as if she were on the moneybars at the park. The biggest problem with Maryn at the symphony is that, apparently, she is a music critic, and she likes to give her feedback in real time. Loudly.


It wasn't so bad when the assessment was good. She liked Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2. She especially liked the National emblem March by E. E. Bagley, and Csardas by Johann Strauss. She danced in the aisles during those. It was rather endearing to see her enjoying the music so much. "I like it! I like it!" She said again and again as she bobbed up and down and clapped her approval. I let her dance and clap because I hoped other people would think it was cute too. Plus the music was really loud and no one could hear her.


But then came the Titanic Suite. It was slow, and somber. And it had these fantastic moments of softness and subtlety. They were perfect times for Maryn to yell her assessment loud enough for the conductor to hear: "I NO LIKE THIS ONE!"

Not so cute.

I gathered her in my arms and told her to be quiet. "I NO LIKE IT! I NO LIKE IT!" she screamed as loudly as she could, while the orchestra was playing as softly as it could. The conductor even turned and glanced over his shoulder at us. It was awesome.


I finally got her quieted down and I thought she would like the next one. It was Star Wars. What kid doesn't like Star Wars? Part I. Main Title. "NO LIKE IT!"

Part II. Princess Leia's Theme. I told her it was about a Princess. "I NO LIKE PINCESS LEIA!"

Part III. The Imperial March. I told her it was about a scary guy named Darth Vader. (Sometimes she is fascinated by things that are scary. Not this time.) "I NO LIKE VADER! I NO LIKE PINCESS! I WANT GO OUT! I WANT GO OUT!" She pointed meaningfully at the door that was on the other side of the theater.

So much for Maryn being a music prodigy.

I told her it was the last song and then we could go out. I really thought I was telling the truth.


I forgot about encores. That's right. Encoresssssssss. At least four.


She didn't make it through the encores. Matt had to take her out. It reminded me of church, except at church there are lots of other kids screaming their heads off, so it's expected.

I would also like to point out, for the record, that I warned Matt during Intermission that Maryn would not make it through the remainder of the evening. I suggested that we make an early exit. "But she loves the music," he protested. "She'll be fine."

Sigh. I'm not sure if I will make it through the remainder of Maryn: Age 2. I suppose I might if I avoid symphonies, airplanes, and IKEA. Maybe Matt should lock the two of us in a padded room for the rest of the year with a TV that streams Pongebob Pairpants and a freezer full of ice cream. It really might be the best option.

Up in the Air

If there is one experience that puts any parent to the test, it is air travel. I have been a parent for 7 1/2 years now and I have taken my children to all sorts of public places--the grocery store, the library, the zoo, office buildings, restaurants, movie theaters, church--but no encounter with the general populous is more fraught with stress and challenge than that of taking your offspring on an airplane.

The general public is predisposed to dislike children on airplanes. Deny it if you want, but the sentiment is palpable; this is perhaps what makes the experience so distressing. Never in my life do I feel more judged as a parent than when I enter an airport.

This weekend I was traveling alone with my three daughters--ages 7, 5, and 2. The older two are by nature very obedient and quiet children. They came that way and I'm not sure our parenting has had much to do with it, but I still like getting the compliments about how good they are being.

My youngest daughter is cut from a different cloth. If she doesn't like something she will let you know, and she won't be quiet about it. Her tantrum abilities are already the stuff of legends.

The first big challenge was security. One woman. Three children. That's eight shoes, 2 backpacks, 4 jackets, 4 boarding passes, a purse, a cell phone, and a laptop. I was a whiz, if I do say so myself. Once we hit the plastic tubs I had everyone through security and re-shoed (both times) in less than 5 minutes. If you are not impressed, fellow travelers, well you should be. I was a wonder of speed and efficiency.

It was then that we needed to make it to our gate, and it was then that Maryn decided that she needed to be carried. I was already carrying a backpack filled with snacks, books, crayons, pillows, etc., and I had my laptop in my purse, so I figured that this mama horse had packed enough. Maryn didn't agree. She refused to walk and then she went boneless and sprawled out on the glossy airport floor.

I told her "fine, stay there" and kept walking. But then I got too many looks of horror from other travelers, and being on a schedule, I finally had no choice but to give in and scoop her up off the floor and perch her on my hip, where she sat like the Queen of Sheba all the way to the gate.

As we were boarding the plane, Maryn determined that it was "scary" and didn't want to enter. She was still howling and screaming when we entered the plane and I got to do the walk of shame past all of the disapproving faces of my fellow passengers. I wanted to shout, "See how good the other two are being!"

I positioned Cora and Sydney on the row across from me so that I could see them.

The stewardess came and said, "Are you the only adult? I don't know if this will work." It seemed I should have consulted her before I was so bold as to give life to three children. Southwest can only accommodate three passengers on either side of the aisle, and I, being only one adult and lacking the ability to cut myself in two, was left no other alternative than to sit across the aisle from at least one of my children, which apparently inconvenienced the stewardess.

I assured her that I had the situation totally under control and that I could, in fact, manage all three children rather competently.

Soon the announcement came that this was a full flight and that any parents flying with children who are not ticketed would need to hold the children on their laps because every seat was needed. Maryn, who was still fussing and being unconsolable because she didn't like the seatbelt, had made the entire plane very aware of where a potential unticketed child might be. I swear that at least 12 heads turned and looked accusingly in my direction. But I had paid full price for Maryn's ticket and I wasn't about to relinquish her seat. So I answered their accusatory stares with a firm, "She's ticketed."

Once we were in the air, Maryn settled down. She didn't like it that a young boy, roughly 12 years old, came and sat next to us, and so she insisted on sitting on my lap for the entire flight, leaving the seat that we had paid full price for completely empty. (On a side note, this kid left the flight with an entire grocery sack full of peanuts. I was pretty impressed with his peanut scoring skills).

In the end, we made it there and back. I am still alive, and so are my children. But I will warn that the experience is not for the faint of heart.

Redneck Barbie

Like many parents, I am often guilty of being dismissive of my children when they want my attention. I don't mean to be neglectful, it is just that I am often in the middle of something when they approach me, and sometimes I think that I have given things the proper attention when often I have not.




Sometimes they come to me and say, "Mom, do you like this picture I just drew?" and I say, "It's beautiful!" when I really only spent a few seconds looking at it.



Sometimes they say, "Mom, is this outfit okay?" and I reply, "Yes, it is just fine." And then I often regret giving my approval once they are loaded in the car and I notice that the socks don't match and the shirt is too small. But then I think it is good for them to learn independence, and often independence=mismatched socks.



But the other day I had a reminder that I should try to tune in a little bit more.



I was at the dance studio to pick up Ava and Kiara, the twin daughters of our dear friends Brent and Katie. I was going to be chauffeuring all four girls to a rehearsal for the American Girl Fashion Show that they are going to be in to raise money for Seattle Children's Hospital.



Kiara had a bunch of papers in her hand that she said were pictures of Barbies and Fairies.



"Do you want to see them?" she asked me. I glanced at them for one second.



"How nice, Sweetheart!" I said. "Why don't you go get loaded in the car?"



I went in to give my final wave to Brent and Katie, and a few of the dancers were snickering and said to me, "Heather, did you look at the pictures that the girls have?"



"I saw them . . . "



"You need to go and LOOK at them," they said.



And so I went out to the car and asked Kiara if I could please see her pictures one more time.



And I found the picture that the girls must have been snickering about.



"Hmm. Sweetie, I'm going to take this one." And I went back into the studio with a crooked little smile and asked Brent to look at it.



"Yeah," he said, not wanting to pause, "I know they had some pictures that Aidan printed out for them . . . " (Aidan is our Studio Boy Genius. He is six and often helps us with our electronic issues; he is really good at satellite uplinks.)



"Brent, you need to LOOK at it," I said.



And so he did. And as it came into focus, this is what he saw:

"Wait . . . is that a cigarette? . . . . and she's pregnant? . . . . . is that beer?" Poor Brent was nearly hyperventalating.


It would seem that Barbie isn't always the role model that we would expect her to be . . .


When looking for it later, I discovered that this particular photo is actually called "Redneck Barbie" and our dear sweet Aidan must have found it in Google Images when he searched for Barbie.


Luckily, our kids are still so innocent that they didn't really notice that things weren't quite right. Except for Cora, who did note the cigarette when I confiscated the photo. But she didn't notice the black eye, or understand the implications of the three children who each look very different from the others.


(I also like how Barbie has Mac and Cheese in her basket, mixed in with cigarettes and a bottle of what is either whiskey or salad dressing. This is making me think twice about all the Mac and Cheese I feed my kids . . . what kind of mother am I?)


Brent promptly threw the picture away. And he didn't get it for me later when I texted him and told him I needed it for my blog. I think he was pretty shaken up and wanted to forget all about Redneck Barbie. I am sensitive to that. Not really.


So, another lesson learned: It is always a good idea to pay attention when your kids, and their friends, want to show you stuff. Especially while they are still interested in showing you things. And especially if it has anything to do with Barbie. She can't be trusted.