Music to My Ears

We are in the car, heading to dance. We are late again, due to having to change two diapers and look for B's shoes as we should have been walking out the door. Of course, if it wasn't that, it would have been something else. I am in stress mode as we are driving, in the rain, to dance. The kids are yelling in the back seat, and I am, as usual, trying to tune them out and drive. I think that I shouldn't feel this stressed just going to dance class. I mean, it's dance class. Not even my dance class. But then the screaming in the back seat brings me back and I remember that it's not the actual dance class that's stressing me out, though it no doubt will once we get there and I try to entertain two hyper-active energetic boys as N is dancing. At this moment, though, it's the process of getting to dance class that's stressing me out. How do people do this with five and six kids? Maybe they don't have money for dance class when they have five or six kids, so they don't have to be stressed out driving them all there. But then, they would have to be home all the time with five or six kids...

I feel my eye start to twitch at the thought of being home all the time with five or six kids, and decide this line of thinking is not helping with my stressed out state. I decide to do something very brave and turn on the radio. This requires great strength on my part because I know that I have approximately 30 seconds--not even half a song-before someone realizes that the radio is on and asks me to change it to the Ballerina CD. The Ballerina song, which is the music from N's dance recital when she was four, used to make me cry every time I heard it. However, I have now listened to it 1,847 times. It doesn't make me cry anymore. Now it just makes my eye twitch.

I realize Billy Joel is singing. Billy Joel! My stress starts to dissipate at the sound of Billy Joel singing. I start to sing along. We are stopped at a light and I think the people next to us are probably thinking that I look like an idiot. I don't care. It's Billy Joel. I can't help myself.

You had to be a big shot didn't ya?
Had to open up your mouth..
You had to be a big shot didn't ya?
All your friends were so knocked out..
You had to have the last word last night..
Know whats everything's about..

I am vaguely aware of the kids making noise in the back seat, but up here, it's just me and Billy. For a brief moment, it is not 2012. I am not a stressed out mom driving my way-too-big mom mobile that holds the kids and all their crap necessary items. There are not three screaming kids behind me. It's 1989, and I'm driving a 1979 Datsun 210, and there are three--or six-- teenager girls in the car with me, singing along. We are so cool.

I picture the Datsun--my first car--and remember that it had rusting bumpers and a hole in the floorboard that allowed you to see the pavement when you shifted gears. Ok, so maybe I wouldn't want the car back. We turn a corner, getting closer to dance, and two sippy cups, a train, and a fire truck roll out from under the front seat. Hmm...rusting bumpers and a hole in the floorboards, or rotten milk and flying toys? It's a toss up.

"Mom?" B interrupts me and Billy from the back seat, "Can you turn on Ballerina?" Apparently my thirty seconds are up. "B," I say, "this is Billy Joel. He's better than Ballerina." "No, I want Ballerina". I continue to sing along, hoping I can buy myself some time. You had to be a big shot didn't ya? So much fun to be around... You had to have the front page bold type... You had to be a big shot last night... Oooo..Ooohhhh... Ooooo...Ohhhhh... B is practically begging now. Apparently my singing hasn't helped matters. "Mom! Please turn on Ballerina!" I try again. "B! This is Billy! He rocks!" N laughs, "Rocks!!! Get it?! He ROCKS!!" Clearly, This is the funniest thing she has ever heard. B asks again for Ballerina. I say "B, Billy Joel's name starts with B, just like yours starts with B!" N, because she is so smart and so incredibly helpful, says, "Uh, yeah, and just like Ballerina starts with B". Love this girl. The song is over, and while I really want to keep this station on to see if they will play more Billy Joel, or maybe Springsteen, or the Eagles, I relent and push the CD button. Ballerina plays, but I am thinking of uptown girls, and innocent men, and being born to run. I think of thunder roads, and hotels in California, and life in the fast lane. I think of long overdue phone calls to the girls who used to ride around in the Datsun. I know they won't mind the sippy cups rolling around on the floor. We are driving home from dance later, and the CD comes back on. Ballerina is over, for now, and You are My Sunshine comes on. B is singing his heart out. N is too, though she will deny it if I mention it. O doesn't know the words yet...or does he? From the back seat I hear the smallest voice say, "You aw ma sushine, ma ony sushine.." It's not quite Billy Joel, but it's still Rock n Roll to me.