Six months ago, Trevor took up the trumpet. He practices after homework and before chores several nights per week.
On the night of his first band concert, we were frantically trying on new khaki pants for two reasons. First, Trevor doesn't wear khaki pants. He wears jeans, 99% of the time, which means we don't have any tucked in the bottom of a drawer anywhere. And secondly, Trevor can barely wear any of the pants that are tucked in the drawers to begin with because God reached down, grabbed ahold of his head, and stretched him. All of the size 12s that he owns are too short. It's cruel because he's quite thin, which means we have to use the stretchers on the tightest button and his pants get all wadded up under his shirt. So the new size 14 khakis had to be tried on and ironed and spiffed up and pinned a little by mommy. Ahem.
We were also buttoning buttons on his collared shirt because his mom wouldn't allow him to participate in a concert wearing a tee shirt. He pushed my hands away in less than 3 seconds and asked Bryon to help. Within minutes, he was ready to rock.
I wish I could tell you that he was perfectly well-behaved.
I wish I could tell you that he didn't pick his nose, or that he didn't pick his nose and eat the specimen.
I wish I could tell you that he didn't clean his spit valve TWICE on the shoes of the girl sitting next to him.
But I cannot tell you those things.
Instead I will tell you that when the band instructor took the podium and Trevor lifted his trumpet to 'ready' position, my eyes welled up with tears.
I will tell you that his long neck made him look VERY un-eleven.
I will tell you that my baby is pretty much not a baby in any way at all whatsoever anymore.
I will tell you that he did a magnificent job and we were so very proud.
I will tell you that he saw me give him the eyes of death during the spit valve thing and froze like a deer in headlights.
Good to know 11 years later and I've still got it.
PS: Dear Shoes, I did take multiple videos, which would not upload to Blogger. Sorry!