For my girls (and a little bit for me), PART 17

17. What is the one thing you most wish you were great at?

Short of my family and friends, there isn’t much I wouldn’t give up for the ability to sing well. I don’t mean just the ability to carry a tune. I mean I want that bring-people-to-their-feet-while-they-clap-thunderously-and-beg-for-more type of talent.

Tune-carrying is not my forte. As the old saying goes, I probably couldn’t “carry a tune in a bucket,” and if I tried, I would probably end up apologizing to the bucket for exposing it to such horrendousness. Your Daddy can sing, and I am forever jealous of that. He tells me from time to time that I’m not that bad and that I should cut myself some slack.

(Your Daddy’s rose-colored glasses where I am concerned are permanently affixed to his face, so please don’t take his opinion at face value. I love him, but he is not the most unbiased judge of my ability.)

As far as creative things go, I would gladly give up the ability to write and cook and what little ability I have in the area of photography to be able to sing. Thankfully, you girls thought my singing was great when you were babies, but that has less to do with talent and more to do with simple recognition of your mother’s voice.

I can’t count the number of hours I sat in the glider holding you as closely as possible, quietly singing the chorus from “Good Morning, Beautiful” and wishing I could sing it better. No matter how horrific the fit was you were pitching at the time, all three of you melted into submission when you heard those familiar words:

Good morning, beautiful.
How was your night?
Mine was wonderful with you by my side.
And when I open my eyes and see your sweet face,
it’s a good-morning-beautiful day.

When I sing those words in my head and think of my three sweet babies who each had such distinctly different personalities but were equally calmed by this song, it makes me think for a moment that it doesn’t matter what my voice sounds like or whether I’ve ever received a standing ovation for my singing. Three little girls looked back at me with newly calmed, loving eyes when I sang it, and that’s all that mattered.

But then I break out in song and am quickly reminded that even though my children thought I was a star, babies are not the best judges of talent.

Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be able to sing well!

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About Rebecca Mixon

If you attend my funeral, please wear red. Make sure my loved ones do not bury me in shoes, and make sure they don't let the undertaker make me look ridiculous. I want beautiful music and lots of storytelling. All that will be great once I'm gone from this Earth. But, while I'm here, give me my flowers while I live. It has come to my attention lately that we don't "give people their flowers" until it's too late for them to enjoy the beauty, the colors, the sentiment. I'm changing that. The people in my life will know how they are appreciated and loved, and they will smell the aroma of their flowers as often as I get the chance to tell them. This blog is about the blessings in my life. Mainly, it's about the people who keep my world spinning on a good axis and help me realize that work, bills and stress mean nothing. Family counts. The rest is just gravy.
This entry was posted in Blessings, Blog, Children, Daughters, Dream, Family, fun, Husband, Life, Music, Parent, Raising children, Raising girls, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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