What's your sound?

Just as every good parent, I want my kids to feel that they have free-will to decide what they want to do in life. What their passion may be.  You wanna ice skate? Super. I will be there holding your blade guards. You wanna play football? Rock on. I will be there scrubbing the grass stains out of your tight white pants. You wanna wrestle or play hockey? No. Mom says no. Why? Because I said so.

Moving on.

Since the babies are still working on sitting unassisted and spoon to mouth coordination, we will wait a bit until we figure out what they are destined for. But, Logan?  My boy. My 3 ft. some inch tall kiddo has so far shown some pretty darn fancy skills playing catch, golfing, throwing, soccer, and hitting a baseball.  Perhaps he will be a natural.  All of those things are fine and dandy when he is playing outside.... but none of them light up his face quite like the tuba.

Yes folks, you read that correctly. The. Tuba.

Tuba.

My 3-year-old could care less about the candy being thrown at the parade.  No.  He was indifferent about the mardi gras beads, the fancy floats, the lights and fanfare. But when that band was heard around the corner, his face lit up kid at Christmas, and when that Tuba player rounded the block my boy could hardly keep his composure.

The tuba.

This, people.

Did anyone take a little look-see that that price in the link? Don't do it. Anyone got a kidney I can sell? 

I am aware he is only three, and he may not end up being the Principal in the New York Philharmonic.

But, he might.  And if he is, I will be there holding his giant tuba spit rag (actually, I don't even know if that's a real thing), and I will sit in the front row, and I will tote that giant Tuba around in the back of my bus Minivan. Go for your dreams, Mini-McGowans.