Babies coughing
trouble sleeping
needing cuddles
moaning, weeping
Juice at midnight
up at dawn
laundry’s whirring
Daddy’s gone
Games tomorrow
books today
Soup and crackers
prayers to say
H1N1
Achy, dripping
hacking, then some
tea for sipping
House a mess
the fever stays
Hold on, dears
Just a few more days.
I’m not even sure when it started, this habit of using the Opera Voice to nag our children, but it’s become a mainstay in our household. My husband and I are musical, but we don’t have opera on our iPods. I remember going to operas as a child, and there’s just no arguing with a soprano, who, arms outstretched, is proclaiming her undying love for her man. Nobody says, “Yes, but what does she really mean?” There’s something so definitive about opera. You never heard Luciano Pavarotti sing, “I’m not sure,” or “Let me get back to you on that.” Opera stars know what they want, and they’re willing to crack the chandeliers to attain it.
And face it, parenting is a miracle wrapped up in a whole lot of mundane. The day-to-day stuff includes a lot of “Hey! Stop picking your nose!” (repeat 50 times) or “Quit smacking your brother!” (repeat 72 times) or even, “Go back and flush! (repeat every day, for the rest of their childhood). The parent tires of saying it just as much as the kids tire of hearing it; they start to tune out. I’ve definitely been weary of hearing myself saying these things.
That’s where opera comes in. Even if you’ve never attended an opera in your life, you might be familiar with the British rock band Queen and their 1975 rock opera hit, “Bohemian Rhapsody.”
"I see a little silhouetto of a man
Scaramouch, Scaramouch, will you do the Fandango?
Thunderbolt and lightning, very, very frightening ..."
And then later:
"Mamma mia, mamma mia, mamma mia let me go!"
I often sing this little excerpt while cooking dinner. My children know that it is a happy Opera Voice; Mommy is simply reliving her childhood and no action is required. I don’t even know what these words mean, but I remember them. They are burned into my brain. And therein, perhaps, lies the magic of opera.
The higher the Opera Voice, the more serious the infraction: a mellow, alto means just a gentle nag, something like, “Please make your bed-o! I’m not the maid-o!” But when I take a deep breath and pull out all the stops, the Opera Voice can climb to screeching heights. This is reserved for directions that have been previously ignored, like “If you don’t take the garbage out NOW, I’m going to scream-ah and take away the Wii-ah!!”
I’d like to come up with some in-depth analysis of why Opera Voice is effective when parenting. I might suggest that the high timbre of the singing catches their attention, while expressing urgency; or maybe our brains are wired to hear music more readily than plain talking. But that would be just silly. I think, for me, the Opera Voice is a wonderful tool to remind my kids that their Mom is just this side of loony. That if they were to push me far enough, I would have the capacity to embarrass them beyond compare. Sure, up until now the Opera Voice is reserved for the privacy of our own home. But if called upon, I could scare up a vibrato as wide as the frozen foods aisle, or sing a chorus that reaches the length of the soccer field.
You think I wouldn’t be crazy enough to use Opera Voice in front of the neighbors?
Try me.
