These words under any other circumstances, would make a mother's heart proud. The thought of their child playing a musical instrument would and should bring joy to their soul.
That's unless...their child is learning how to play the trumpet.
I wrote a little while back about the horrific, ahem, the beautiful sounds that have emanated through the walls of our home (and neighborhood) as our fifth grade son has so eagerly picked up the joy of music from his school band. It's been nothing short of heaven sent.
Tonight though, a miracle happened. Christian put some sheets of paper in front of him and took his proper stance. As I prepared myself for the bellows of the suffering cow that I've become all too accustomed to hearing, you can imagine my surprise when actual notes filled the air instead. Not only notes...but dare I say it...music.
It was the song, "Jingle Bells". I knew the song not by asking what it was, which is what I usually have to do, but from simply listening to the sound. For the love of brass, it was less than painful to hear.
With my jaw dropped and the turn of a page, the next song that he played was, well, let's face it, it was a train wreck. But at least he has one song down.
The school band has a Christmas concert next month and I'm actually reconsidering the supply of earplugs I had looked into ordering.
Now I'm looking forward to hearing what melodies the band director will create. If he can get our baby to play that out of what he used to sound like, I'm officially a believer that Christmas dreams really can come true.