So I need you to close your eyes and imagine (okay, I guess you will have to open your eyes to read, but I do want you to use your imagination). Picture this: It is seven thirty in the morning. I have been woken, coffee-ed and grunted at and have reluctantly rolled out of bed, always hopeful of finding clothes nearby. Once dressed I make my way, still bleary eyed to the kitchen to make my second and last cup of coffee of the day (For all my ruminations over my coffee habit, I actually only ever drink two cups a day). I wander out of my bedroom and am immediately hit by an onslaught of what can only be cumulatively described as cats yowling.
My son walks past me, determined to get his chores finished so that he can squeeze in a few minutes of guitar practice. He has his phone playing, loudly, in his pocket. He alternately sings along, interspersing it with opinions on the song to anyone (or no-one, it doesn’t seem to matter whether he has an audience or not) near by.
As I progress towards my destination I pass the living room. In the living room, whilst doing chores, C13 has a youtube list playing off the TV. Loud. And she is also singing along. And she sings obstreperously, at the top of her lungs. I cringe at the mix of T’s worship songs grinding together with C’s rapping…
Meanwhile, somewhere in the middle of the living room is A7 and B4, who are also singing, although not very tunefully, and are in truth more shouting than singing. Remember the karaoke machine A7 received for her birthday? Well, one can plug in up to two microphones and sing through those. So she and B do just that. So not only are they singing a different song to both T and C, they are also singing it at the top of their lungs and singing through the microphones.
I begin to twitch. Not entirely sure I can cope mentally with such an aural assailment, I quicken my steps with the aim of reaching the kitchen and escaping from this near torture. Alas, it is not meant to be. You would think I would know this by now. But no. I don’t ever seem to learn. L13 is merrily washing up and listening to her ipod and, yes you guessed it, singing along. This time it is a pop song. I want to take myself and my tics back to bed. I promise myself that tomorrow I will add some ear plugs to my ensemble as I dress.
I make my coffee, take it to my computer, plug in my ear phones and choose my very own youtube playlist of Casting Crowns. A sermon in a song, they refresh me, block out everyone else’s music, and soon I am lost in the beauty of their music and their message. Checking through emails, I occasionally burst into song. That is until I get tapped on the shoulder.
‘Mummy, must you sing? You’re ruining our music and it is earsplittingly bad!’ Really? I mean, really??!
