While cleaning out my desk drawers today, I came upon a harmonica that my kind, loving, generous, obviously deaf mother sent to my children a few months back. When I took it out, Patrick happened to be standing right next to me and asked if he could please have it back. It had been put in the drawer because my head can only stand so much "music," and my kids love to make "music" with any instrument they can find. Loud "music." With lots of white people rhythm thrown in for good measure. A harmonica is a favorite, since it takes very little skill to make a whole lot of "music."

Anyway, how can you say no to those baby blue eyes? I gave it to him, on the condition that he take it upstairs, and far away from his long-suffering mother. He's such a good boy - he went right upstairs and started playing.

A few minutes later, I went up to check on him. He was in his room, walking/dancing across the bed and playing the harmonica (somewhat well, surprisingly). I asked what he was doing, and he pointed to an array of dolls he had propped against his closet door: "I am doing a show for the dolls, and this is my stage." My little boy was playing harmonica for a bunch of dolls, just like he was a real rock star. And he was LOVING it. He kept it up for about 45 minutes, when, I guess, he got bored and headed off to the playroom to torture Emma (with "music," of course).

One thing I can say for sure - those dolls have never been more entertained in their whole lives. Watch out American Idol, here comes Paddy!