The shouts could be heard all over our little town on this, the long-awaited, long-overdue, extended because of one too many snow days, last day of school.
Not to worry, I was prepared. I had a freezer full of otter pops and a list of chores to kick off the summer of fun. Every child's dream, right?
After the backpacks were emptied (Good lord! Those kids bring home a lot of paper!), the report cards were looked over and then the school office was called because important information (like who the teacher would be for next year) was missing from one of those report cards, my boys were let loose...free to roam the confines of our neighborhood, the backyard, whatever - as long as they were home by sundown it really didn't matter.
[For the record, that sentence alone wore me out, when is it happy hour?]
McRae and his buddy from up the street went outside to play basketball. Wyatt headed to his room. I was just about to see what was bothering him when I heard the familiar plucks from a very old guitar that he has taken a liking to coming from behind his closed bedroom door.
Oh for the love of all that is good in this world, not again! I thought to myself as I heard the beginning of "Smoke on the Water" drift through the otherwise quiet hallway of our home.
You see, Wyatt had the worlds best music teacher this year. A teacher who inspired the kids, encouraged the kids and awoke a musical yearning in a ton of children in which it would have remained dormant had she not been in their lives at that very moment in time.
In other words, every parents nightmare.
Don't get me wrong, I know the value of music training and exposure in children of all ages, from birth way on up through. . . well, heck, let's just say way on up until you're too old to hear it anymore. Music is as important a part of my life as is breathing, and even though I get annoyed when there are 3 different kids of music playing in my home simultaneously, I would greatly miss it if it weren't around.
But, but oh my heck!
The sounds coming from behind that bedroom door are not pleasing! Last week it was "Iron Man." So much so that Katie ran around singing (if you can call it that) "duh. duh. duh. duh. duh." You know the rest, we all do. If not, may I suggest heading on over to your local YouTube site and searching for Ozzy Osbourne's Iron Man. You'll see what I mean because nothing, nothing comes even this close to awesome as a 5 year old girl, lugging her American Girl Bitty Baby under one arm, Popsicle in the other and banging her head to a little Black Sabbath whilst flinging the melting Popsicle all over the house.
And I mean nothing.
Oh, what the heck, here's the original: