Owen La La!

In April, Owen started taking a music class with his Aunt Susan.  He has a cd of the songs that they sing in class, and he also gets to use instruments while there, such as the drum.

I’m told he is very interested when his teacher plays the guitar, and stares at her amazed that she can do what Sean does.  He also likes to make percussive sounds on the body of the guitar with his sticky fist.

Susan plays the cd for him daily in the mornings, and although it almost always ends with Owen falling asleep in her arms, he does seem to like it, despite the fact that his father gets the creeps from the songs (and claims it’s a cult).  When we leave in the morning to go to work, I often leave giggling at Owen’s Very Serious face as he dances along with Susan to the Ostrich Walk.

I would like Owen to be a musician, and have in mind for him the cello via piano.  Sean would like that he do both, and be interested in guitars, since he stands to inherit Sean’s collection of electric ones.  And Owen does seem interested.  He listens to Sean’s music each night when Sean gives him a bath, and he has an already considerable history of falling asleep to the Smiths in the car.

I often “sing” to Owen too, and since he was a wee thing “My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean” can make him laugh, although I suppose it is possible that he is laughing at my version of it.  For some reason though (no doubt sleep deprivation), my mind goes blank when I go to sing Owen a song, and can usually only come up with two hymns from my childhood church-going days (“Let Us Break Bread Together On Our Knees” and “Jesus Walked This Lonesome Valley”) or a series of folk tunes that, it turns out, all have rather macabre second verses (Clementine dies!  My Sunshine is dreamed dead, as is My Bonnie! Daisy won’t marry the man with the tandem bike!  Etc.)  And for some reason "Scarborough Fair" always comes to mind, but I sing a version that spirals up and up in key until I sound like Kate Bush on helium.  So at the moment I don’t think I’m doing that much to further Owen’s musical education.

I played him Carmina Burana once, but don’t think he liked it, as he looked startled throughout.  Loud Latin accompanied by timpani can have that effect on a fellow.

Then there’s always “The Wheels on the Bus”—Owen is willing to listen to as many verses of that as I care to sing, and it’s amazing just whom you find on a bus these days.  A lot of livestock, apparently….  

Dorothy thinking, The only good kiddie song is that one about

knick knack paddywhack give a dog a bone....