Bands, Bands . . . Everywhere are Bands
The Youngest Boy had his first concert with his school band last week. He played the xylophone, rather unenthusiastically I might add. After years of attending his older brother’s school band concerts – The Eldest Boy plays the drums and other percussion instruments – we thought that The Youngest Boy would feel proud to perform in his own while his family watched from the audience. In reality, all he was sincerely focused on was whether I’d take the kids out for ice cream afterwards because The Eldest Boy and his buds went out for ice cream after their concert the week prior.
Speaking of bands . . . The Eldest Boy has become so enamored of drumming and jazz (an affinity inspired by his awesome band teacher) that, for his middle school biography project he read a book about famed drummer Buddy Rich, a contemporary of Frank Sinatra. After reading the Rich bio, the 12-year-old sounds like a member of the Greatest Generation as he frequently drops references to Tommy Dorsey, Artie Shaw, the Chairman of the Board and Mel Torme.
I See Exit Signs and Naked People
What, pray tell, was the highlight of a recent trip to the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston with the Picket Fence Post family? If you asked The Youngest Boy he'd tell you it would be seeing what he called “the glorious exit sign.” And then all of us using it. He was no fan of the new Art of the Americas wing because he said it contained too much furniture for his taste. (“Chairs are not art!” exclaimed the 9-year-old critic.)
Meanwhile all three kids were disturbed by the multitude of naked people depicted in paintings and in sculptures throughout the museum. No matter how The Spouse and I tried to tell them that the human body is considered beautiful, they scoffed. Apparently The Spouse and I were sick for saying so. And not "sick" in that good, “cool” way.
The Spouse took The Youngest Boy to the parade in Boston on Saturday celebrating the Stanley Cup winning Boston Bruins. I took a pass on the parade as The Girl, The Eldest Boy and I had vital Father’s Day stuff to accomplish. However the three of us did watch the festivities on TV. Three separate TVs in fact. The Spouse had texted us to tell us where on the parade route they were so that we could text them back with updates about where the team was and approximately how long it would take before they arrived at their location.
But back to the TVs . . . The Girl, The Eldest Boy and I were under the delusion that we’d be able to spot our loved ones on TV so we each took up a position watching a different local stations' coverage of the parade to see if we could see them. Yeah, with a million+ people in attendance, of course we’d see The Spouse and The Youngest Boy.
The three kiddos just brought home their school yearbooks and, while perusing one of them this afternoon I stumbled across photographic evidence that The Youngest Boy blew off my attempts to keep him warm during the winter. (This is the kid who gave me grief when I wouldn't let him wear shorts to school in freezing temperatures.) In one group photo taken on the playground, where snow is heaped all over the place, there’s The Youngest Boy, in sweatpants and a short sleeve T-shirt surrounded by his buddies who were wearing winter coats and winter hats. Something is definitely wrong with this picture.