“I really like this song now,” proclaims Ezra this morning.
“You do?” I ask incredulously about the awful, impossible-to-sing, archaic hymn.
“Yeah, me too! It’s pretty good,” agrees Zach.
Jeff and I look at each other with surprise and shrug our shoulders. Our boys are nothing if not surprising.
“At first I don’t like songs, and then I do,” explains Ezra.
I guess that’s how we are. Sometimes, after you get used to the awkward melody, you find out that you really like the song.
Like my friend Ellen who told me that at the end of her first week of homeschooling she was sobbing and telling her husband that they needed to register their boys in the local school. Twelve years later, when she finished homeschooling three very active boys, she couldn’t imagine having done it any other way.
Like the time I waited until sophomore year to change my major from chemistry even after spilling acid on myself, losing a little uranium in the lab (oops!), and running water through a tube meant for gas (picture a rubber tube getting larger and larger as fellow students holler dire warnings across the lab).
Today though, after holding school at Target and Starbucks so that I couldn’t be nasty to the boys just because they were being nasty to me, I’m feeling optimistic about the chances for this particular tune.