With a bowl of Apple Jacks in his lap he sat spellbound by The Fray, then All American Rejects, then U2, then Death Cab For Cutie. 

Gresham, age four, doesn’t like routine.  He’s constantly changing the way things are done around here to keep himself from getting bored.  Switching the shelf milk goes on.  Brushing his teeth in the bath instead of afterwards.

This morning he didn’t want to eat at the kitchen table in a chair like a boy.  He wanted to eat on the den floor from a bowl like a dog.  And he didn’t want to eat with his sisters.  He wanted to eat with me.  Only me.

And instead of choosing to watch something from the Charlie and Lola DVD he asked for “the boy playing piano.” The Fray, in other words.

We watched the video for ”Over My Head” on my laptop and I realized he was mouthing the words and tapping to the beat.  He did the same thing on the next video, and the next.

“Why does everybody have a band but me?” he whined, lightly misting my laptop’s screen with soy milk.

“Everybody??  Everybody doesn’t have a band.”

“You have a band and Phillip (his cousin) has a band like Blue (Brody‘s son) and those guys have a band,” he pointed to the screen as the Edge‘s expressionless face drifted across it.

“Well, Mommy’s not in a band and Gabriella and Penelope (his sisters) aren’t in a band and…”

“They’re girls!!” he shouted.

“Good point…What do you want to play in a band?” I asked.

“Drums,” he said matter-of-factly without a smidge of hesitation.

“You’d be a great drummer, buddy.  Do you still want to play every sport too?”

“Uh huh.  And not do work.”

“Well, making music is Daddy’s work,” I explained.  “These guys make music for their work too.”

“Nuh uh.  You help kids…I wanna do that too.”

“You want to help kids, play the drums in a band, play every sport and not work.”

“Uh huh. And not be married…and eat on the couch every morning.” He slurped from his spoon, never taking his eyes off Bono.

“Cool. You can do that.”