Day 360: A Bittersweet Hillbilly Symphony

During a 6:30pm drum circle of skillets and metal lids, Silas (4) found the two most aurally malignant pieces and promptly Sheila E ‘d the shit out of them.

I would have walked away, but with Arlo (2) sitting inside the floor-level cabinet keeping his own beat by opening and slamming the door, I felt a chaparone was needed to prevent a pinching incident.

While my left ear was occupied with the dull thud of the cabinet door, my right was ringing off the hook from being force-fed the sound equivalent of canned beets covered in blue cheese. I should have grabbed a washboard and started a hoedown, but I was too fatigued from a pasta binge to be anything more than an annoyed lifeguard.

I thought maybe a blank stare would give him the hint to stop, but he simply returned it with his own vacant gaze, unwilling to miss a beat in his hillbilly symphony. He knew I was grumpy, and kids that young rarely stop something out of sympathy. I followed my stern gaze-based effort with “The Pope’s No,” which is a simple back and forth wagging of my forearm topped with an extended index finger.

Blank stares and continued clanking.

“Please stop,” I pleaded.

Nothing. His stare turned sly, as if he were challenging me. How far was I willing to go to make him stop doing something he had grown to enjoy simply because I didn’t?

I made a decisive first strike by again asking him nicely to stop. “Please, honey?” He kept going like a wind-up monkey wearing a shriner’s hat. “I said, stop it!” in my firm dad voice – the same one I use when the cats jump on the counter. Silas ignored me just like they do. “Do you want me to take them away?” I asked/threatened.

I assumed the answer was yes, since his rhythm and volume persisted. As I reached out, he turned his body to shield the instruments from harm. “Sweetie, could you just do it more softly so it doesn’t hurt my ears?” Sometimes the alpha male needs to warm up, but the boy had no sense of reason and no willingness to compromise.

Lindsay had turned her attention from the other room. I think she sensed all the pleases and sweeties were poised to morph into one big “Give me the fucking lids!” She made a casual suggestion that I just walk away.

“But if I walk away everything will…but…but…but…”

I realized an unlikely pinch was preferable to an imminent feud resulting in screaming from him and a valium-sated desire for whiskey from me.

So I got up and walked away. As soon as I was out of his sight, Silas quietly put down his cymbals and asked his mom for some milk. If you’re unwilling to jam with the band, don’t force your way on stage and complain that it’s too loud.