Let's ALL stick with HIM!!

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Yes, if there was ever a zombie apocolypse, I would most definitely surgically attach myself to the Husbandly One!!

Why I oughta...

My husband is a sneaky, sneaky man.

Of course, he'd have to be, to handle me, wouldn't he?

This is how he gets Auntie to take a nap when she starts drooping, but is too stubborn to admit she's about to slam face first into the Wall of Fatigue.

He gets on the bed and holds out his arms. "Hey, let's snuggle," he says, smiling and waggling his fingers invitingly. And you know, he is a most snuggable Curly Wolf, so, I can't resist. Auntie can never resist a snuggle with the people she loves. So, of course I climbed onto the bed and fit right against his side, and he puts his arms around me, and it's so lovely, all nice and warm, and that steady heart-beat that's so soothing, and he sort of tucks the covers around me so I won't be cold, and starts talking softly, and I just sort of agree from time to time, making contented noises, and slowly... drift... off... to... sleep.

By the time I notice him slipping off the bed, I'm too far gone to really wake up enough to do more than make a sort of sleepy protest, and then the next thing I know, it's dark, and the Husbandly One has returned from the grocery store with the kids, and I've been asleep for two and a half hours!!!

He's a SNEAKY Curly Wolf, and... and... I'd like to be annoyed, but damn, he knows me far too well.

*grumbles*

Rockstars and Geee-tars

I always know when I haven't done something enough.

The Husbandly One bought the Impossible Son a little el cheapo acoustic guitar. I mean, it's a real guitar as far as that goes, but it's still a $25 guitar from WalMart, sized down for a seven year old.

So, the first that happened was Mr. Manzie asked Papa to make it sound better. "Well," said THO, "it needs to be tuned, and for that, you need Mama."

Himself frowned. "Mama? What for?"

"Because Mama is the musician in the family."

"Mama can play the guitar?"

I begin to empathize with Ron Weasley. "Always the tone of surprise," indeed.

So, I sat down at the computer and went to my favorite online tuning site, then sat and tweaked and twiddled until I got it all tuned up (omg, do I have to tell you how awful it was?). I have to admit, there were moments I was kind of worried, because it creaked alarmingly after I tightened the strings, and I went slowly, slowly, to give it time to adjust. "Okay," I said when I was done. "I may as well warn you that it's not going to hold this tuning for very long."

He didn't care, of course, because one, he can't play, and two, he was just plain excited about his guitar. I showed him a couple of chords, which he promptly forgot in favor of making his own songs, and I laughed because, really, the best way to start learning is to just noodle around with it and start figuring out the cool sounds it can make.

So, later this evening, he came in and said, "I want you to tune this guitar so it will play rock music!"

Which made me laugh. And I had to explain to him that it's the same tuning for everyone, and I had to explain the notes for the strings, and what they meant, and I explained the chords I had taught him, and finally, I decided to show him. So, I found chords and tabs for the song, "Kiss Me," and started playing it, singing along softly.

Okay, now, I have sung for my kids since they were born. I have sung to them to soothe them to sleep, to ease their fears, to relax them when they're in pain, or to cheer them up. I've made up songs to help them learn how to spell their names, to learn our phone number, and our address. In other words, the Impossible Son has heard me singing on a constant basis. This is nothing new to him.

So, why did his mouth drop open with astonishment when I played the chords for "Kiss Me" and believe me, I was playing them badly (hey, it's a really small guitar)and started singing along?

"You... you can sing???" He said it like he had just discovered I had six toes or something. Then he made up for it by clapping and getting all happy. It was like having my very own groupie!

Anyhow, after mangling a few verses, I said, "Okay, now I want you to listen to the song on my iTunes, and you'll see what I've been trying to tell you."

It was rather stunning. He turned and said, "Is that you?"

"Um, no," I said, struggling not to laugh. "That's a band called Sixpence None the Richer, and the singer is named Leigh Nash."

He sat in my lap and I had him strum along with the song while I made the chords. It was fun (and progressively more and more out of tune, which was dreadful and funny at the same time) and he had a good time. What was funnier was when the Husbandly One came in to say it was bedtime.

"Papa... did you know Mama can sing??" Like this was some deep dark secret I had been hiding in shame from the world. Along with my extra toes, my third nipple, and the chocolate addiction.

"Yes, I did," Papa said gravely. "And if you're lucky, she'll do it again sometime."

Guess I need to get off my ass and restring my guitar. And teach that boy some chords or something.