Today, the Central Virginia weather did another one of its neat tricks on us all. After several balmy days, the temperature took a nosedive. So it's an All Indoor Day for me and Little A. Just hanging around the house, makeup-less, rocking my salmon-pink sweatpants, and trying to get over this slightly painful bellyache I've developed.
And of course, when there are no outside diversions to break up the day, Little A and Momma A begin to grate on each other's nerves. I'm trying hard to not let His Toddlerness push my buttons too badly, and as part of that effort, I pause during these moments of sheer annoyance and dwell on something totally cool about my child.
Today's What I Like About Alastair:
He's a rock star, a music lover, and a dancing machine.
Who knows if this is solely biological or a result of his parents constantly keeping music going since he first arrived home from the hospital. One of the first albums we played for him was American Beauty. As an infant, we put on a lot of Johnny Cash, 40's era swing, and the soundtrack to Amelie (which totally delighted him). Car rides had to be accompanied by tunes or fussing would commence. As he got older, we broadened our play list to include more rocking stuff, and The Black Parade quickly became his favorite album. He also loves to be sung to and there are frequent requests that Momma or Daddy A serenade him with songs, everything from the "ABC song" to Sesame Street tunes to whatever comes out of our mouths.
When it comes to dancing, Little A is a Boogie Down Master. Throw on a rocking tune (His favorites are MIKA and Scissor Sisters.), and he starts a-twisting and pumping his arms. When we're in the car, he makes his toys dance, and sometimes just his various body parts. He'll call out from the backseat, "Momma my arms is dancing, " and sure enough, he's flinging his arms around to the music.
For over a year now, Alastair has accompanied me to weekly choir rehearsals at church. Normally, he hangs out with his Pappy at the sound board and plays. One night while our director was leading us in a song, Alastair came down and stood right beside her, mimicking her arm gestures. I don't think any of us were able to get through the song without cracking up. After rehearsal, we let him tinker on the piano and the drum kit. He even turns the pages of the hymnal on the piano, as if he's looking for the right song to play. His chubby little fingers spread out so gracefully across the keys.
Last week after choir practice, Little A spotted something on the stage. Pointing, he said, "Microphone". So my dad (who would probably have an aneurysm if any other little kid did this), handed him the microphone. Alastair held it up to his mouth, looking like he'd been singing karaoke for years, and proceeded to sing (with some assistance from me) the entire first verse of the Sesame Street ditty "Sing." All of the sudden he's found his inner diva. He liked to sing before, but now the music just won't stop. If it's not nonsensical songs or single subject songs (One word sung over and over), then he's warbling "Old MacDonald" and encouraging me to take over for a solo.
Sing out loud, Little A. Sing out strong. And don't worry if it's not good enough for anyone else to hear. Cause if anyone ever makes sport of your singing, Momma A gives you full permission to slap their lips off.