Seventy-Six Trombones

DSC has a school concert tonight and I do NOT want to go. He’s my third – I know what these ‘concerts’ are like. And yes, I feel horribly bad about myself that I do NOT want to go.

I am a huge proponent of learning an instrument. I know the benefits of learning to play in a group and the confidence that comes with mastery of a musical device. A concert is akin to getting a report card – tangible evidence of one’s success in a subject. Blah. Blah. Blah.

Here was my view at the last concert:


My kid is on the far right. Behind that trumpet playing kid with the glasses and THIS WOMAN’S HEAD.

And I know there are other mommies out there who feel just like I do about having to give up a night to feign interest in pieces titled “Dragons at the Gate” or “English Bulldogs on the March” (both of which sound exactly identical – except one, of course, is FOURTEEN MINUTES LONG) but that doesn’t make me feel any better.

Thing is – I WAS excited to go to DSI’s concerts and I thrilled at how his entire grade improved year after year – but I get it now. I’ve seen this movie. And unfortunately, DSI got to tell it to me when I gave a flying fish. (Another song title I’m probably going to hear tonight – but just done by the flute section. And then reprised by the chorus so we could hear the scintillating lyrics – but due to audio issues they sound a lot like “Sheepa shhee sheee, Sheepa whee whee.”)

So – do I love DSI more than I love DSC? And I’ve not brought up DDR once in this thought piece – do I even know she exists?

I really wish I could just contemplate these heavy, heavy thoughts while I stayed at home in my yoga pants while eating oreos. But nooooooo. I DO love DSC like I love to breathe so I’ll go to his damn school concert and be happy he chose trombone because he looks rather perfect holding a trombone. And be amazed at the young ladies and men I first met as Kindergartners who are now are all lanky and tweeny and adorable. And fall in love with the lot of them – again. Just like last year.

The hard part is getting myself to the doors of the auditorium.

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