One thing you must know about my older son: he listens to music constantly.
Whenever I assign him an extended household chore such as washing dishes, folding laundry, or scrubbing the kitchen floor, he first has to run to his room to grab his equipment. If I’m feeling benevolent or—and this is more likely—am not around, one of his speakers (either this small one or this bigger one) gets hauled out and the music blares. When I’m cranky, he wears headphones. (I used to think headphones were so individualistic and anti-social, but now? Sanity savors all the way, baby.)
He sings while he works. (Dances, too—there’s a frightful amount of gyrating and head jerking.) Earlier this week when he was emptying the dish drainer, he discovered his sound quality could be enhanced by warbling into a large bowl. So then he subjected me to The Phantom of the Opera's "Music of the Night" à la A Bowl.
Music shall caress you,
Hear it, feel it,
Secretly posses you....
It was quite the show.
This same time, years previous: homemade pepperoni, family weekending, the quotidian (3.10.14), adventuring, now, let's talk.