Monday, July 12, 2010

And you can tell everybody, this is your song...

We were driving to another Sunday filled with chlorinated water, slippery sunscreen soaked skin and guacamole chased with margaritas. We had our c.d. player in full swing, as is our custom, and when I looked behind my seat I saw Jack smiling, swaying to almost every song. And I wanted to cry. Because motherhood has taken all the balls I ever had and filled them with overly sentimental tears. Or maybe I've always been filled with overly sentimental tears, but now they come at anything and everything. It's embarrassing.

I wanted to cry because if there was one thing I wanted to impart on my child it was a love of music. I started when he was in utero and I'll never stop.

I promised in my head (because he wouldn't understand me if I told him my grand plans) that I'd take him to the record store when he turns 13 and buy him the foundation to ground him when he comes of age, when he gets his heart broken, when he gets his heart put back together, when he thinks we're being complete assholes and when he thinks he needs a friend.

My dearest little smile face,

I want to be your tambourine man. I want to hold your hand. I want to weave you a blanket of the highest quality melodies and lyrics. And I want you to experience the cold enough to wrap it around you and feel comfort.

We must dance.
We must sing.
We must turn it up.
We must feel and bleed and scream and go hoarse.

If there is one thing I can give to you other than my love let it be this. Because I suck at math and I've got a bad temper and sometimes I'm too idealistic and selfish and flighty. Sometimes I buy a movie and realize after I come home that I was supposed to pick up milk and we end up drinking water and juice and watching "Rushmore". Sometimes you'll hate me. Sometimes you'll wish I had made myself something. A career woman, a person capable of bringing home the bacon AND frying it up in the pan. You'll probably hate that I hate to cook. That at times I'm not always nurturing and womanly and soft. And that's okay. You can hate all those things, but please love me enough to let me in in this aspect. Because all of those things you may one day hate may disappear and we can be two people with the window down and the volume up.

I can't wait until 2021. My love is a mixtape, and I'll give you the music to make your own.