For our tribe, band kids always reign supreme—because if you can march backwards playing music and survive sight reading and summer camp, then, by George, we think you have a darn good shot at being amazing. Because you already are.
The child wasn’t nestled all snug in his bed,
He was playing with toys, my patience hung by a thread,
Husband in his iPad, and I in my map,
“Which stadium, again, am I supposed to be at?”
There is no greater pride I feel when I see our band family take the field. For seven minutes, after hundreds of hours of work and sweat, I realize what all of the chaos in our household was meant for. Sure, there’s still a stain on my favorite sweater, I cannot seem to locate my son’s purple race car and cereal has replaced my real dinner. Watching my soulmate use his God-given talent along with hundreds of others beside him, makes my job worth it.