My Little Musician

by kelly

It was a long day today.

Work has been crazy.

I received and responded to the last office e-mail on my blackberry last night at 10:35, and my boss copied me on some more shortly after 6:00 a.m. I was up early to prepare to travel with him to a meeting with a client, at their offices. Still didn’t get to my office with as much time to spare as I had hoped, though, due to Emma needing extra comforting time this morning and traffic.

On the freeway, I was reading more e-mail and making a related phone call. Once at the office, I had just enough time to delegate a project to a first-year attorney (praying inside that what he would be able to produce would be useable to help me meet my Friday deadline).

We traveled to the client meeting, where I was assigned several additional tasks, and stayed for lunch and chit chat with several people from that company. Then back to the office, where we arrived at 2:00.

I tried to make some small steps of progress toward my many impending obligations, but while responding to e-mails from the morning away, I mostly occupied a zone of tiredness and feeling sorry for myself for having so much work to do, for having a cold of my own, and for having a baby who’s had one for five weeks and who hasn’t been her usual smiley self in recent days. (And feeling like a schmo for feeling sorry for myself.)

And then, at last, it was time for me to leave to pick her up.

And how do you think this tired, taxing day ended? In a way I would not have been able to predict.

As I placed Emma in the back of the car in her car seat, she was a little fussy. To distract her from her malaise, I handed her the little toy we’d packed to go to daycare today: a big blue “key” with a clear, raised section with little balls inside. When the raised section is pressed, the thing makes one of four, fairly loud sounds: excerpts from the songs “The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round,” “Camptown Ladies,” and the two-syllable sound effects of a doorbell and a car horn, respectively. If the button is pushed before a particular sound has completed its play, the new sound cuts short and replaces the previous sound. This results in the little toy being able to produce an infinite symphony of different combinations of tinkle-y tunes.

She likes to manipulate and turn the thing in her hands. And sometimes she pushes the music maker.

As I started driving down the road, I smiled when I heard a noise from the key. I knew then that she hadn’t dropped it yet, and – Yay! – that she had managed to push the “tummy” of the thing. And then the next sound emanated from the back of the car. And then the next. And the next. And on and on it went. My little musician had, for a few minutes, mastered her instrument, and serenaded me with a string of beeps and bells on the drive home. The plastic blue thing with a face was, briefly, a baby’s Stadivarius. The longer it lasted, the more my worries of the day faded and lost their grip on me. Finally, there was silence – followed sometime later by a brief but skillful reprise. And then silence, again, as we neared home.

It was must have been tiring to put on such a lovely concert. I discovered when I got her into the house not only that the final silence had resulted from the musician’s slumbers – but also that she was still holding the key.

One Response to “My Little Musician”

  1. Kristen Says:

    You inspired me to go to to take my quiz and I am delighted to report that I too scored 10 out of 10!!