I did it again. Trying to quickly get Heath in the car without waking his napping sister, I left the house without his shoes. Didn't even realize it until we were well on our way up 77 North to Huntersville where our Thursday afternoon appointment is. I thought about his poor feet on an office floor. I thought about the stares I might get from people. I thought about feeling the necessity to explain to anyone who might be staring at my child's bare feet that I am acutely aware of his bare feet, that I know it isn't the "right" dress code, and I know now to leave a pair of shoes in the car at all times to prevent this from ever happening again. I did not think about turning around. We were actually on time for the appointment. Besides, there are bigger troubles in the world than a 45 minute shoeless preschooler romp around.
As most everyone knows, music of the day is something that escapes me. And it's not that I don't love music; I do. Passionately. I've just lost complete touch with avenues to be connected to what's going on out there. When I ride in my friend's mini-cooper, I certainly enjoy her XM (or is it Sirrius?) coffeehouse, cafehaus?, brewhaha station. Neko Case makes me want to drop everything and start a backwoods, twangy, jug-whistlin', banjo pickin' duo. Iron and Wine makes me miss those days of hanging out drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes til my eyelids twitch and sweat. But mostly, if I haven't caught it on Austin City Limits, I don't know that it exists. Do I want to know? Sure, why not? The last music I actually purchased was Radiohead's Hail to the Thief. That was 7 years ago. I imagine a lot has happened between now and then. And I'm sure it isn't all Justin Bieber, whoever he is? And American Idol. And John Mayer, who reminds of a frat house boy sitting on a skunk-beer drenched and puke-stained couch playing Zeppelin's Tangerine, badly.
According to the floorboard of my car and the CDs smothering it, it would appear that time has stood still, and the world doesn't exist after 1999, save for those few Radiohead CDs and a Coffeehaus Remix/dux. The play of the week has us completely time-warped in my high school years. It's been Jane's Addiction, Nothing's Shocking. All. Week. Long. On the way to swim lessons we found the CD smack dab in the middle of Summertime Rolls.
Heath immediately perked up and said, I haven't heard this one in a long time. So pretty.
And it is. A pretty little ditty. He had me play it twice on the way. And when we finished our lesson and headed off to Trader Joe's, he let it roll on to the next tune, Mountain Song. A faster, heavier version than the previous whimsical tale of a boy and his girl, wearing no shoes. With a fist pump motion, he announced, This song, it's my favorite.
So as soon as we were on our way to our appointment in Huntersville, all the way up 77 North, without Heath's shoes, we were still listening to the same CD, and because he didn't nap, I knew the lull of the car motion would have him head-bobbing in no time. He immediately requested that we go back to Summertime Rolls, and that was fine by me. The CD in its entirety is amazing. Even last night as Mark was watching some show about Ted Bundy, I was barely paying attention, but suddenly I heard Bundy's voice in an interview; the same interview that they use in Ted, Just Admit It. It gave me chill bumps to watch (and hear) the real deal. It's like I'd almost forgotten how original it all was.
I'd also forgotten some of the language. Until Idiot's Rule came on. As incredible as the trumpet is, there are a few words in it that don't make me flinch, unless I think Heath is going to grab hold and say them. At least no one will be paying attention to the fact that he has on no shoes when he repeats what just rested on his innocent ears. Desperately I try to fast forward through the f-bit, but I hit the volume and turn it up, while turning the wipers on. I finally turn the song down and look in my rearview mirror, pretty sure he's asleep and crisis has been averted. Nope. He's awake, glassily staring, practically on-the-nod. At first glance one might rest assured that he is in fact so sleepy that he hasn't heard a word. But I know my boy. And that look. In actuality, he's taken it all in, catalogued it in the ever-forming recesses of his absorbent mind, and it will reveal itself, in all its factual and enunciated glory, when it will be most inconvenient, and most embarrassing.
Tonight I was putting him to bed, and after we finished counting numbers on the clock, his latest addition to the bedtime ritual, we sat silent for a few moments while I rubbed his back. He started to hum a bit. Softly. Just as I recognized the tune, he sang, Stop...I'm a girl, a line from Summertime Rolls.
I actually breathed a little sigh of relief that he took that in, and not the mother of all phrases. Of course, tomorrow is a brand new day.
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