Musical Tastes

Music has been a part of my life always. Beethoven, Bach, Brahms, Bartok......played it. (With varying degrees of success. I don't recommend Bartok to anyone, ANYONE! Especially an eight year old with fledgling finger dexterity.) Nat King Cole, Cole Porter....listened to it and sung it.

I consider my tastes as varied and diverse as my favorite bag of mixed Jelly Bellies; some fruity, some a little spicy and some are an acquired taste (like the buttered popcorn flavor).

But one type of music I shall NEVER, no NEVER, acquire a taste for is Dora the Explorer screaming, "Louder! Say it louder!" I don't care if it is in Spanish or English or Swahili. I don't care if she is sickeningly singing The Declaration of Independence...in seven different languages. I. Just. Can't. Take. It.

So, dear Dora the sanity slaying Destroyer.....consider yourself evicted from my home, my life, my television and my boys' budding musical tastes. Oh, and bring your whiny cousin, Diego, with you!

I will not have Drew, Owen and Kai thinking the screeching gibberish you squeak out is music. Here is how we roll in MY house (or car)......

We rock out to the Glee version of "Busta Move" cranked to full volume..bass pumping so the mirror is shaking. Right there in my hot gray mini-van. If I close my eyes and think hard enough I almost feel like I'm 24 again in my black Mustang GT convertible, making cute boys' heads turn and then flashing my wedding ring and a devilish grin. Now I'm turning heads for another reason...I'm that crazy mom looking like a gyrating lunatic who is damaging the developing ear drums of her impressionable young boys! But no matter...

While I'm grooving, Owen is bustin' his own moves like a champ. He gives no heed to the restraints of his car seat. Out of the corner of my eye I can see his arms pumping, shoulders wiggling and little booty shaking with complete abandonment. No embarrassment or cares for what might be cool or uncool. He's just dancing to the beat and loving every minute of it.

Drew knows every word to Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire" and sings it with his own restrained enthusiasm. His arms aren't waving in the wind like Owen's but his hand is tapping to the beat and his foot is doing a tiny little dance of its own. I cock my rear-view mirror just enough to glimpse him executing a move that looks like a mini snake roll. I yell to him over the roar of the beat, "Work it out, brother!" And he smiles and continues bringing back the iconic move from the 80's. You don't see him doing that with Dora and her creepy monkey!

And then there is Kai who has opinions of his own when it comes to our musical selections. He prefers the Glee version of "Dancing With Myself" turned up to ear deafening decibels. Bouncing around in his seat, Kai's fluffy cheeks jiggle to the beat. Occasionally, I see wild arm movements that resemble a baby bird learning to take flight. Or my personal favorite, his legs flailing around like two big beef sticks stuffed into extrawide shoes.

So you see, my darling Dora, there is no room for you in our CD players or IPods. You've sung your last note on my TV. You've screeched your last screech. You've been replaced by real singers singing real songs that make me happy instead of enraged. There should be a warning on your shows: "Peligro! May cause spontaneous parental insanity resulting in the destruction of televisions." And we can't have that, Dora, can we?