I said I could cry, which is a funny thing people say like “that’s so funny,” because if it’s so funny wouldn’t you be laughing? How funny, then, can it really be?? But I said I could cry, and I meant it, tossing the surge of emotion up to that trifecta of batty motherhood, the so-called “mom-brain:” distraction, too-much coffee and not-enough sleep.
Today was our last day of music class.
Come on, let’s hear it: Mom, get a grip!
I started taking you guys to this class when you were nine months old. Nanny came to help me navigate the parking lot, you were still in your “bucket” seats then. We carried you inside and you sat on your laps. You didn’t move much, aside from lurching an arm or periodically venturing out to the center of the circle to pick up an instrument. When you did move it was those innovative movements that showed the determination in your tiny, still soft, pink bodies, whether crawling or army-crawling or flailing yourselves across the floor like Lieutenant Dan post-legs in “Forrest Gump,” I will get there…You’d get there all right, and pop a drumstick or a neon shaker egg into your mouth. The banging sticks were your favorite. You’d look around wide-eyed, especially at the older kids, and smile. At the end of every class Nanna and I would kiss your heads through an acoustic-guitar-led lullaby…
Today we walked through the parking lot hand in hand. Me in the middle, you guys on either side. Nanny wasn’t with us, we don’t need her to help us anymore. In class I don’t think you sat still by me for more than five minutes straight, and that’s the two of you combined. You ran around and around the center circle. You took off your socks, and I’m lucky that’s all you took off. You climbed the piano. You were involved in a physical altercation with another boy your age. During lullaby, you tackled each other and took a hug with each other too far, throwing yourselves onto the floor and rolling around and around while I shook of looks of “is this okay?” to the backdrop of the high-pitched squealing that is full-contact twin-toddler-on-toddler wrestling. Oh yeah, they’re fine…
And it’s fine.
This is how life goes, don’t I know.
We’re onto other things, more active things, more hey can I let my kids bounce around in your padded cell? sort of things.
The best man at the wedding we went to this weekend ended his speech with a line by Eric Clapton, fitting, I think, on this progressive day:
Let it grow, let it grow
Let it blossom, let it flow
We’ve grown so much because of music, and now, it’s time to grow.