Seb got a recorder. EB got a haircut.

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Seb came home with an exuberant note from school announcing a spectacular new initiative involving my 9 year old son, a recorder, and his entire family in Saturday 7AM renditions of “Old McDonald”.

 

If you’re not familiar with the recorder it’s a beautiful Stradivarius of black plastic, just breathtakingly beautiful, like Yo Yo Ma’s cello.

 

The school heightened my excitement by announcing that my child could keep track of this recorder and bring it to and from school each day in his backpack.

 

Because who better to keep track of a recorder than my 9 year old son who can’t find the TV remote.  Calls me to help him find it. And then finds it.  In his hand.

 

This is a fabulous school initiative. Heroes of yore all played the recorder.  When Abraham Lincoln penned the Gettysburg address, he actually played “Old McDonald” on his recorder for inspiration. Gandhi? Same.

 

Every day the recorder brings new joys. “Mom, I can’t find my recorder?!” “Mom, I have a recorder test tomorrow?!” “Mom, have you seen my recorder book?!”

 

Meanwhile, I can’t keep track of E.B.(who got a haircut compliments of his 2 year old sister last week) let alone Seb’s recorder. It’s been lost three times. It’s been found 3 times. Once in Seb’s desk. Once in Madison’s desk. Once in his backpack.

 

Third grade ends next week. So does our relationship with this recorder.

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