Tucker has developed a strong affinity for marching band music.
While Robb and I are former marching band members, and while we hold a special place in our hearts for a good halftime show, it's not as though we are blasting Sousa's finest all day long. But Tuck has heard enough of it to know that he loves it.
Like, he really loves it. He gets it slightly confused with orchestral music; they are synonymous in his mind. But he definitely prefers instrumental to vocal arrangements. He's three. Go figure.
Now, any time I turn on my iPod, I hear his adamant requests: "Motsing Band music, Mommy. I want to hear it."
While I value his ear for music as well as his opinion, I also value my own listening choices. So he doesn't always win.
I was jovially lamenting this to my mom recently, talking about Tucker's unabashed attempts at controlling the musical atmosphere at our house.
In response, she playfully said, "You know, it's going to be a long time before I give you any sympathy at all for feeling slightly annoyed with a son who tells you what he wants most. Let's think about where we were a year ago. We couldn't begin to imagine a full sentence from Tucker, let alone a specific request for marching band music."
Touche. She has walked this journey closely with us, rejoicing over every new word, and learning his language too. Her gentle, humorous reminder was a kind prod toward perspective.
(And truthfully, I wasn't really complaining. His conversation skills are growing everyday, and I hope to never forget what it was like when I wished to hear anything at all. Part of that is thanks to the posterity of this blog... I've captured it all.)
So, just for memory's sake, I visited an entry from one year ago... this is what I found.
It's been a good year. And he can have his marching band music.