That is, unless, the "it" in question is singing.
If you aren't a good singer, things like, "trying," "effort," and "giving it your all," mean nothing. You are either a gifted vocalist or you aren't. Sometimes lessons don't even help, as American Idol has proven year after year.
I have a terrible, terrible singing voice.
At parties, I mouth the words to, "Happy Birthday."
I have never even attempted Karaoke.
I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket.
I will never be a rock star.
Despite these facts, I perform two sold-out shows a night. On nights that I cannot appear, riots have broken out. My encores are so in demand that I barely get to my second venue on time.
Fortunately, for me, my stages are right across the room from each other.
My first gig is usually performed in Henry's bed, just before 9:00pm. My set usually opens with a little "Wheels on the Bus," followed by some, "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes." Sometimes Henry likes to switch it up and requests that I make up a song, based on a topic of his choosing. Inevitably, I close with "Over the Rainbow." It's Henry's favorite and puts him right to sleep.
I then creep over to Jack's bed. Jackson is a little more predictable. He prefers a repetitive set. I sing an old family lullaby, "Dear Little Dolly," to him eight or nine times in a row. Sometimes, I throw in "Jesus Loves the Little Children" to break up the monotony.
My audience is always pleased.
My husband, on the other hand, likes to shout words of "encouragement" from the next room. He gets particularly critical on nights when I'm really feeling "Over the Rainbow."
"Oh wow, Honey! That last note was so awesome, I think you broke three glasses... and I can hear some dogs howling!" And then he laughs manically.
Humph. I've heard him warble through "Country Roads," to the kids on nights I have taken a break and I think Mr. Two-Cents should keep his mouth shut. Literally.
The important thing is that talent or no talent, howling dogs or not, I sing to my children. They love it and they are too little to know that I am not any good. It's their mommy's voice and even if it sounds like a screeching cat, it has been a comfort to them since they were in the womb. It's the love behind the voice that soothes them. The best part about babies, especially, is that they don't even care what you are singing, as long as it's sung. I've dictated grocery lists, given instructions for dinner, and had entire arguments with Michael to the tune of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star," while rocking my newborns.
Michael, Michael, please come here,
I am going to punch your face.
I need help with the laundry,
I am going to punch your face.
I need help with the laundry,
I am not your freaking slave.
Anyway, even if it's only for a half an hour a night, I guess I get a taste of what it would be like to be a rock star. I have two adoring groupies who cheer wildly when I enter the room, are always thrilled with my performances, hug and kiss me as much as they can, and have even thrown their underwear (and diapers) at me. (But, we'll save that story for another blog.)
Little do they know that it's the two of them who are the true rock stars. There is nothing that they do, that I do not find extremely fascinating. Just being in their presence makes my day. They provide constant entertainment to our household. So, if it makes them happy for me to sing to them each night, even if it's embarrassing I don't mind doing it.
It's my way of showing them, that I am their biggest fan.
"....Don't worry that it's not good enough, for anyone else to hear. Just sing, sing a song."
