The middle child has learned to whistle, bless her heart. Some parents might rejoice in this musical talent. Some might smile and think that their sweet cherub has passed another milestone. This particular parent wants to duct tape the child’s mouth. Did you know that it is possible to whistle while brushing teeth, while praying, while eating corn on the cob and while your oh-so-patient mother is trying to discipline you? This last one really drove me crazy and I think I actually threatened to ground her from whistling at all, ever, until she went to college, which may not happen because one must actually hear the teacher’s instructions in order to pass 1st grade, and it’s hard to hear when you’re whistling.
Most of the time she whistles Ode to Joy. I could brag and say that we’re so cultured at my house, that Beethoven is considered a demi-god around these imported-cheese-eating, ascot-wearing parts. Truth is, much as I love cheese, the fanciest we usually get is Tillamook, and I’m not sure what one would do with an ascot except blow one’s patrician nose on it. I have YouTubed Ode to Joy, but only after months of listening to that particular child play the beginner version she learned on the piano. And now that she can whistle the dumb song, I’m thinking about boycotting classical music altogether. In fact, it would almost be a relief if she’d switch back to Hannah Montana. At least then I could grouse about Disney’s effects on my life.
Whistling is hard for another reason (besides the off-tune, middle-of-church aspect). It’s portable. Never had a problem with her suddenly playing the piano in the middle of the grocery store. But with whistling? Try taking that away.
Good news, though. She’s back at school. I’m grinning right now. Good luck, 1st grade teacher! Hello, 8.5 hours of whistle-free home living.
PS—Hal: Glad you were born. Glad you survived the jump off the reservoir. Glad you didn’t get any horrific parasites in Brazil. Glad you let me bully you into getting married. Happy, happy birthday.