My husband is a hummer. No, not the big gas guzzling ridiculous monsters passing for vehicles on the road these days; as in he hums. ALL THE FREAKING TIME. Sometimes, for variety, he whistles. I’ve grown used to it over the years. In fact, I often don’t even realize he’s even doing it anymore. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve caught myself singing some random song, like the theme for Bonanza and turned to Mark to ask, “You do this to me?” only to have him snicker and reply, “Yep.”
Now the girls are starting to do this. Just today I caught Lily humming some classical bit she heard on Little Einsteins. Even Anya will hum little tunes, her head bobbing comically and her little fingers twirling. The truth is, I love listening to my little family make music, especially when they are all humming something different and wander together to make a new string of music, discordant at times and unexpectedly melodic at others.
This is how I picture our future as we learn and grow as a family. I see us coming together to make music or discord and drifting away at other times to make our own tunes. I see sheets and sheets of music, written and rewritten to reflect our paths, together and apart, frequently losing our pages and running amuck as we try to find the right notes. Mostly I see so much beautiful music it makes my heart ache. Especially because the beauty will be made so much sweeter by the vast quantity of sour notes we’ll undoubtedly hit.
And so I once again find myself with music in my head, unaware if one of my family members put the tune there or if it was one from my own memory. And I can’t help but hum while I type, thinking about what song would be formed if only the kids were awake; waiting for morning so we can make music again.