Music and our house

So, I have been realizing lately (or maybe recognizing, since it's a thing I already knew) how very omnivorous our household tastes in music really are, and further, how much we celebrate music around here. I mean, ok, my daughter, Twinkie is in band, so there's that, but what I mean is something more than just supporting our local teenaged musician crowd. If you were to sit around our house for a day, you might see the Nephew (Mr Perfect Pitch, curse him) stroll by humming a bit of "Stars" from Les Miserables, while in the bathroom, you'd hear Cupcake singing kids songs to the boys. If the littlest boy, Squidge, happens to be in the living room watching "She-Ra" on Netflix, you'll hear him singing the theme song in his best two-year old lisp. In the kitchen, one of my girls, likely Twinkie, will be belting out a range of songs from the Eurythmics to Michael Buble with admirable enthusiasm. Then Boogey or I might wander in, humming one song (Sinatra) or another (Taylor Swift) under our breath. That's what I mean by celebrate. See, we're always enjoying and joining in song. We aren't musicians, far from it, really. Aside from the Nephew, the rest of us are possessed of fine, strong voices, but a sense of pitch that is best described as approximate. My mother always decribed it as "Making a joyful noise".

 Something else that happens in our house that I have been told is unusual is our tendency to burst into joint choruses with minimal provocation. This happened the other day when Twinkie's new boyfriend Timmy was over for a first visit. The kids were watching "Fellowship of the Ring", folks were wandering back and forth, and someone made the comment that I am the one in charge around here, the master of the house. Immediately, Cupcake and I leapt out of the kitchen with "Master of the House/Keeper of the zoo" to have Twinkie and Boogey join in with the next two lines of the song (from LesMis)"ready to relieve 'em of a sou or two/Watering the wine, making up the weight/ picking up their knick-knacks when they can't see straight." All, sung at the top of our lungs. Carlos/Timmy's eyes grew to dinner plate size at this, which led Twinkie to giggle and assure him, "Oh, we do this all the time. Watch this." And she came out with the opening lines to "I Have a Dream" from "Tangled"
 Twinkie: I'm malicious, mean and scary
Cupcake: my sneer could curdle dairy
Me: and violence wise my hands are not the cleanest
Twinkie: but despite my evil look
Boogie: and my temper
Cupcake/Me: and my hook
All: I've always dreamt of being a concert pianist /Can't you see me on the stage performing Mozart /Tickling the ivories till they scream

 At this point, we dissolved into helpless giggles at the terrified look on Timmy's face. It was just a picture. He didn't know what he had walked into, but I'm pretty sure he was praying to escape it as quickly as possible. The thing is, this happens all the time. One of us will start a line, and the rest of the household joins in. We've gotten Baby Bear (the older of the two boys) into trouble in pre-school more than once because he'll start singing some of the songs we sing, but his pronunciation is...not as clear. But this is a way that we share joy. If we're really feeling relaxed, and a really good swing tune (or Latin) comes on, then the singing transmogrifies into dancing around the living room until we're all giggly and out of breath and dizzy from spinning 'round and round.

 Friends and visitors are frequently sucked into the musical moments, and frequent visitors are often relaxed enough now to start songs on their own, knowing that our little gang of backup singers will likely join in. It's one of the things that I enjoy about home, that we feel safe enough to just enjoy, without having to worry about how we sound.