My little drummer boy

Mark has a love-hate relationship with his drum set. He loves it whenever he discovers a new accessory he ABSOLUTELY must have, and hates it when it's actually time to practice. (Which is kind of oxymoronic -- why does he need MORE stuff he doesn't want to play?)

He's been nagging me for a practice pad for about a month now. I don't understand why he needs a specific pad to drum on, when he has a whole set of perfectly good drums out in the garage. But he won't let up about it, and I'm tired of hearing, "Mom, I neeeeeed a practice pad!!"

And so I purchased a practice pad. Not, I might add, because of the relentless nagging, but because I realized he can take it on vacation and can keep practicing. (Between vacation and diabetes camps, he'll be gone most of July, and I don't want him to lose everything he's learned this past year.) I'm sure my fellow travellers will enjoy listening to Mark drum nonstop.

I had to special order the practice pad. I picked it up yesterday, and quickly discovered it will not work for travel -- the thing weighs about five pounds and is the size of a drum head! There's no way Mark can drag that thing around in his backpack.

But at least he can still practice his padiddles on it at home (or whatever they're called -- something with "-iddle" in it).

I thought he'd be thrilled to see it, but when I handed it to him, he tossed it unceremoniously onto the car seat beside him.

"That's it?" I asked. "After all that begging, not even a 'thanks'?"

"Thanks," he said, then proceeded to show me all the Spongebob stickers he got at school. I could've saved myself a lot of money buying him stickers instead!

But he changed his mind after dinner. "I'm gonna play on my new practice pad!" he said excitedly. I didn't understand his newfound eagerness until I reminded him he still had to practice on his drum set as well.

"WHAT?!?" he screamed, as though I'd suggested something far worse...like, perhaps, a shower.

"It's a supplement, not a replacement," I told him, but he scrunched up his face and said, "What?"

"I bought it as another tool to practice on -- it doesn't replace your drums. You can't play your songs on that!"

He scowled, but complied. He played his lesson, and then his two songs, and came back inside.

I was very proud of him, and about to tell him, but he opened his mouth first.

"Hey mom," he called to me. "I need a new ride cymbal -- my other one is a crash-ride, and I'm supposed to use just a ride instead."

And then there really was a crash -- which had nothing to do with cymbals or drums at all. Instead, it was more of a reality crash, involving a mom, a 9-year-old boy, and a lecture on entitlement and the household policy against it.

Sometimes raising them into cultured, well-rounded adults is more trouble than it's worth!