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Accumulated from various holidays and times of gift giving, our daughter has a trunk load of instruments. Everything from tambourines, maracas, mini-drum sets and even a triangle. When her Godmother gave her a bright pink recorder, it sent chills down my spine. Every time, she hits the highest note imaginable on it, I question my friendship with this woman. But I guess I should relax a bit. After all, it’s musical, and my daughter loves it. The dog and me—let’s just say, the two of us haven’t quite found it to be as melodious as she thinks.
This beautiful wooden guitar from Vilac completes her concerto of rhythm and song. We love that with this one instrument she can channel her inner rock star in so many musical ways. She can wail away with quiet ballads of love and longing (I love milk, I long for some more) or dressed up in rock star baby clothes rock out with all-out fired up jam sessions (I love milk! Yeah, yeah. I love milk!). Sure, both of these genres of song sound exactly the same as she plays them. When the look on her face changes, that’s our only queue that she’s taken on a new direction with the tune.
With each performance, she’s learning to appreciate music and all the work that goes into producing it. A juice box is usually the only thing that can refresh the spent musician in her, after all that crazy rocking out.
My recorder-gifting friend has a son now. I see this guitar in his future. And perhaps a blue recorder as well. Rock on, little one. Rock on.