We hit the ground running: we went to an Indigo Girls concert last night, about 15 hours after getting home from Argentina. Both girls slept through it. It was adorable, but I may tease Rio for 20 years for sleeping through the show we flew home a few days early for her to go to.
The Indigo Girls have been Rio’s favorite band since she was a baby. She used to cry uncontrollably in the car unless I played their music on repeat for her. She’s memorized most of their ouvre and can sing several of their songs impeccably from memory. It’s a little scary.
At the show, they were taking requests. Because this was her birthday gift, she is cute, and I want to teach her to be an entitled bitch when she grows up, I helped her sneak down to the front row to shout her request. But then when we got there I discovered a miscommunication: she thought she would be allowed to walk right up on stage and politely ask them to play her favorite song. Security was not amused. The Indigo Girls blessedly did not notice.
And then, because this is how her world works, they broke into her song (Power of Two) anyway, and she got to sit right at the foot of the stage and listen to it. We shuffled back to our seats on the distant perimeter of the lawn right after that, and she promptly fell asleep in my lap. Clutching the CD I’d bought her in a death grip.
The show was amazing. I *heart* the Indigo Girls big time, but even better than getting to see one of my favorite bands in concert was getting to be with people I love enjoying them. Martin loves live music more than I ever could, and getting to be with him playing music, hearing music, experiencing music is such a gift. I love seeing him so happy.
And for Rio, well, her little heart just pounded in my hands the whole time she was listening to their show. At home, the Indigo Girls are a constant soundtrack in our lives. She sings, she dances, she plays them over breakfast and after school. She’s taught the chorus of several songs to her little sister and they rock them in harmony. Real harmony. I am not even joking.
But confronted with her idols alive in front of her, she sort of froze. No singing, no dancing. She just stared at them awestruck, tried to sneak up on them, stared awestruck some more, and then passed out in my arms.
We wound up with two orphan tickets to the show that we were unable to give away. When we got home, Martin wrote the date and details on the back of the unused wristbands and put them in a safe place.
“If there’s time travel when Rio grows up,” he said, “she has free tickets to go back and see the other half of the show.”