And a few days later, once again, we were in the car, flipping through the stations, and she heard opera again. And asked me the same question. “Mommy, who’s that singing?”

And it occurred to me that I might stop on that station and let her listen to it for a while. And as she was gazing out the window, in complete silence (so unusual for my little Sweet Pea), I started thinking back on her time in my womb, what we’d play for her. And mind you, I was not the mother that placed headphones up to my belly and piped in classic concertos for my little one. But I did go through a phase where I was way into opera. I think that it had something to do with how moved I was with the life growing inside of me, and so opera seemed to be the perfect soundtrack to that excitement. It’s full of emotion: passion, elation. Even a little anger (I was seriously sick for the first three months. That did make me angry.) And so I wonder how that constant rotation of “O Mio Babbino Caro (from Puccini’s “Gianni Schicchi”)” and “The Flower Duet” from the French (French!) opera “Lakme” might have stayed with Pea, albeit subconsciously? Who knows. But I’ve since scoured the house to find those two CDs and dumped them into our Sonos rotation.

Who knows? A budding full lyric soprano in my own household?

But occasionally, we get so far off of schedule, that disaster is bound to happen. Take last Tuesday, for instance. I had an appointment in the afternoon, that I’d completely forgotten about. I’m just glad that they called to remind me a day before, because there is nothing worse, in my opinion, than booking up another person’s time, and not showing up. I would be mortified at the rudeness of it all. So when I received the confirmation call, I said sure, no problem. I’ll see you then. Because canceling less than 24-hours before an appointment? Also a no-no, in my book. Anyway, I realized that 1) I used poor judgement in making the appointment because I made it for 1:00, which is precisely Coco’s nap-time. And while it occurs to me now that I made this appointment before we knew my husband would be off to China for six weeks, still. What was I thinking? Nap-time? You don’t mess with nap-time in our home. That one is etched in stone. But I thought to myself, I can do it. Which brings me to 2) the realization that Pea is in camp from 9:30 to 4:00, and her camp is 20-minutes from our home. And that’s without traffic, of which there is a staggering amount of in the summer. Summer is, after all, a brief season here, so the roads? Streets? Highways? Clogged up with construction trucks. Which meant the ride would be about 40-minutes to pick her up. Not a problem, my appointment should be over by 3:00, leaving me more than enough time, but that brings me to 3) Tuesdays? Are a swim day for Pea at camp. And she’s in the second group, which means she’s always late returning to the campus. And her favorite counselor? He asked me last week if I wanted her switched to the first swimming group, because I am always at camp to pick her up at precisely 4:00 on the dot, because wow, you run on Swiss time, don’t you, and so perhaps I didn’t want to wait around for her to return? And I said no, not necessary. I don’t mind. Not a big deal. And head-slap. Why didn’t I have her switched into the first swim group? Because she’s never gotten back to camp before 4:10 on a Tuesday. And if I’d switched her? She’d have been able to go swimming after all, which would’ve meant a full-day at camp. And none of this would’ve been a problem, except 4) she has a 4:00 appointment for her (albeit) late 3-year check-up. And there was no way I could reschedule that appointment, because I’d already rescheduled it twice.

Phew.

So, knowing this was going to rock everyone to the core, I made some ‘tweaks’ to the day’s schedule:

Pea would go to camp for a half-day, so I would have to pick her up at 12:30, which meant that Coco would have to take an earlier nap, which meant I’d have to wake her and feed her at about 11:30 so that we could be in the car by noon, heading over to camp to pick-up Pea, who thankfully would be eating lunch at camp, just before she left for the day. I would then take the girls to a local drop-in childcare place that is very popular, and my gosh, wasn’t I lucky to get them in without a reservation? Good news! It’s right next door to the salon where I’d be getting my hair cut and colored, which was a relief, since I didn’t have my “who to call in case of emergency” person’s number on me. At least they’d know where to find me, right?

So, I dropped the girls off. And they were delighted to be there. And I ran next door, told my stylist I had to be out of there by 3:30 to make it to an appointment. No problem, right? Right. I was out of there by 3:30.

And then, a comedy of errors ensued. You knew it would, right? Murphy’s Law, and all?

When I arrived to collect the girls, Coco was having her second poop changed. In two hours. And Pea? Was wearing a 3-month old diaper cover as panties, because she’d had a minor ‘accident.’ Even though it says explicitly on my paperwork that she sometimes gets so caught up in fun that she forgets she has to go, so please, be on high alert for the ‘pee-pee dance.’ It’s not hard to miss. And then, we leave. And Pea? She wipes out on the concrete. Scrapes up her knees, and needs some TLC. And when we finally make it to the parking structure? Where are my &%*^ing keys? Oh, here they are. In my hand. Okay, we’re on our way. Finally.

We make it to the appointment with Pea’s pediatrician by 4:00. But? Doctors? Never on time, especially at the end of the day. Cue another head slap. Why didn’t I remember this? They stick us in an exam room at 4:00. No books. No toys. My girls are hungry. Coco is tired because she napped off-time. Pea is tired because she was at camp. They are irritable. And bored. And restless.

Enter the pediatrician. Fifty minutes later. That’s right, it’s now close to 5:00. And what ensued for the next 20 minutes, or so? A positively exhausting session of my least favorite pastime: making mommy feel like she has no earthly clue what the hell she’s doing.

It was pointed out that my attempts at discipline were not working. That Love & Logic? Is great for kids who are ‘normal.’ But Pea? She’s spirited. (Might I just tell you how much I despise ‘labels?’ Especially for a 3-year old?) And perhaps I need to try something else? And please, can you ask her to stop touching the photos on the walls? And spinning on my chair? And no, you may not have a sticker until after your appointment. And yes, there will be a shot today. What? The nurse said it could wait until your next check-up? She was wrong. She needs it today. And your husband? Gone for six weeks? However are you doing this, all by yourself? Hmm…

I was blind-sided. I left the appointment in tears, completely having forgotten all of the variables that led up to such a tremendously awful visit with our (formerly) beloved pediatrician in the first place. I was knocked down, I was upset, I was shaken, I was feeling unfit as a mom, I was wondering who the heck let me have these incredible girls in the first place? Surely they deserved better?

And we returned home. We got back on schedule, although a little later than usual. I fed the girls, bathed them, read them stories and tucked them into their respective beds. Then I poured myself a cocktail, sat on the couch and bawled my heart out. And then… a moment of clarity. I am a good mother. My girls are lucky to have me, just as I am lucky to have them. And today? It was one day, borne out of poor judgment. But we got through it. And my (formerly) beloved pediatrician? Wasn’t looking at the whole picture. Just those 20 or so minutes of the day, and making a perverse judgment on me, my girls, our lives. And shame on her.

And so, I settled in to continue reading the most current title on my reading list: “Playful Parenting.” And it occurs to me that going off-schedule for a little while? It’s so good for the soul. All of those unexpected moments that occurred during the day? However harried and frazzled I was feeling? Were priceless. Pea and her sheer delight at seeing me in the doorway of her camp, a whole 3-1/2 hours before she usually sees me; the girls, confidently going forth into this new drop-in childcare center, a place they’d never been before, and never looking back at me; my elation at seeing Pea hugging her little sister, as I peaked in through a window as I left to head next door; the cuddles and kisses after Pea fell and injured herself on the sidewalk, Pea crawling into my lap, to ask me why I was crying? Did I have a boo-boo? Did I miss Daddy? All worth it. So very worth it. Just don’t expect me to do it again, on purpose, anytime soon.

So, in a nutshell: we had a bad day. I’m a good mom. 3-year olds? Much tougher than a 2-year old. Vodka tonic? Quiet time? Good book reinforcing what I am doing with my girls? Bill Withers? Bobby Caldwell? All good. My girls? The best ever. For all of the rough times I’ve faced as a parent? Those throw-my-hands-up-in-the-air and the subsequent wonder-who-I-think-I-am-for-thinking-I-can-do-this-all times?

Pfft. I can do this. I will do this. I am doing this. Right now…

Music is a huge part of our lives, and that’s why I eventually relented. Well, that, and the fact that my husband is a total technology geek, and he was never going to let up. He really wanted this thing. He promised that it would change our lives. And that sounds like a really strong statement? Well, he was talking to the right person. Music has had an uncanny ability to change my life many, many times…

And so, it arrived. And my husband set it up. And I don’t even know how to explain what this little system does. I am the farthest thing from a technology geek that you will ever cross paths with. I had one of those little hand-held calendar things back in the late 90s. Remember those? Supposed to streamline your life? Except that in order to use it, you had to basically learn a new way of writing the alphabet? Go ahead, ask my little electronic planner how it worked for me. Oh wait, that’s right. You can’t. Because it’s buried, presumably, at the bottom of a New Jersey landfill. I hated that thing. Paper and pencil for me. But I will tell you this: my husband did not lie. This thing, this Sonos, has changed our lives. We now live in a home that is constantly surrounded with the sound of music. It’s incredible. Playlists from our various i-Pods, Internet stations, something called Pandora, it is always on. In fact, even in the evenings, when the girls are asleep, and I would lie down on the couch to watch a program? No more. Now I am listening to music while reading a magazine. Or even a book! Life enhanced…

Pea asked me just this morning to please turn on the music because she likes it on when she’s “making art.” Can I just tell you how freaking awesome that was to hear? Rather than asking for a Noggin show to be turned on, she asked for music. And I swear I am not kidding when I say that she was trying her best to sing the chorus lyrics to “Refugee,” right along with Tom Petty. A moment to make any mother proud.

So, now that summertime is officially in swing in this part of the country, this system is really being put to the test. While my husband had been working on speakers in all of the rooms of the house, so that each “area” is on it’s own zone, that project has been put on the back-burner momentarily, so that he can focus on outside speakers. But these outdoor speakers? He just might be taking the search for them a little too seriously. He has to do all of his research, get recommendations, troll Internet chat rooms on the subject, hone in on the perfect outdoor speaker system, and my gosh, if we’re lucky it will be set up by next summer! Nah, it’s not that bad. But I might need to light a fire underneath his bottom, because we are hosting an outdoor get-together here in just a couple of weeks. Our first entertaining event in our new home in our new hometown with our new friends. And so, we’ll need music. But for now? The lack of outdoor speakers doesn’t matter, because I crank open the windows in our great room that overlook the little patio area on the side of the house and we sit out there, playing around, for hours, the girls, the dogs, occasionally my husband, and me. And the music. It’s become something of another family member.

I should add here that Martha? She scares the hell out of me. She’s so… perfect. And I know, I know… she has a huge staff of perfect people helping her to look perfect, but still. She’s pretty amazing, I think. Martha Stewart? Rachael Ray? Do you even have to guess who’s camp I’m firmly planted in?

In all honestly, I don’t watch either of their shows. Martha? I prefer her in print. Or on her website. But it’s not Martha. It’s me. I can’t sit still to watch a program. Any program. And Rachael? Well, I’ve decided that she’s an acquired taste. And it’s not mine…

Anyway, I pulled out the magazine this morning, and can you believe that there was a project in there that calls for, you guessed it, old and discarded crayons? And you know what else? I had everything else that I needed for the project right here, in my own home. Awesome. I was finally able to put these cute little alphabet and number silicone molds to use. They are adorable, we’ve been dying to try them out, but beyond making cute ice cubes, I wasn’t sure of the project that would work for us (jello shooters, anyone?). You know me, I hate to bake. Although I should add that they are oven safe up to 550 degrees. So you could bake with them, if you were so inclined.

But us? We made something cool with them! Crayon Blocks! Right from Martha’s magazine. And the silicone molds? So perfect – the “crayons” popped right out… Although it did take us a very long time to bake the crayon bits (55 minutes) in that 150 degree oven for the chopped up crayons to melt. And then, they melted so much that we threw them in the freezer for about 20 minutes to harden. (I might add here that my issue with Martha has always revolved around the circumstances of this very project: her stuff looks great, but it’s often just not as it would seem. Recipes are rarely right, projects are never as simple as she claims, and it can be frustrating. But that being said, we were able to improvise with this project, and Pea? Well, she had no idea it wasn’t going as planned, so really, in the end? All winners.) Oh, and consider yourself warned, should you try this project: as easily as crayons break? Is as hard as they are to actually chop up with a knife. A Wusthof knife, no less. (A gift from our wedding. I should add here that the month after our wedding? I cut my hands not once but twice on those knives. On two occasions, my new husband had to rush me to the ER, where they promptly stitched up my wounds.) Today? I cut my thumb twice. Chopping crayons. Not badly, but those crayons? They move around, and fast. My hands? Not so nimble. So, please, be careful…

There were a few letters that didn’t make it. I think it would have been better to use cookie cutters that were a little gentler, you know, not so angular, so tiny. Because some of the letters? They broke. No biggie. We had fun, and Pea couldn’t wait to test them out, on paper. But it occurs to me now, as I’m looking at these new “crayons,” that we are, inevitably, going to end up right back where we started. Because these letters? Well, as soon as she uses her preschooler force to press them down on paper, snap! They’re going to break! And, well, here we are… chopping them up, once again, to mold into new crayons…

Can I just say that it was the process that was so satisfying? I can’t imagine anything more awesome, then being in the kitchen, with my little girl, dancing around to Steppenwolf’s “Magic Carpet Ride” and creating something. Satisfaction…

My music collection runs the gamut. There’s a lot of folk from the 60s. And a lot of “classics” from the 70s, due purely to nostalgia for my childhood. There are a lot of punk and new wave albums. Siouxsie Sioux, Naked Ray Gun, Bauhaus. And of course, growing up in Chicago, it wouldn’t be a proper music collection without a lot of Buddy Guy, Junior Wells and Muddy Waters. But the music that really sticks in my mind is from my college days. I attended a small women’s college in Virginia. The local music scene was incredible. The Dave Matthew’s band, true locals, had just formed and started playing locally. I was into The Connells and Widespread Panic. It was just a really great time, musically. But it’s the road trips with my girlfriends that I remember the most. Squeezing into Tisha’s tiny Volkswagen Cabriolet on a Friday afternoon, heading down to our brother school for a weekend of fraternity parties. We listened to bands like The Indigo Girls and Liz Phair, Juliana Hatfield, Hole. You know, chick rock. The line “I spent four years prostrate to the higher mind, got my paper and I was free” from The Indigo Girls’ “Closer to Free” would be playing on repeat in my head each and every time I had a meeting with my advisor. But since then, with a slight exception here and there, I have not really been moved by music. Nothing new, anyway. I’ve been sticking to what works for me. Classic rock and the blues. I am raising my girls on Janis Joplin, Steely Dan, Bob Seger and Bruce Springsteen. Solid American rock.

But every once in a while, a record comes along that takes my breath away. Karen, the vocalist for a Texas duo called The Mercies, sent me her album shortly after we moved to Utah. They were actually just down the highway from me when I lived in Fort Worth, but I didn’t know much of the local music scene, at the time. I was busy with babies. It’s a shame, I really would have liked to see them perform. I don’t even know how to categorize their sound, I’m not a music critic. Just someone who likes music. A lot. So, I will try to do Karen and Kim’s music some justice. It’s folksy. It’s bluesy. It’s a little country. They are, to me, the consummate American musical duo. Listen – the first track I heard is called “Save Me.” As it turns out, it’s a fan favorite. And with good reason. It opens with this:

“Bobbi was a small town girl

She wanted to see the world

She learned to hide her dreams

In the pocket of her blue jeans…”

Come on, doesn’t that put such an image of Americana in your mind? You know, the small-town girl in her faded Levi’s sitting in her boyfriend’s pick-up truck at the Dairy Queen, dreaming of something more; of escaping her little town for the big city? I can relate. Totally. I cannot get this song out of my head. Karen’s voice has that gravelly sexiness that I would kill for. You know, there is some music that makes me think that I can sing. And this is that music, And trust me, I can’t sing to save my life.

I hesitate to compare The Mercies to other musical acts. But I just have to. Karen’s smoky voice is reminiscent of Melissa Etheridge. And then there are the memories of John Mellencamp, who I grew up on, and his all-American lyrics. And for me, there’s even a little Trisha Yearwood in there; perhaps that is their Southern sensibilities?

I’m not the only one who feels this way. They list some of the musicians that I’ve referenced as their inspiration. And they’re winning awards: the American Songwriter Magazine Lyric contest. And they’ve been commissioned to write a song for a nationwide campaign to end discrimination. Oh, and by the way… “Save Me” was recorded in one take in their living room. One take. Wow.

Good music moves me. My husband and I always have music on in the house. It’s always there, in the background. That’s how my childhood was. I have such fond memories of my mother pushing all of the living room furniture out of the way after dinner so that she, my brother and I could dance. Music has the ability to calm me, to comfort me, to give me hope. I am so grateful to my mother for passing on that passion to me. And I hope to pass it on to my own girls. I miss the good old days, when I walked into Wax Trax in Chicago to buy a new record and then rushed home with it, so full of anticipation to get it on my stereo’s turntable and just sit back for the next 60 minutes and take it all in. Now, in a time when music is all about downloads and MP3s and iTunes, I feel so out of the loop. But listening to The Mercies, I am transported back to a time when music was fresh and full of promise and it made me genuinely feel something. Their music is about just that: music. It’s about the lyrics and the instruments and the clear voices and it’s just so simple and deep and real.

The Mercies have earned their place on our playlist. It’s honest American rock. My favorite kind of music. Hours after listening to their album, I am still singing their songs. Now that is good music…

Noggin was on after “Dora” had ended, and at some point, a show came on called “Jack’s Big Music Show.” And the show didn’t get me so much as the guest musicians, one of whom is Laurie Berkner. Surely, if you have kids, you are familiar with her, right? She’s been very popular in our home for a good year or so. Her tunes are catchy, I find myself singing them to myself in the shower, or listening to the CD in the car, long after Pea has been dropped off at preschool.

When I was a kid, the options for music for children were pretty bleak. “Really Rosie” and “Free to Be You and Me” were about it. And it’s embarrassing to admit it, but I never stopped listening to “Free to Be You and Me.” I love that album. Love it. To pieces. And now, so does Pea. The lessons in the songs are still pertinent, today, decades after it was first released. If you haven’t given it a listen in a while, I highly recommend it.