Trumpet Slave
My husband has given up his soul for music. Yes, folks, he reminisced briefly about his trumpet playing days of yore...some time back in the Pleistocene Era, and, though he hadn't played in over 20 years, he bought a new trumpet and started belting them out. Now, normally, that wouldn't be a problem except that I'm hoarse hollering above the themes to various Disney movies to stop him from unsettling the ever tenuous toehold I have on the kids' attention spans during homework time. But now he regrets getting the cheapest trumpet available and is coughing up dough (yes, the dough I had earmarked for Target and Walgreens) for a Bach Stradivarius. I'll have to admit, the themes to Pocahantas and Little Mermaid do sound more tolerable with it, but puleeze. There's only so much I can take of the corny things he plays: The Impossible Dream, Candy man, excerpts from Beauty and the Beast. Lord help us, I'm moving out and leaving no forwarding address if it keeps up much longer. But the last straw: he's been falling down on the job, parenting wise. I had to frantically pull together a bibliography for my second book before eight last night and skip dinner to help the kids with their homework, have them do their chores, etc. I asked him to get the kids to bed whereupon he hollers at the top of his lungs (air pushing past his purple, swollen lips) "KIDS, BEDTIME." Then back to his trumpet. An hour later, the monkeys are still swinging from the trees, so I had to do the whole, "Oops, the wifey is pissed. Better get to it" routine. He did get them to bed, but without the usual fatherly hugs, kisses, bedtime stories, etc. because he had to get back to that trumpet. Eventually, at 10:00 PM, I check on the brood. They're wide awake. Annika asks for a story. I reply, "Didn't Pappa read you one?" Her answer: "He just came in and said 'you donj't want a story do you?' and I told him I wanted Mommy to read it so he said, 'Okay, goodnight.'" These guys. Sometimes I think being a father is something they do only because they know we'll give 'em hell if they don't. Sigh. I guess when his lips start decaying and eventually slough off to the floor it'll get better.