I was going to call you on the phone, but I assume you are deaf.
I deeply regret we cannot afford to buy you diamonds this holiday season. As you are attempting to teach musical instruments to both of my children, I know you deserve at least diamonds.
Instead, all I can offer you is this very poorly written poem...
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
I am so sorry for you.
Hot Cross Buns and Ode to Joy;
You gave a recorder to my boy?
He plays it madly,
Albeit badly.
He loves it, sadly.
The trumpet was not my idea.
For that you can blame my daughter, Lia.
They love duets and are quite a pair.
That sound makes me want to pull my hair!
I want the noise to dampen down.
I'm getting fine lines from my frown.
You, however, handle it well.
Amazing, 'cause it sounds like hell.
Years of doing this, and you look sane.
I think scientists should study your brain.
I can't stand another honk or tweet.
I am just not that sweet.
Happy Holidays,
A Mom who hopes Santa brings her earplugs
Cheers to all the teachers who manage to teach our children how to read, write, add, subtract, and most amazingly of all...teach our children how to play musical instruments.
One of my sons was learning to play the trumpet--it sounded like a dying moose. One day he (probably accidentally) blew a beautiful clear note & I shouted, "The moose lives!" Everyone in my family understood what I meant.
ReplyDeleteI understand! At our house it sounded like a dying calf. Saddest most horrendous sound. Now it's actually starting to sound like music. Hurray!
DeleteToo funny! I can just see it! :)
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