Rudolph and bloody marys

The boy is loud.

Give him a guitar and he will rock out with his blocks out. He’s currently working on a Ramones-style version of Billy Jonas’ “What Kind of Cat Are You?” It’s sure to be a hit with the under-five set. Drum sticks? Yeah, he has a pair, and when he’s not threatening the dog with great canine injury, he’s turning any of about a dozen home decorations into his own personal snare.

All of this is an ad for Tylenol Parent and makes me only mildly insane. Most of the time I am more proud than I am wishing to stuff my ears with my own brains. There are times, however, that are so sweet and endearing that I’d cut off my arm if it mean my son could drum a few more minutes before bedtime.

As the holidays approach, Mt. Otis is taking on a distinctly cheerful aura. A wreath went up on the front door, other decorations are waiting in the wings, and my boy is requesting I play Jingle Bells instead of “I Gotta Get Drunk.” Merry Christmas, one and all.

Last night, we went for a drive and “Little Drummer Boy” came on one of the five XM stations playing holiday music. The boy stopped his mindful screaming and settled into a quiet, make-you-wanna-cry “Rum-pah-pum-pum.” I almost had to pull over.

I really don’t like Christmas music, and I certainly don’t like it for 30 straight days. Most of the time the music comes across like a Sweeny Sisters orgy if Bing Crosby and Johnny Wadd showed up. In fact, about the only time I really enjoy holiday music is on the actual holiday. I have a couple of cousins who have angelic voices and occasionally treat us to perfect-pitch harmony on Christmas Eve. Then, I can listen to it. Otherwise, it feels like I’m main-lining simple syrup laced with shut-the-hell-up.

The dilemma is pretty clear. The kid loves him some Rudolph, Frosty, and Santa songs and notices when I switch it over to “Daddy’s on Parole This Christmas.” I don’t want to discourage the boy from enjoying traditional holiday fare, but waiting around for Frosty to come on the radio and listening to a scat version of Jingle Bell Rock is quickly going to turn me into Ebenezer Scrooge on meth.

I haven’t quite figured out the solution, yet, but I think I’m getting close. I just bought a $4 Willie Nelson Christmas disc off Amazon that might be a happy compromise. I’ll be able to stomach hearing Christmas music for another four weeks and, if I’m lucky, I might be able to slip “Bloody Mary Morning” into the rotation. It’s either that or I’m going to have a lot of those mornings myself between now and the time Christmas rolls around.

Labels: Music, Parenting