Today was not a stellar day in the life of my children. Relationally, this impacts me, their mother. Oh, I am sure it will pale in comparison to what lies ahead as we enter the wildly hormonal teenage years. However, in the life of elementary students, well, this ranks pretty low on the success rung for me, the mom.
This morning, it was all Lily. Three years of preschool and only a handful of days did she ever cry at leaving me. Now, in kindergarten, she cries every morning, asking, rather begging to stay with me. One of the deciding factors to send her on to 'big school' this year was that she has always loved school and has never exhibited separation anxiety. In fact, none of my children have had any bouts of such for more than a couple of days. Not only does this delay us in getting ready in the mornings, it frustrates me because I have no real idea how to handle it. She is fine in the classroom which makes me believe this is a power thing?? See? I have no idea.
Fastforward to pick-up time at the school. My first hit was when my eyes landed on Sadie's teacher. She promptly walked towards me and as her eyes flitted everywhere but into mine, I could tell that bad news was eminent.
"Sadie, had a bad day today. She had several warnings and went on yellow. We had two specials today and both teachers mentioned Sadie's behavior, too. She had a very hard time controlling herself today. I have moved the children around and I have partnered Sadie with a very quiet girl, so we will see if that helps."
As she finished talking, another teacher brought Sadie outside. I was a bit confused, because Sadie was supposed to be in the holding area and evidently this other teacher thought she wasn't supposed to be there. This other teacher announced quite loudly, "I found Sadie hanging out in the holding room." It made for a quite a confusing and slightly embarrassing moment as all other parental eyes seemed drawn toward my direction.
As I found out, Sadie had also taken it upon herself to help another student, who had a cast on his foot, down the elevator. Elevators are not allowed to be used by students unless instructed by the teacher. Sadie had not been instructed to do so. Yay to Sadie for being helpful, right? But, I know she only did it to ride the elevator.
Then, Lily came outside only to announce to me that she had had, "a very bad day, Mommy." Sigh. I tracked down her teacher only to be told that she had some trouble listening and focusing today. She acted very tired throughout the day.
Next comes Ethan. I barely glanced at his teacher, afraid of what might come next. I did get a nugget of encouragement in that the teacher said there was a, "bit of hope." This comment comes after last week's statement from the teacher, "I could stand for Ethan to be a bit more 'present' in the classroom." I thought that was a diplomatic way to state what really translates to: he needs to get his act together. As we walk away, one of Ethan's friends comes running after him carrying something in his hand. He shouts to my always forgetful son, "Ethan, you forgot your lunchbox!"
We traipse off to the car, all pretty dejected and low. As we left school to head to Ethan's guitar lessons, I tried to be positive. "Did you all get my notes in your lunch today?" Coincidently, they all said, "(Child's Name), you are the best! I love you! Mom,". No one clearly answered me, adding to my feelings of resignation.
While continuing on to our afternoon activities, Ethan decided to change into swim gear in the car before his guitar lesson. I emphasized to him to make sure he got everything back into his swim bag. Ethan responded with, "Oh, Mah-um." He scampered out the car door. Soon after, I picked him up from guitar and deposited him and Sadie at the pool for swim team.
Imagine my shock when I arrived to pick them up from swim team, Ethan announced to me, quite audibly I might add, that I forgot to pack his swim suit and he had to swim in his exercise shorts. Apologizing, I scurried to the car, only to check the back seat and find, viola! his swim shorts.
I announced that we were meeting my own father for dinner. Sadie collapsed in a heap because there was no brush to help her pool head. Ethan started to cry, yes cry, because he did not have dry underwear to put on. The thought of going commando sent him into a tailspin. But wait...he could don his still dry swim suit. Solution! And, my step mom might have a brush. Life could move on.
During dinner, Sadie fell asleep and Lily burped twice so loudly that patrons of the restaurant turned their heads in dismay. Lily could also not sit still which meant constantly kicking her nearest neighbor, me, with her feet. Upon arriving home, the car stayed parked halfway down the driveway as we have had our driveway resurfaced. Therefore it took three, long trips from the car to carry in all that accumulated in that day alone. Lily stumbled up the driveway, wearing only one shoe, carrying the other one as dejectedly as I felt.
As I walked to the car on the last trip, I picked up Ethan's underwear and a pair of his socks that had fallen out of his bag which laid quite pathetically on the wet driveway... oblivious to him, of course. In the laundry room, while unpacking swim bags, I pulled out a t-shirt from Ethan's swim bag. I held it up and showed it to him. I already knew the answer before I asked.
"I think that is Coach Rob's t-shirt. How did that get in my bag?" Seriously, Ethan? Seriously?
Tonight, I ask myself, "Can I hold this all together for an entire school year?" I really should get paid more for this job on days like today. I think this will definitely be the year of repetition -repetition in what comes out of my mouth. "Focus, Self-control, You are OK, FOCUS!" There has to be an easier way, right?
Showing posts with label childhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label childhood. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Chapter 2, The Physical Prowess of Sadie
Let's see. She must have been three and a half. Shockingly, what I found in her room, could have killed her, easily. Now, I can be amazed at how her determination, creativity, dexterity, imagination and keen skills of manipulation converged together in this single event.
Sadie had a strong affinity for the Flintstone vitamins we kept on the highest shelf of our tall kitchen cabinets. She was a tiny little thing for her age, but with amazing fine motor skills and physical flexibility.
I entered her bedroom to clean up what was always the Sadie-tornado-induced disaster. I approached the little round play kitchen and saw a white piece of plastic with jagged edges sitting in the play microwave. I picked it up, it was clearly a lid with some of the surrounding pieces of plastic intact. I began to search around for other clues to this mystery. It didn't take long to find it. Hidden underneath her freshly painted white desk was the remainder of the large plastic bottle of vitamins and a very sharp kitchen knife.
Here is what she accomplished sometime in the previous day or so. She had scrambled onto the kitchen counter, stood on tip toes to retrieve the "child-proof" bottle of vitamins (which by the way are chocked full of iron). She then scrambled to another counter to procure a sharp kitchen knife from the butcher block holder. At some point she took both items up the long stairway to her room. Then, she proceeded to use the sharp kitchen knife to completely cut through the very thick plastic bottle and ultimately cut the entire lid off, creating two pieces. She achieved this without a single cut or injury to herself.
In my panicked discovery, I quickly grabbed the phone and dialed poison control. The overdose of iron could be deadly. Because this was the "Costco" version of the bottle, there was no way to tell exactly how many had been ingested. I was instructed to quiz Sadie on how many she took. Sadie calmly answered me, "Mommy, I just took 1/2 pill a day, just like I 'posed to. I used the knife to cut them into two." Of course. The child who goes to all the trouble to obtain the vitamins, breaking every rule in our house, will at least follow the instructions on the bottle.
The operator was very kind and after discussing the time frame of the incident we gathered that she was most likely ok. However, I was instructed to watch her like a hawk, which clearly I had not been doing, and to go to the emergency room if a slew of reactions began to present themselves.
And, where was I when all of this was happening? Who knows, really. I mean, it is not like I left her alone for long periods of time. I best surmise it happened while I was in the shower and getting ready one morning. I am sure there are a few "new" mothers freaking out about now, but seriously, what is the likelihood this entire scenario would play out? We are talking a 3-1/2 year old.
Which leads me to another point...what does this say about my child? That she is persistent, determined and has an amazing ability to not only know what she wants, but can work through the steps on how to achieve it. Granted, this skill was not channeled in a direction I would have chosen, but I am trying to find the positive in what easily could have been disaster.
I have seen this same skill set played out over and over in her brief life. At age 18 months, not yet potty-trained, she took her diaper off. Picked up the poo contained within, and crammed it into the little toy potty in her dollhouse that Santa had dropped off just 5 months previous. At least she understood where is was supposed to go, right?
Sometime when Sadie was around 17 months old, I was cleaning out winter clothes, switching in summer ones. There were a few bathing suits in a box. While I was putting clothes in the drawers, Sadie completely undressed herself and adorned herself, correctly I will add, with a bathing suit. She even reached down and put her own socks back on her feet. At 17 months.
When she was 4, she could shimmy across the monkey bars, the big kid monkey bars, all by herself. She taught herself how to swing her legs left and right to propel her body forward. I recall in the spring of 2007, we visited friends in D.C. and rode the metro. Not content to sit in the chairs, my child held on to the poles that help you remain steady when standing, you know, when all the seats are full. Quickly, she began to "work" that pole, skimming up and down, slinging around, twirling. All I wished at that moment was that it was not an indication of her future profession.
When she was barely 5, she came running into the house shouting, "Mommy, I just rode Ethan's bike!" I grabbed the camera and went outside. Yep, she taught herself how to ride a big kid's bike without training wheels...all by herself.
Recently, at age 6, she attempted to climb a rock climbing wall. Never having participated in such a feat, she was immediately infatuated with giving it a go. She quickly scrambled to the top, almost reaching the bell, and then became stuck. Instead of whimpering and panicking like most of the people before her, she simply lowered herself back down to the mid-way point. She reassessed the entire wall, calculated her new route and headed right back up in a newly determined path to ring that bell.
And, I watched her yesterday at the Great Wolf Lodge, tackling some plastic lily pads floating in the water. There were ropes above you to help you maneuver across the pool on the pads. Picture an obstacle course on water. Many failed before her, and some were challenged. Not Sadie. Quickly, with skill and agility, she made it look very easy. Her mother was not so lucky.
I am sure I could comb through her baby book and add many other stories. I am also positive that many reading this could, too. It is that confidence, that complete lack of fear that scares me, yet allows me to probably give her a bit more freedom than most children her age. I laugh, but with some seriousness say to people...Sadie has the ability to set the world on fire, literally or figuratively. My prayer is for the latter!
Sadie had a strong affinity for the Flintstone vitamins we kept on the highest shelf of our tall kitchen cabinets. She was a tiny little thing for her age, but with amazing fine motor skills and physical flexibility.
I entered her bedroom to clean up what was always the Sadie-tornado-induced disaster. I approached the little round play kitchen and saw a white piece of plastic with jagged edges sitting in the play microwave. I picked it up, it was clearly a lid with some of the surrounding pieces of plastic intact. I began to search around for other clues to this mystery. It didn't take long to find it. Hidden underneath her freshly painted white desk was the remainder of the large plastic bottle of vitamins and a very sharp kitchen knife.
Here is what she accomplished sometime in the previous day or so. She had scrambled onto the kitchen counter, stood on tip toes to retrieve the "child-proof" bottle of vitamins (which by the way are chocked full of iron). She then scrambled to another counter to procure a sharp kitchen knife from the butcher block holder. At some point she took both items up the long stairway to her room. Then, she proceeded to use the sharp kitchen knife to completely cut through the very thick plastic bottle and ultimately cut the entire lid off, creating two pieces. She achieved this without a single cut or injury to herself.
In my panicked discovery, I quickly grabbed the phone and dialed poison control. The overdose of iron could be deadly. Because this was the "Costco" version of the bottle, there was no way to tell exactly how many had been ingested. I was instructed to quiz Sadie on how many she took. Sadie calmly answered me, "Mommy, I just took 1/2 pill a day, just like I 'posed to. I used the knife to cut them into two." Of course. The child who goes to all the trouble to obtain the vitamins, breaking every rule in our house, will at least follow the instructions on the bottle.
The operator was very kind and after discussing the time frame of the incident we gathered that she was most likely ok. However, I was instructed to watch her like a hawk, which clearly I had not been doing, and to go to the emergency room if a slew of reactions began to present themselves.
And, where was I when all of this was happening? Who knows, really. I mean, it is not like I left her alone for long periods of time. I best surmise it happened while I was in the shower and getting ready one morning. I am sure there are a few "new" mothers freaking out about now, but seriously, what is the likelihood this entire scenario would play out? We are talking a 3-1/2 year old.
Which leads me to another point...what does this say about my child? That she is persistent, determined and has an amazing ability to not only know what she wants, but can work through the steps on how to achieve it. Granted, this skill was not channeled in a direction I would have chosen, but I am trying to find the positive in what easily could have been disaster.
I have seen this same skill set played out over and over in her brief life. At age 18 months, not yet potty-trained, she took her diaper off. Picked up the poo contained within, and crammed it into the little toy potty in her dollhouse that Santa had dropped off just 5 months previous. At least she understood where is was supposed to go, right?
Sometime when Sadie was around 17 months old, I was cleaning out winter clothes, switching in summer ones. There were a few bathing suits in a box. While I was putting clothes in the drawers, Sadie completely undressed herself and adorned herself, correctly I will add, with a bathing suit. She even reached down and put her own socks back on her feet. At 17 months.
When she was 4, she could shimmy across the monkey bars, the big kid monkey bars, all by herself. She taught herself how to swing her legs left and right to propel her body forward. I recall in the spring of 2007, we visited friends in D.C. and rode the metro. Not content to sit in the chairs, my child held on to the poles that help you remain steady when standing, you know, when all the seats are full. Quickly, she began to "work" that pole, skimming up and down, slinging around, twirling. All I wished at that moment was that it was not an indication of her future profession.
When she was barely 5, she came running into the house shouting, "Mommy, I just rode Ethan's bike!" I grabbed the camera and went outside. Yep, she taught herself how to ride a big kid's bike without training wheels...all by herself.
Recently, at age 6, she attempted to climb a rock climbing wall. Never having participated in such a feat, she was immediately infatuated with giving it a go. She quickly scrambled to the top, almost reaching the bell, and then became stuck. Instead of whimpering and panicking like most of the people before her, she simply lowered herself back down to the mid-way point. She reassessed the entire wall, calculated her new route and headed right back up in a newly determined path to ring that bell.
And, I watched her yesterday at the Great Wolf Lodge, tackling some plastic lily pads floating in the water. There were ropes above you to help you maneuver across the pool on the pads. Picture an obstacle course on water. Many failed before her, and some were challenged. Not Sadie. Quickly, with skill and agility, she made it look very easy. Her mother was not so lucky.
I am sure I could comb through her baby book and add many other stories. I am also positive that many reading this could, too. It is that confidence, that complete lack of fear that scares me, yet allows me to probably give her a bit more freedom than most children her age. I laugh, but with some seriousness say to people...Sadie has the ability to set the world on fire, literally or figuratively. My prayer is for the latter!
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Songs From My Childhood
Someone created a new "note" on facebook yesterday that completely sucked me into the lost time vortex. I spent entirely too long on answering questions about myself and well, frankly, am a bit embarrassed by my attention to it. The note, you ask? "Music That Shaped My Life."
Unless you have been residing on an Amish farm, you are probably familiar with "notes" on facebook. Maybe you have never completed one, but I know you have been tagged in one or, out of curiosity, have read one. Now, you and I sit here knowing entirely too much about each other and also about people we haven't seen since high school graduation. I think we feel as if completing more of these questionnaires somehow gives us the right to browse others' responses. Honestly, I know your life doesn't hinge upon whether you know if I have ever sat on a roof, caught a snowflake on my tongue or what my "Goth Name" would be. Black Dixie, by the way. And who in their right mind has answered "yes" to the YES/NO survey question "Have you ever used heroine?" We read this information, no, make that, obsess over this newly revealed and utter useless data like somehow all of this dictates whether we will remain friends or dreadfully delete each other in the dark of night. Regardless, we fill them out, pour over others and in our never ending quest to satisfy our own infinite curiosity, forward these suckers on hoping to have others join us in procrastinating on what we don't really want to do each day. For me, it was cleaning the kids room with a garbage bag, goodwill box and chlorox. Ok, so maybe facebook notes aren't so bad after all. I digress.
So, I receive this "facebook note" and immediately begin pouring over it. Seemed simple enough. Answer a few questions about meaningful music throughout my life. But, holy moly, did it make me work and dig into the recesses of my brain. My memory stinks. I had to search google and youtube with bits and pieces of titles and artists. For example, my need to answer the question, "A song that is linked to romance" brought only little snippets of melody and lyrics of an artist that made me swoon in high school, Terence Trent D'Arby. But despite this deep affection for him during my teenage years, I could only muster up the words, "terrence seven and song" in my search engine. And the word "seven" only burst forth because I remember being grounded for a week during my time of D'Arby love. On the first night of the grounding, a boyfriend at the time sneaked a tape of D'Arby's music into my unlocked car, which included the song "Seven More Days" in reference to my grounding. Regardless, the three word search (with misspelled first name Terence) revealed my complete artists' name and opportunity to listen once again. I took the moment to enjoy a brief walk down memory lane. Interesting how the mind connects memories. This also gives validation to why it took me so long to formulate answers to this note.
The first question on the note is: Song from childhood? I thought this was a pretty easy one. My answer: "Rainbow Connection" sung by Kermit the Frog. In fact the entirety that is the Muppets, the shows, movies, board game, stuffed animals, puppets and Christmas special are indelible in my mind. I still have the board game and Kermit in my footlocker of childhood memories in our basement storage room. The first Christmas in what I consider to be my childhood home, I was woken up by the sound of The Muppets Movie album playing on my new, deluxe record player with built-in speakers (pre-jambox days). Many days were spent singing along with my sister, also a Muppets freak. I was only 6, it was understandable. But she was 8, what was her excuse?
Never satisfied with an answer on these questionnaires, I dove into the memory files of those early days and came up with two more headliners. The soundtrack to the movie "Grease" and Michael Jackson's "Off the Wall." The movie "Grease" was released the summer before I entered 2nd grade which was 1978. I saw the movie at the old Town Centre Theater on Parris which is now Fuji Steakhouse. Notice the British spelling choice of the word "Centre" did nothing to deter its demise. This was my first exposure to a musical, even if in the movie form and I was hooked. I played this album until I knew every word, could act out every scene...people, I WAS Sandy. Occasionally, I would venture into the role of "Danny" played by John Travolta in all of his Aqua Velva, black comb and cuffed jean glory. As Danny, I would sing the song, "Sandy," while kicking a used “D” battery in lieu of the tin can that he kicked around after being ditched by Sandy at the drive-in. I know, it makes no sense. My transformation as Sandy was not complete until I donned a pair of pants a least a size too small (short and tight), my mom's high heels, scavenged a straw to use as a cigarette and sang, "Tell me about it, Stud." Wild, rebellious Sandy, a persona I thought was much cooler than goody-two-shoes Sandy. The highlight of my 7th birthday slumber party was a talent show at which every girl present sang or danced, surprise, to the song of their choice off the "Grease" album.
"Off the Wall" came a year later. Michael Jackson's first solo album was released in 1979, which was the year that marked my foray into formal jazz lessons at Lilo Ford's Dance studio. At 21, Michael Jackson was the original-skin, pre-plastic surgery, pre-pedophilia and let’s face it, less scary icon. Michael Jackson, the 1.0 version. In other words, he was still loved by millions across the globe – and not just Asia. This was also the soft spoken Michael Jackson who emitted little woo-hoo’s during his songs, which proceeded the grunting out of frustration “Billy Jean” phase. The entire dance recital that year had a nursery rhyme theme. Because our class had 10 girls in it, we were assigned the 10 Little Indians. Now how this is connected to Michael Jackson, I will never know, but our chosen performance song was to his first single off the album, “Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough.” And let me tell you…as a little girl, dressed up in a fringed skirt and feather head piece, capped off with my mother’s inexperience at applying stage make-up, I worked that “seaweed” dance move, the kicks and step-ball-changes until my little body couldn’t work it anymore. Which might be classified as a miracle in itself given the sheer volume of face paint my mother swathed on me out of fear that my face might be lost in the glare of the stage lighting. I guess a “hooker” was better than being “faceless.”
Those are the songs of my childhood. Certainly none of them rank up there as the all-time greatest songs in history. My interpreted singing and dancing didn’t add a thing to them and may have actually lowered their credibility. But, they were my entry into what would become a life-long love of music.
Unless you have been residing on an Amish farm, you are probably familiar with "notes" on facebook. Maybe you have never completed one, but I know you have been tagged in one or, out of curiosity, have read one. Now, you and I sit here knowing entirely too much about each other and also about people we haven't seen since high school graduation. I think we feel as if completing more of these questionnaires somehow gives us the right to browse others' responses. Honestly, I know your life doesn't hinge upon whether you know if I have ever sat on a roof, caught a snowflake on my tongue or what my "Goth Name" would be. Black Dixie, by the way. And who in their right mind has answered "yes" to the YES/NO survey question "Have you ever used heroine?" We read this information, no, make that, obsess over this newly revealed and utter useless data like somehow all of this dictates whether we will remain friends or dreadfully delete each other in the dark of night. Regardless, we fill them out, pour over others and in our never ending quest to satisfy our own infinite curiosity, forward these suckers on hoping to have others join us in procrastinating on what we don't really want to do each day. For me, it was cleaning the kids room with a garbage bag, goodwill box and chlorox. Ok, so maybe facebook notes aren't so bad after all. I digress.
So, I receive this "facebook note" and immediately begin pouring over it. Seemed simple enough. Answer a few questions about meaningful music throughout my life. But, holy moly, did it make me work and dig into the recesses of my brain. My memory stinks. I had to search google and youtube with bits and pieces of titles and artists. For example, my need to answer the question, "A song that is linked to romance" brought only little snippets of melody and lyrics of an artist that made me swoon in high school, Terence Trent D'Arby. But despite this deep affection for him during my teenage years, I could only muster up the words, "terrence seven and song" in my search engine. And the word "seven" only burst forth because I remember being grounded for a week during my time of D'Arby love. On the first night of the grounding, a boyfriend at the time sneaked a tape of D'Arby's music into my unlocked car, which included the song "Seven More Days" in reference to my grounding. Regardless, the three word search (with misspelled first name Terence) revealed my complete artists' name and opportunity to listen once again. I took the moment to enjoy a brief walk down memory lane. Interesting how the mind connects memories. This also gives validation to why it took me so long to formulate answers to this note.
The first question on the note is: Song from childhood? I thought this was a pretty easy one. My answer: "Rainbow Connection" sung by Kermit the Frog. In fact the entirety that is the Muppets, the shows, movies, board game, stuffed animals, puppets and Christmas special are indelible in my mind. I still have the board game and Kermit in my footlocker of childhood memories in our basement storage room. The first Christmas in what I consider to be my childhood home, I was woken up by the sound of The Muppets Movie album playing on my new, deluxe record player with built-in speakers (pre-jambox days). Many days were spent singing along with my sister, also a Muppets freak. I was only 6, it was understandable. But she was 8, what was her excuse?
Never satisfied with an answer on these questionnaires, I dove into the memory files of those early days and came up with two more headliners. The soundtrack to the movie "Grease" and Michael Jackson's "Off the Wall." The movie "Grease" was released the summer before I entered 2nd grade which was 1978. I saw the movie at the old Town Centre Theater on Parris which is now Fuji Steakhouse. Notice the British spelling choice of the word "Centre" did nothing to deter its demise. This was my first exposure to a musical, even if in the movie form and I was hooked. I played this album until I knew every word, could act out every scene...people, I WAS Sandy. Occasionally, I would venture into the role of "Danny" played by John Travolta in all of his Aqua Velva, black comb and cuffed jean glory. As Danny, I would sing the song, "Sandy," while kicking a used “D” battery in lieu of the tin can that he kicked around after being ditched by Sandy at the drive-in. I know, it makes no sense. My transformation as Sandy was not complete until I donned a pair of pants a least a size too small (short and tight), my mom's high heels, scavenged a straw to use as a cigarette and sang, "Tell me about it, Stud." Wild, rebellious Sandy, a persona I thought was much cooler than goody-two-shoes Sandy. The highlight of my 7th birthday slumber party was a talent show at which every girl present sang or danced, surprise, to the song of their choice off the "Grease" album.
"Off the Wall" came a year later. Michael Jackson's first solo album was released in 1979, which was the year that marked my foray into formal jazz lessons at Lilo Ford's Dance studio. At 21, Michael Jackson was the original-skin, pre-plastic surgery, pre-pedophilia and let’s face it, less scary icon. Michael Jackson, the 1.0 version. In other words, he was still loved by millions across the globe – and not just Asia. This was also the soft spoken Michael Jackson who emitted little woo-hoo’s during his songs, which proceeded the grunting out of frustration “Billy Jean” phase. The entire dance recital that year had a nursery rhyme theme. Because our class had 10 girls in it, we were assigned the 10 Little Indians. Now how this is connected to Michael Jackson, I will never know, but our chosen performance song was to his first single off the album, “Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough.” And let me tell you…as a little girl, dressed up in a fringed skirt and feather head piece, capped off with my mother’s inexperience at applying stage make-up, I worked that “seaweed” dance move, the kicks and step-ball-changes until my little body couldn’t work it anymore. Which might be classified as a miracle in itself given the sheer volume of face paint my mother swathed on me out of fear that my face might be lost in the glare of the stage lighting. I guess a “hooker” was better than being “faceless.”
Those are the songs of my childhood. Certainly none of them rank up there as the all-time greatest songs in history. My interpreted singing and dancing didn’t add a thing to them and may have actually lowered their credibility. But, they were my entry into what would become a life-long love of music.
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