I am sometime gripped by moments of clarity regarding this whole parenting thing. It's scary.
It came yesterday as we drove to a costume party. We have mercifully loaded a new CD for g containing a random assortment of kiddie songs, the Beatles, motown and broadway. (her old selection was driving us bananas since she insists upon listening to it the minute we open the car door.) I was struck momentarily with the thought that maybe we should start listening to classical music in the car. The popular belief has made its way around the mommiverse that listening to classical music is supposed to make a genius although recent research has debunked this totally. The myth persists though with the advent of Baby Mozart, Baby Bach, etc. I am sure that there is probably a grain of truth in there somewhere, not commensurate to the craze that has been created around it though.
So as my stream of consciousness continued on I280, I thought of my own passion for music. How despite any craziness in my life, music was always my home, always a "place" that I can go to. Then the big "duh" --- why was I going to try making them listen to music, though I appreciate, don't love? Why wouldn't I want to teach them how to tap into musical passion?
One day they will love their own music (maybe someday they'll be listening to some funky version of acid rap, who knows) but for the meantime, I held my g last night and rocked her in my arms to Moonriver.