Beer, Bourbon, Dylan, and The Avett Brothers

Keep in mind this is being written by the mama who brings coffee/hot chocolate/ water to their beds and starts their cars in the cold, but who currently is not doing their laundry because she is on strike and the hold out waiting game has begun.  But this mama and her husband/partner in crime did hold out some things. There are a few things we didn't do for our children; there are some things we made about us and not them--music and movies.

Well that's half true--we (read me) said that I was not going to have those children that sat in front of videos all day, so I refused to allow anyone to give them to the children.  We did watch public television but videos--I was adamant.  That was until the week that three had the flu and I was pregnant and incredibly sick with the fourth.  After we'd watched our wedding video for the umpteenth time that day, I begged my neighbors to pleeeeeeeease loan us some videos.  (And yes I did have to eat crow to do it, but I threw it up anyway, so it balanced out...)  But you know the great thing about those endless hours watching our wedding video?  The children all know every person in them and they are still connected to them.  We have conversations and mention names of the people who have been a part of our lives for over 20 years, and they matter not only to us but also to the children.  And then there's music....

This was the one area where Chris and his stubborn streak played out (and for those of you counting and already realize my neurotic behaviors far outnumber Chris' quit reading or keep your comments to yourself!) Anyway, Chris put his foot down on what music was allowed in the house--no Disney sound tracks, barney sing-a-longs or any other "kiddie crap" (his words not mine). We did have Jerry Garcia for Kids, but that was the extent of his "giving in."  So now here's a little bit of confession--when he wasn't in the car, sometimes I gave in and popped a borrowed tape in (I couldn't buy it he would have known)--but especially on long road trips by myself sometimes giving in was the difference between driving us all into a ditch and happily singing along to "I love you, you love me." This probably helps explain why the children would ask, "Can't Daddy just fly and meet us there?" When he was in the car, Chris was the controller of the radio--NPR, sports, and music he chose. They whined, they begged, they pleaded, but he wouldn't budge.  The louder their protests became, the louder the radio became--a contest I could never quite figure out--why do we want to increase the noise?

Much of the time, they were happy.  Much of the time they could sing-along--every word to every John Prine song, Jimmy Buffet (even the inappropriate ones--I eventually did skip some of those). Caroline told her three year old teacher her favorite song was Beer Run--this was the same teacher who when she left the classroom to get a drink Caroline asked her, "beer or bourbon?"  Yep, that's Growing Up Doyle!  When Sarah Katherine was 3 all the fathers loved her because at birthday parties she asked for Dylan instead of Barney--she was often sent over to the more neurotic than me (or neurotic in other ways) mothers to make these requests.  (Child labor...)  Music was our hold out--and music is now part of what holds our family closeness together.  Chris, Sarah Katherine, and Caroline all play the guitar and mandolin; the girls and I play the piano; the boys have played a variety of instruments, and they all (myself excluded) have gorgeous voices.  We've always got music going in the house--sometimes a fight breaks out as we all try to connect our iphones to the blue tooth, but a little friendly musical competition never hurt anyone, right?

Yesterday Chris and Sarah Katherine drove to St. Louis--a daddy and his 18 year old daughter on a Saturday night--to hear The Avett Brothers.  On the way down they listened to the UVA/Notre Dame basketball game.  No radio battles, just a time of togetherness; a time of love--sometimes it's worth the hardline, sometimes, it's worth holding out.  Sometimes, that's what makes the memories.