As a musician I am ashamed to admit that I rarely listen to music in the car. It bothers me more than inspires me. I end up getting frustrated with the singer or get pissed about the terrible lyrics. And if I hear a good song I just go home and copy it in my own writing.
So…I just don’t do it. I don’t listen to music.
So I listen to silence…or, more often, NPR.
Very few moms listen to NPR when their kids are in the car. I guess I figured if Clare doesn’t know any different then she won’t care. I suppose I haven’t met desperation yet. I’ve only had to belt farm songs to keep her awake several times. When I lose my voice I might choose to turn off the talk radio and pop in recordings of D-list celebrity singing in really high voices.
I always think it’s funny when I get in friends cars and they have Mr. Squeaker singing “Incy, wincy spider”.
“I’m sorry.”, they say. “It’s the only thing that keeps Herbert happy. If I don’t have it on and turned to volume 4.5, he screams.”
I thought Clare would get attached to the sound of Kojo Nnamdi or Diane Reem’s voice. I thought she would get so used to them that she would smile when the radio came on. I thought she would be lulled to sleep by the sweet sound of the Market Place theme song. I thought I would have to put it on in her room for her to fall asleep at night.
When I put Clare in her car seat and turn the ignition and hear the familiar and boring sounds of our favorite radio program, she immediately starts saying “Blah. Blah. Blah.” Again and again and again. I’m completely serious. “Blah. Blah.”
Not only is she uninterested but she is making fun of me.