When the fifth grade rolls around in school, the students have the option of joining the choir or starting the band. Our son decided on band. (And he's awesome.)
I don't even know if awesome is the right word. Magical, maybe? You see, his instrument is the trumpet. Ahhhh, yes...the trumpet. That same glorious sound that rings through heaven's gates as choirs of angels sing.
Our house has been full of heavenly music since the fifth grade began. It's so beautiful that I think multitudes could actually be found rolling over in their graves at the pure sound.
Dogs too. Dogs can be heard howling incessantly as our little cherub practices each night. I'm waiting for reports that canines from as far as two towns over, have dug holes in the ground with utter joy, just to stick their heads in.
We're so happy to have our home filled with such harmony and peace every. single. night. It's as though we've been given this gift, that we get to enjoy over and over again.
The best part is - now we don't have to save for that trip we've always wanted to take to Alaska. We now know what it's like to hear the melody of moose, or whales...or moose getting attacked by whales. National Geographic hasn't even done a show on that one yet.
Yes, we're loving it. Our son can't get enough and neither can we.
Oh, and I almost forgot. This week he told us that we were supposed to be filling out some sheet or form every week, stating that he's practiced daily. And ohhhh has he practiced. Why, even just tonight in the kitchen, the whole time I made dinner, he graced me with a serenade that would make a grown man cry.
He thinks he's actually getting an F in band, because we haven't filled out these sheets. Our straight A student, who would freak at anything less, could possibly fail the one thing he's so unnaturally gifted in. It makes it all just that much more wonderful.
We're so proud and we're actually finding it difficult to contain our anticipation for the hours and days and months of never ending music we have to look forward to.
I guess you could say, it's our own little piece of paradise. Every single night of the week.
I don't even know if awesome is the right word. Magical, maybe? You see, his instrument is the trumpet. Ahhhh, yes...the trumpet. That same glorious sound that rings through heaven's gates as choirs of angels sing.
Our house has been full of heavenly music since the fifth grade began. It's so beautiful that I think multitudes could actually be found rolling over in their graves at the pure sound.
Dogs too. Dogs can be heard howling incessantly as our little cherub practices each night. I'm waiting for reports that canines from as far as two towns over, have dug holes in the ground with utter joy, just to stick their heads in.
We're so happy to have our home filled with such harmony and peace every. single. night. It's as though we've been given this gift, that we get to enjoy over and over again.
The best part is - now we don't have to save for that trip we've always wanted to take to Alaska. We now know what it's like to hear the melody of moose, or whales...or moose getting attacked by whales. National Geographic hasn't even done a show on that one yet.
Yes, we're loving it. Our son can't get enough and neither can we.
Oh, and I almost forgot. This week he told us that we were supposed to be filling out some sheet or form every week, stating that he's practiced daily. And ohhhh has he practiced. Why, even just tonight in the kitchen, the whole time I made dinner, he graced me with a serenade that would make a grown man cry.
He thinks he's actually getting an F in band, because we haven't filled out these sheets. Our straight A student, who would freak at anything less, could possibly fail the one thing he's so unnaturally gifted in. It makes it all just that much more wonderful.
We're so proud and we're actually finding it difficult to contain our anticipation for the hours and days and months of never ending music we have to look forward to.
I guess you could say, it's our own little piece of paradise. Every single night of the week.
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