a bag of chips: I finally have...

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...an IPOD. My darling husband has heard all the subtle hints I've been dropping for the last, oh, year or so, and today he had Aidan give it to me. It's an early birthday present. So, it's official that I'm no longer the last person in blogdom, scrapdom, or at the gym to have one. Give me a week and I'll be wondering how it is I've gone this long without one and pitying the fools who have yet to catch on.

Music has been such a huge part of my life. Jazz, country, rock-and-roll, bluegrass, funk and disco, and, since my hubby's appearance in my life, soca, calypso and reggae. Whole ages in my life can be defined by the music I listened to, and listening to certain songs (like anything from The Eagles or Boston) can bring my childhood memories rushing in. Hearing The Carpenters conjures up memories of a very short and pudgy me riding in my mom's Corvair, standing on the seat next to her, cruising down some wide street in the San Fernando Valley. In fact, I can actually remember one particular car ride, singing along to The Carpenters' "Top of the World" on the radio and looking over into the car next to us to see a lady singing along to the same song, and both of us smiling at each other. Little golden nuggets of little me, defined by and resurrected by music.

Since having kids, however, I've noticed that the Sting, Frank Sinatra, Nora Jones and Miles Davis CDs in my car have been replaced with Baby Einstein, Veggie Tales, kid movie soundtracks, and other kid picks. While I enjoy singing along with the kids and listening to the same CDs over and over and *OVER* again, and while I love that this stuff we listen to in the car is defining for them this time in their lives, I miss my music. I realized a few days ago that I have not listened to any of my jazz CDs in months, and perhaps a few years. That's going to change now. I'm getting a bit of me back.

So, thank you, honey. You're the best. Love you.