My husband has an impressive set of tom-toms, and a ride any man would be proud of.  No, not his physical attributes, I’m talking about his new drum kit.  At 40, Jerry has decided it is time to learn a musical instrument.  He told me he has always wanted to learn to play the drums, and never had an opportunity as a young person.  

He works very hard at a stressful job that is seldom rewarding, and is pursuing an advanced degree at night.  If he can find an outlet about which he is passionate, then I say go for it!  He located an instructor, and started lessons.  A beautiful new set of Pearl drums now sits proudly in the middle of our living room.  

The final destination for this lovely set is the garage, since we have no extra bedrooms in the house, and a full set of drums does not meet my criteria for living room furniture.  The garage right now, however, is home to a car that needs to be donated to the blind or some other group that takes useless hunks of junk off your hands, boxes of stuff stored for the next neighborhood garage sale, bags of clothing I meant to leave out on the curb when the veterans group was picking up donations, and all the miscellanea of our lives.   The plan is to get rid of what we can and fix up a nice little spot where the drum set can live.  But in the meantime, it is an indoor pet. 

The kids, of course, are fascinated.  They cannot turn away.  They are drawn to these drums as if by some magnetic force they could not resist even if they wanted to.  Which they don’t. 

The first morning after the drums arrived, I awoke to an arrhythmic boom ka-boom rat-a-tat-tat.  I would prefer to be awakened by a quartet of leaf blowers outside my window.  Daddy, it seems, was giving them a “turn”.  How about giving me a turn at sleeping?  I wanted to give them all a turn…a turn out into the backyard with the cat.  Just scratch at the door when you’re ready to come in.

Jerry left for work, and I struggled to pull the kids away.  “You’re going to ruin them!”  

“But Daddy said!” 

Daddy said they could play while he was at work?  It seems he told them they could play while he was gone as long as they were nice.  Good grief, Jerry, what were you thinking?  Are you mad, man?  Our children are ages 2, 5, and 8.  They may (note “may”) start out nice, but invariably the two oldest start arguing and a full scale battle ensues.  

“It’s my turn!” 

 “No, it’s my turn, poopyhead!” 

 “Give me those sticks! Mooommmm!  He’s not sharing!” 

“Ooowwwy! Mommmmyyy!  She hurt me! On purpose!” 

I foresaw disaster for his precious drums.  And the two year old, well, heck, he’s two for gosh sakes!  He is not going to understand “Only bang them in the middle!  Don’t hit the sides!  Don’t climb on top of the floor tom!  No apple juice on the snare!”  I just knew a foot or a head was going to go right through the bass before Jerry ever got home from work that night.  

But more importantly, he left me home alone with three small children and a full set of real drums.  It’s the noise.  The noise…the noise…dear God, the noise! 

I made a new rule:  only playing with Daddy’s supervision, thus not at all when Mommy is the only parent present.  Not a popular rule, but I am used to being the bearer of bad news.  I have no sympathy whatsoever.  Unfortunately, Daddy was home all day today.  From noon until 6 pm, the drums never stopped.  Sometimes Jerry was practicing, and the rest of the time the children had their “turns”. 

Bam-bam! Bam-boom! Bam-rat-a-tat! 

I found my anxiety level rising with each stroke of the sticks.  My jaw clenched.  I yelled at the kids, they fought with each other and threw temper tantrums.  Everyone was out of sorts (except my husband).  Now I understand why some cultures used drums to get the warriors into fighting mood before a war.  I felt homicidal myself. 

Jerry’s a head banger when it comes to music, whereas Mickey Dolenz and Chris Partridge are the first drummers that come to my mind.  After this week, however, I am sure I will become a head banger too.  Only with me, it is literal, not a musical preference.  

But the truth is, even though we have not yet adjusted to the presence of percussion in our home, I am truly excited about his new venture.  He seems to really love it, and he needs something he can look forward to that is purely for joy.  I support his endeavor whole heartedly.  And I am going to tell him so.  Just as soon as they let me out of my padded cell.