He's a little bit country

Shawn Joaquin has always been a deep kid, from his "where does the rain go" questions to his love of the lyrics of any Annie Lennox song and his ability to smell sunshine and tell me it makes him feel happy. Therefore it came as no surprise to me that when mommy hits the wall, he's more than happy to watch Project Runway, Rachel Ray and ice skating. (I draw the line at ice dancing, which even I consider too creepy and something that should only be enjoyed by deeply tortured souls with drawn-on brows.) I'm not proud of the fact that TV was verboten, outside of the World Series (minus the commercials) until he was three, and now I'm letting him learn from bitchy designers and people in lycra. But I'm tired, damnit, and sometimes the old Big Bird is not going to Chill Mama Out.

The other night I may have crossed the line. Some late night a few weeks ago I had happened across Nashville Star and was so enamored of two of its singers (and the fact that it kicks American Idol's Coke-tattooed ass) that I started DVRing it. I watch it secretly, like my special version of porn, and go to bed later with the songs of the Mandrel Sisters and Merle Haggard drifting across my REM sleep. Tonight I couldn't handle the exuberant rat-a-tat-tat of Rachel Ray's ill-placed laughter and there was no ice skating to be found, so I decided that we could watch 15 minutes of Nashville Star. In doing so, I have created a boy who now loves both kinds of music: country AND western.

As Zach Hacker's song came to a close, Shawn Joaquin yelled "MORE SINGING! MORE THAT MAN SINGING!" As we moved through the four remaining contestants, as each one finished he'd yell "MORE SINGING! I LOVE THAT SONG! IT'S MY FAVORITE SONG!"

As we headed downstairs letter, he asked "what that kind of music?" I told him it was country western, and that we'd hear more tomorrow. He put a sleepy head on my shoulder and said, "That's the best music in the whole world. It's my favorite music." With his recent gift for mimicry, it's only a matter of time before he climbs into bed one night and says with a woeful sigh, "It's hard to kiss the lips at night that chew your ass out all day long."

Yee haw.