Friday, April 15, 2011


Every night, Marta falls asleep to her music. It's the music box portion of the mobile she had on her crib as a newborn. She's fallen asleep to it pretty much every night of her life, with very few exceptions. Over time, the mobile has gotten chewed, in the way, or otherwise broken, and I finally took the entire thing apart and jimmied the music to work without the mobile - now it fits comfortably next to her pillow or in a backpack or whatever. When we went to Disney World, I packed it in a baggie with a note for airport security about what it was, its significance, and if it were found to be suspicious and confiscated, would they please let me know how I could get it back upon our return.

So every night after I tuck Marta in, and then tuck Berit in, I feel like leaving B's room is just too quiet. Berit, our major-music-lover, goes to sleep in a stone-cold quiet room, just like the rest of the world. Also, she wants a ton of books and never feels tired and calls out questions so maybe music would help me get some work done.

After making it seem like a big privilege to get this through extra chores, we brought down Trevor's old stereo for her room. Since then, our house hasn't been quiet once. She loads her six discs in order of how she wants to feel, when. So, bedtime is a series of lulling music with a little story thrown in at the end, just in case she's still awake. Morning is rousing Wiggles and Dora Fiesta. Afternoon is playful Gemini. When she's downstairs, she turns her music all the way up, so that she can hear it anywhere in the house. Every time she and Marta head upstairs, even when her music is still going from before, she changes the CD - for a new activity, of course.

All of this is to say that she has become her father. I like music as much as the next guy, but with kids and work and basset hound, you know what? I'd like a little peace and quiet, please. Trevor, on the other hand, cannot function without music playing. If there's no music on, he's humming or singing or making weird music-y noises, like beep-beep-whop-werp-bowwwwww! His music is too loud, too harsh, too emo, too nostalgic. And apparently, I'm too old.

I actually love sharing music with Trevor. When we first were dating he was doing a lot of open mics and I'd appropriately swoon at each show. Whenever people come over they say, "And the hits keep comin'," and "Geez, another great song!" Because Trevor has a playlist on (allthetime), and on that playlist is music from the 70s, 80s and 90s - all the stuff we grew up with, from all different genres. I frequently describe my husband (in a conversation about music or pretty much anything else) in this way: You know that feeling you get when you hear a song you LOVED at age 16? That's the feeling Trevor wants to have all the time.

And I think he does. When I'm not bugging him about turning the glory days music off.

Enter Berit. She's the kid who looks at a pile of dirt and tells you what's beautiful about it. As much as I tried to make her my classic firstborn child prodigy, she really just wants to dance and dress up. (Disclaimer for grandparents' sake: She's very smart. But she strives for rainbows covered in sprinkles covered in fairy dust covered in princesses.)

And so now we wait for the first mix. I wonder whether Trevor will be more proud of the first CD she self-compiles, or of her first straight-A report card. If I haven't gone batty by then from all of this noisewillsomebodygivemeamomentofpeace?, I'm sure I'll love either.

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