Marching to Her Own Got the Beat

The person who coined the phrase, "Taking candy from a baby," never tried it, or at least, never tried it with mine.

One of my New Year's resolutions is to have more fun. So today, I channeled my inner Ringo and took over my daughter's traditional spot on Rock Band. While I won't be going on tour any time soon, I managed to get through two surprise pieces that were to say the very least, challenging.

The kids seemed rather shocked to see their mom engaging in "non practicle work." Some were willing to give tips. Others were offering to take my place but my character would still get the points. I said, "Yeah, that sounds like lots of fun, let's me watch you play my game." They were truely stunned I didn't want to give up my place. "Aren't you supposed to be selfless and all that?"

"Not today. Today is Friday. Friday is fun day."
"Oh."

The Wii had a gig for us and they wanted a tough drum solo. "Please let me take over for you?" I was even offered a clean room. I pointed out I could command that without surrendering the drum sticks. "Nothing doing."

It was tough. I broke into a sweat. I lost my place twice but I got through it.

It's an important thing for parents to occasionally be shown up by their kids and made to understand how children must sometimes feel when attempting to do something which the adults in their desire to get a move on, take over. I know it will help me the next time I want to assist with tying shoes. I was having a blast despite getting only ratings in the 45 to 67 percentile until my youngest daughter decided those drum sticks were for her.

Now the little Sphinx as we have come to know and love her, never talks unless necessary. I've even had her tested to verify she hears everything. So when the little girl speaks, people listen. Having taken Mom's drum sticks, others hoped to swoope in and assume command of the drums. All they had to do, was pry those two wooden sticks from a 20 month old's grubby fists.

Hah! Lots of luck. When her best friend/sister reached for the sticks, she said in perfect clarity, "These are mine. No!" She spent the next four songs in "No Fail" mode, only speaking when people tried to reclaim the drum sticks, banging to the beat of her own tune in perfect bliss. But for all that time, she jabbered and smiled and banged and loved every minute of her stint as a junior Go-Go whose got the beat.

When we finished playing Wii, it was time for dinner. I thought maybe, after playing with us, the little silent Gal might be inclined to talk. "Do you want milk or juice?" She pointed her desire. "Do you want pasta with meatballs?" She nodded. "Do you want sauce?" She held out her plate.

Now she used words just fine down in the basement to indicate choices, to defend her territory, and to participate. But at the dinner table, we got nothing. Given that she likes tapping those drum sticks, maybe I should have served chicken. That, or she's speaking in Morse Code.