The hills are alive – Hive and Nest

At different points in motherhood it’s necessary to admit that the idea of what your family would be like–the one you’ve had stored up in your head since you were ten years old–will not be happening.

One particular fantasy of mine came crashing down on Sunday.  Our family was asked to do a musical number in Church for the little kids (it was quite a gig; we had to perform in Junior and Senior Primary).  I always pictured myself having wonderfully musical children.  This is how it always went down in my imagination: I’d play the harp accompanied by various children on flutes, pianos and cellos.  Maybe one or two of them would sing a long beautifully.  The audience would be impressed and touched with our talents.

Reality has been quite a let down.

I did learn to play the harp and Mister has a gorgeous voice, but that’s where the fantasy ends.  I cannot sing at all.  I can carry a tune, but my vocal range is about five notes, so most of the time I sound not quite right.  But I’ve made my peace with that.  Consequently I wasn’t nervous to sing; if there’s no chance of sounding good, then there’s not much pressure.  

India and Arabella actually like to sing except when people are listening.  India quietly carried the tune but Arabella froze and did nothing but stare at a spot at the back of the room.  

York mumbled most of the song in a bored monotone and Finn stood behind us all, ocassionally moving his lips but no sound ever came out.

Ada stood and smiled for a while then sat with her class.  She does love to sing at the top of her lungs normally, but we neglected to teach her the song.

The von Trapp family singers we are not.  And never will be.

It’s a little sad, but I’m OK with it.