Clio and Elsa will never be as truly rock and roll as some of the other blogster young 'uns here on Babble, but as the children of a performing musician, they do get the occasional opportunity to rock out. (At least, as much as it is possible to rock out when your dad plays mostly in the folk / roots / singer-songwriter scene. It's not like he does death metal.) Most of his shows happen after the gals' bedtime, but we've brought them along to some of the daytime gigs.
It's been a little tricky for them, so far, to understand that when Daddy is playing onstage, it's not like at home -- they can't just go up to him or try to talk to him or tell him to play "Nana phone." (He doesn't actually know how to play Nanaphone -- a.k.a. Banana Phone, and has told them this repeatedly, but it's still one of their favorite requests.) At a show a few months ago, they were dancing in front of the stage, then Clio got freaked out by the applause after a song and started crying, and ran up to him for comfort before I could stop her. So, of course, Elsa went up to him, too. One of the other performers, the lovely and talented Rose Polenzani, artfully defused things by letting them play her glockenspiel during the next song. I'm not sure either of them has a future in percussion, but it's probably too early to judge.
Rose Polenzani and back-up glockenspielers
This weekend, Alastair had an early show at a pub, so the girls and I went over and had dinner there. It's not a seedy place or anything, but isn't exactly family-oriented, so having a couple of two-year-olds in the house was quite a novelty for some of the regulars. We had a few gin-soaked kisses blown in our direction by twinkly-eyed, grinning old men. Things managed to stay on the sweet side of that very fine sweet / creepy line.
The girls bravely sat at the high top table and we ate our greasy dinners. I don't know why I haven't yet managed to learn that if we order something for the girls that comes with fries, they will only eat the fries. I guess this isn't the worst thing in the world, given how infrequently we eat out with them. And, in fact, I did get Clio to eat one bite of a pickle (does that count as a vegetable?) It slipped out of her hand onto the floor, and she said "I'll leave it there for the dogs and the cats." Very thoughtful of her. Meanwhile, Elsa, with ketchup all over her face, exclaimed out of the blue, "I'm excited to be here!"
Once Alastair started playing ("It's a little loud," said Clio) the girls were ready to dance. And dance they did. Elsa is majorly into twirling around and around at present, so she'd twirl and twirl, then stop and dizzily stumble around and fall on the floor. A few times I had to catch and redirect her before she wiped out and knocked into a barstool. A few times she ended up on the floor, but hey -- it's not really a night out until someone ends up on the floor, right?
Actually, both of them did some floor-moves as part of their dancing. I know this isn't the most sanitary thing in the world -- having your children roll around on the floor of a bar. But I gave their hands and faces a very thorough scrubbing when we got home, and as long as we can get through a night of clubbing without anyone throwing up or passing out, no harm done, right? I even managed to capture some of their rocking out on film -- it's a little dark, but you can catch some of their moves. The song is one of Alastair's originals, "Swing that Axe." He's on the acoustic guitar, with local fave side man Austin Nevins on electric.
