I wish life was like a musical and within a moment we all would just turn to song connecting the world in an unspeakable, indescribable moment of musical notes which flood the air while our smiles rush the camera in a close-up.
I met your father in the city yesterday. It felt to be a naughty secret, our midday rendezvous. As I walked down Northumberland, I couldn't get rid of my cheeky smile, the emerging giggle. My fast pace weaved through the crowd of extras and I smiled at them all, even smiled at the fiftieth chugger, beckoning to me.
We hadn't done this in years and yes, I do mean years, shame on us. That day, I wasn't the mommy with stains down my shirt, frazzled, tired, underwear arse backwards (literally). Yes, underwear, put on in the dark, often represented the confusion given from a poor night's sleep, and even when I found out, probably, slumped over, hiding in an overused bathroom, I was too tired to care, but I digress. In that minute, I was gorgeous. My hair thick, caught by the wind of my stride. My clothes actually fitting and colour coded, makeup that was planned, instead of bought on clearance. As well, I had just downed an Americano with three shots of expresso, every mother's legal high. I was meeting him, the man I loved and he was only a few steps away, I could feel it.
The busker played with her see-through violin, she nodded and smiled. She added romance, intrigue and a sense of urgency, which is when I saw him. In his black overcoat, woollen scarf, he looked for me and the music heightened as we moved closer, the pace quickened and so did mine. Now, usually in life, this is where I trip, but that day, I didn't. I was confident, strident and surprisingly agile. I waved and he saw me and the crowd disappeared as it does when two people are in love. I think that your father was terribly shocked when I ran the last few steps and hugged and kissed him, silently embracing as the violin played. Yes, she was tipped.
Today, I walked down the same street again and again heard the music play. It was an Eastern European rhythm this time and, again, I couldn't help but smile. I was desperate to go into dance, to twirl around the man at the fruit stand or the toothless, smiling, bald man with oversized trousers that stood in front of me, waiting. How wonderful it would be if we all joined in song, shed our tensions, fears, frustration and let the joy emerge. That mischievous, fun child that boogie's away and now, that child had live music and an audience, so why not dance.
When I was a child, I had a paper round and the news had to be on the doorstep by 6 AM, so before the alarm clocks rang and duvets released the warmth of the night, before coffees brewed and morning kisses given, I and my little red wagon would make our way down silent streets. The rattle of the tyres bounced off the street lights, with the tap tap patter of my tiny gait as an accompaniment. The wind would brush the bushes and the trees would shake, the leaves quiver, it would bring a quiet reverberation, and sometimes, helped by the moon, it would gain power and bring a force that rushed through my small frame, knocking me forward, to centre stage. Quietly but not cautiously, I would twirl under the street lights, watched only by hidden eyes contained in the bush or perched upon the wire and within me, around me, through me, the orchestra would play.
Your father has pointed out that I hum quite often. I am not sure how he feels about this topic. He suspects it occurs when I am a bit "tense," which it makes him a bit tense. He's wrong. The humming is only a slight bit of the loud, booming music that fills my body and I love it. As an adult, the quiet humming is what I am allowed to show. However, sometimes, I forget and I break out into song in the market or when walking. I am usually lost in thought and am unaware of my social transgression until I receive a startled look from a passerby. It doesn't embarrass me, as you know, very little embarrasses Mommy. Hopefully, you will remember my saying to you, "Life is long," but, sadly, sometimes, I am reminded that the ending can come quick and without much warning, so enjoy the now, emerge yourself in this moment.
I will have you know that we are descended from many others who wish life was a musical. Your grandmother often sang Valderi when hiking mountains and I would giggle at the polite but perplexed onlookers before joining in. I can see the same traits in you girls. The bigger little one of you learning the words to all the songs, sometimes shedding that too cool exterior to make funny faces and funny moves, which get me giggling. The littlest one of you just turning to song, whether it is to ask a question or make a demand, or remake the latest top hit, so it is a bit silly, also contorting your body and voice for comic appeal. Sometimes we all break into song together and laugh, sharing our stages and soothing the lonely child with the little red wagon. We are alive and we are happy. We three are part of a musical, where the goodies always win and the baddies fall into a wagon of mud, communities come together and everyone smiles at the camera as we move rhythmically, unanimously arms interlocked, through the world, together. I love it and you love it and someday it will help fill your basket of happy memories. So, girls, now, we just have to convince your father!
