Last night the little ones (2 and 4) were in super-hyper-bouncy mode, as opposed to their usual, overly energetic mode, and I thought, hey, fun, let’s drag out the drums. I have two djembes, one my husband brought back from Ghana in 2006, the other I bought in Santa Cruz almost 20 years ago.
Which reminded me, shortly after I pulled the drums out of their hiding spot beneath my desk and the kids were banging the living crap out of them — I always wanted to practice drums.
And after I tried to “have a turn,” I remembered why I’ve given up that dream, over and over. Here are the two things my kids will do if I’m playing on a drum, trying to get into the rhythm and lose my thinking self in the beat: 1. try to drum on it with me or hold their hand down on the drum head, or 2. lay on the floor kicking and screaming because their half hour turn wasn’t long enough and they want another one immediately. Neither of these behaviors contributes in any constructive way to practicing a drum.
The only time I’m able to do anything by myself, uninterrupted, is when the kids are asleep. And have you ever tried to drum while someone is asleep? It’s not going to end the way you’d hoped, I’ll just tell you that much.
So I’ve managed to pursue, in small increments of fits and starts, some other, quieter interests such as reading and sewing. But the drumming? Just something I tease myself with on occasion when I think, won’t it be amusing all around if we pull out the drums?
Good luck with that.