Musical Mothering

 

 

This July, I will have been a Mom for 14 years.  I’m starting to figure this job out!  One thing is certain:  I could not have made it this far without all the help from Maggie’s Other Mothers (they know who they are), chardonnay, and music.

 

Don’t misunderstand me.  I have really bad taste in music.  But so does Maggie, and this is how we bonded from the start.  In the year 2000, Maggie loved the boy bands.  I remember listening to NSYNC and dancing with Maggie.  Well, I danced and she wiggled inside my tummy.    

 

Once she was outside my tummy, we danced to some Christina Aguilera (before she was Xtina) – our favorite song was Come On Over.  I held my little bald baby girl and we bounced while I sang my version “come on over, come on over Mag-gie!” 

 

When she could stand by herself I introduced Mag to Janet Jackson.  Maggie held onto the kitchen counter and tastefully bounced to Nasty Boys.  I am such a good influence. 

 

Mercifully, I was not her only influence.  When she was two, Maggie started saying “I-BEE-CUSE” after dinner.  I had to call her Other Mother/babysitter Kay to find out what in the world my daughter was saying. 

 

Kay had taught her to say “may I be excused?” when she was finished eating.  I think this balanced out what I had taught her – that Let’s Go Crazy is the perfect song to crank up real loud and play repeatedly while you run in circles through the house in your diaper.

 

When Maggie had matured sufficiently and was emotionally ready, I introduced her to Britney.  (She was four years old).  Our favorite song was Toxic.  Mag knew all the words.  She explained to me that when Britney sang “You’re dangerous - I’m lovin’ it” that Britney was talking about traffic.  Because bad traffic can be so dangerous.  We listened to this song so often, Maggie suggested my sister name her first-born child Toxic. 

 

From age 4 to 11, the music was a whirl of Justin Timberlake, Britney, Maroon Five, Britney, Adele, Nelly Furtado, Shakira, and Britney.  On the first day of 6^th grade we were both extremely uptight.  Ok, I was extremely uptight.  Mag was fine.  I was about to drop my BABY off at this big awful school.  We played Lady Gaga.  And it soothed us both.

 

I realize I only have 4 more years of music with Maggie.  Ok, I know there will be music after that too, but it won’t be the same, because I won’t control the Ipod. 

I have so much more music to play for Maggie.  Mag needs to hear and see Milli Vanilli.  She needs to know that just because a man looks nice and is a good dancer does not mean he has true talent.  Maggie needs to know she can choose her own music and dance her own dance.  Just because everyone else is drinking margaritas and lining up to do the Macarena doesn’t mean she has to. 

I need the music to help me explain true love.  I’ve already made Maggie listen to Fleetwood Mac sing The Chain and explained to her that the two vocalists loved each other and hated each other at the same time.  I’ve explained that while those vocalists sounded pretty great at the time, true love sounds nothing like that.  True love sounds like her daddy singing Blue-Eyed Girl to me, even though the song is actually called Brown-Eyed Girl. 

 

I need the music to remind her to come home.  Even though Mag will go off to college someday and might follow JLo’s lead – dating a series of dumb-but-sexy back up dancers, she can always come home.  Even if she makes bad decisions like changing her name to a symbol and later realizes she has made this bad decision and then decides to change her name back to a non-symbol, everyone will forgive her, especially me.  And she can come home.

 

If I know anything, I know that even though Maggie is now potty trained, even if she now knows Britney was not talking about traffic, and that Nasty Boys might not have been an appropriate song for a dancing toddler - she will always listen to music with me. 

 

And if the timing is right, and no one is looking, we might put on Let’s Go Crazy and run around the house in circles.