A few months ago, my mom kidnapped me, bound me with rope and duct tape, and forced me to sign up for Kindermusik. Actually, she gently brought it up every time she talked to me until I finally looked into it. Then she paid half the tuition. The villain.
It is the punk's very favorite thing to do every week. It's tied with church for first place. Really. After sacrament meeting on the basher's blessing day, we told the punk we were going home to celebrate with our family and friends instead of going to nursery, which he loudly protested. Then he took off running through the crowds, which did not so easily part for me, a grown-up, and quickly made his way all the way to the other side of the building and down the stairs, and then down another long hall, to his final destination: the nursery room. He wasn't happy when I finally caught up to him and detached him from the toys.
Anyway... Kindermusik is fun. The punk gets to explore all kinds of different instruments, songs, movements, activities, and stories.
We listen to his Kindermusik CDs almost exclusively in the car. He knows all the songs by heart, and he can often be heard singing them while he plays by himself.
(The kids in the photo below were supposed to hold onto the band with the grown-ups, but they all thought it would be more fun to lie in the middle and watch us act like fools.)
He always gets a supercool stamp on both his hands at the end of each class.
The only downside to this Kindermusik business is that I walk around all day singing things like, "Fiddle dee dee, fiddle dee dee, the fly has married the bumblebee." Someone please pass the Adele!