Music has always felt very personal to me. I am one of those people who uses music to match my mood or even alter it. When happy, I can listen to just about anything and still keep my joy. When sad, every song makes me cry. Like, every song. When I am angry, I like rocking out to songs that share my frustrations and attitude.
When Choo-choo was a baby, pretty much all he did was eat and sleep. As he grew, the only songs we listened to were geared towards children. I tried many times to listen to what I liked while also attempting to encourage his love of the same tunes. He just wasn’t having it. Nothing, from 1950s music to now, was going to compare to songs about farm animals or the “Blue’s Clues” theme.
Then I started playing my music choices only when we clean together, mostly when Choo-choo and I fold the clean laundry. Occasionally, I leave it on as I fill the dishwasher as well. At some point, however, my son always wants me to either turn it off or turn it to something more his liking.
With all my stress and frustration now, though, I find myself in desperate need of therapeutic melodies. Sometimes I sing to myself. Usually, however, I need to hear the real thing.
I told you how stressed I have been. I still have the body shakes. Music and dancing have been my saving grace these past few days. I avoid songs that stir my anxiety and depression, focusing on those that have always made me happy and bouncy and even a little silly. I need silliness right now. I need to feel like I am still me even among all the muck. And playing with Choo-choo, while a blast, is not the same thing.
Music has pulled me out of some nasty moods before. I am utilizing it now in hopes of the same. Plus, I get to dance around and be goofy with my kid. What could be better than that?