Precious moments. We’ve all had them—those moments that make your heart catch every time you remember them. No matter how often you revisit them, they never get stale or lose their power. Tender or funny, poignant or inspiring, they fortify us against toddler tantrums and pubescent (and pre-school) power struggles.
Leave a comment sharing your moment—or, if you’re feeling ambitious enough to write a whole post (or want to link from your own blog), email me and I’ll use your story as the moment of the day.
As recently as two years ago, we would never have attempted any such thing…but yesterday, our Advent calendar told us to pack up the family and go see Big Bad Voodoo Daddy.
I spent the whole day trying to get all the necessities done to get us there. There wasn’t enough time for me to think, What happens if the kids self-destruct?…until we were sitting in the balcony of Jesse Auditorium at 7:05p.m., no sign of the band, and the natives started getting restless. Alex trying to tickle parts of my anatomy that he didn’t have any business touching. Nicholas arching his back and fussing. You know. Piddly stuff like that.
I was just beginning to worry when the lights went out and the music began. It was loud. It was exciting. Nicholas froze. Alex sat up straight. And Julianna did a “Yay for the band!” yell and clapped her hands. Christian and I traded smiles and a kiss in the back row of the auditorium.
Advent Calendar: 2. Boring, stressful December: 0.
It’s been a long time since I enjoyed a concert that much. You expect a touring band to be tight, to execute flawlessly, to look relaxed on stage. You might even expect them to appear to have fun. But these guys took all of those expectations and kicked up the intensity by several exponents. I could have watched Dirk Shumaker on bass and Josh Levy on piano all night. Their fingers were so fluid, so relaxed, and the joy of playing music for a living just radiated off of them. I get tired of playing the same two hundred songs for Mass. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to keep up your enthusiasm for playing the same set 5-7 times a week, months on end. To say it was fabulous is a huge understatement. By the end of the evening, ridiculous as it sounds, I felt like I knew these guys—like they were guys I would have hung out with, played music with, in college and grad school.
The kids loved it, too. Julianna was hysterical. For once, she got enough music to satisfy her; it was virtually nonstop for an hour and 45 minutes. She yelled, she clapped, she danced in Daddy’s arms; it was Heaven for her. Alex had the binoculars and amused himself watching the horn players, the drummer, Scotty up front, the lighting guys behind us—and singing “Frosty the Snowman” with the band.
Mesmerized as I was, I didn’t notice when Nicholas’s body relaxed back against my chest, but four songs into the set, I realized he hadn’t moved a muscle since the guys took the stage. “Christian,” I hissed. “Is he asleep?”
Christian glanced over and shook his head, grinning. And a few minutes later, Nicholas joined Julianna in “dancing.”
Nicholas and Julianna’s first concert. We’ll never be able to match it again.