They sing along to my music in the car. Of course, I play their CDs, too. Veggie Tales, Dr. Seuss, etc. But when they ask for music that they only know because I have played it for them? That rocks.
I try to feed them some good stuff, including some of my old favorites. The Eagles. James Taylor. Jackson Browne. Some Aretha Franklin. This afternoon, I could have jumped in the backseat and kissed them both (I would have, too, except I was driving) when they objected to my skipping over “Respect” in favor of another song on the mix CD.
They hear newer music, too, but that list is long and rather like what you might hear if you just ran up and down the dial on the radio, if you skipped over the Jesus stations and rap music.
Here’s my midlife, suburbanite confession: I subscribe to American Songwriter magazine. I really do like to read about songwriters, but it also feeds my silly dream that one day I might write a perfect lyric. Oh, and win a Grammy for it. So far, the judges of their bi-monthly lyric contest don’t think I’m even close. They’re very nice, and all, “Thanks for entering,” but that’s it. Still, it makes me feel cool and edgy (things I’m not, not even a little bit) and less like a soccer mom when I open my mailbox and find the new issue among the bills and the latest issue of Good Housekeeping. (When did I decide I should subscribe to that? Do I have to admit that I like reading it?)
A few weeks back, Girl heard “All-American Girl” by Carrie Underwood on the radio and loved the song right away. I downloaded it from iTunes and added it to a CD to play in the car.
Don’t ask me how many times we’ve listened to it since.
Because here’s the thing: I love that damn song. But what I really love about it, besides the over-sweet lyrics, is how Girl looks in my rear-view mirror when she sings it. Her face is earnest, and her voice is full-hearted and loud. When it’s on and she’s singing it, I can’t sing along with her, because two lines in to the chorus, I get all choked up. Yeah, I’m a big wuss, and I don’t care.
Here’s the link: All-American Girl. Don’t worry, though. You’ll get through it just fine. I have a few issues.
It’s great when the two of them (Boy and Girl) piece together an air band in the back seat. Boy is usually on drums, and Girl loves to play guitar. Sometimes they each play multiple instruments. It’s always fun to watch.
Proof that they have good taste in music (and that I do, since I feel like I should redeem myself after the mainstream country music song) is that they listened to this next song today and yesterday and the day before, without complaint, and even asked to listen to it twice today.
Which also makes me want to jump in the back seat and kiss them.