I love the ukulele. If a whimsical ukulele song comes on the radio, I automatically become a beautiful, slender, windswept, and pink-cheeked young woman in a peasant dress, staring bemusedly at the sunset on a coastal cliff.
The Husband has observed this phenomenon over the years. One day, he chose to make me the happiest of girls by surprising me with – you guessed it – a ukulele! I immediately got to work studying and plucking through a beginner’s tutorial. But the songs were not my cup of tea. Oh Susannah? Strawberry Roan? I wanted Somewhere Over the Rainbow. I wanted whimsical. And I wanted, most of all, to lead my family in our favorite hymns around the fire pit on a summer evening, with twinkle lights and Japanese lanterns hanging from the trees. I ask you, where is the tutorial for that? Someone could be making a killing.
I spent many evenings sitting in the shade, laboring over painful chords and singing along in snippets when I had enough leftover brain power after managing the chords. The Husband sat with me often, reading a book and looking up sporadically to guess what I played.
“Is that Mary Had a Little Lamb?”
“No. You Are My Sunshine. But I think I’m getting better!”
“Yep. Definitely. Your pauses between chords are only a few seconds now.”
“Did you hear the strumming pattern? I learned a strumming pattern!”
“It’s fantastic.”
This must be true love; there’s no other explanation.
The addition of a ukulele in our home coincided with my decision to start a hymn study with the children. Pure coincidence, really! It was perfect. An old hymn, God-glorifying poetry, young people’s sweet voices, and a ukulele. I just needed that peasant dress. We began with I Sing the Mighty Power of God. It’s a wonderful song, and I felt sure that I could suss out the tune on my trusty instrument.
Amazingly, I did seem to find enough chords to accompany the song, except I couldn’t name all the chords, or even tell you if they were indeed actual chords. This was fine, as we all know true artists don’t worry about technicalities. Sitting out in an adirondack in the driveway the night before hymn study began, I sang and played through the song several times. To my own ears, it sounded great, and if not perfect, totally good enough for homeschool. I had learned a hymn! On my ukulele! And would teach the children!
Morning dawned, and after the usual household bustle, we sat down for school. I read through the lyrics of the hymn’s first verse several times, teaching the kids and having them hum along the tune with me. Then I went to the bedroom to retrieve the ukulele. I strummed the first chord. Something was off.
“Tune it, Mom! It sounds funny!” I sat down, attaching my little tuner, plucking and tightening strings. The kids stifled giggles, kicking each other under the table. The Daughter yawned and shifted over to a patch of sunlight, pulling out two plastic dinosaurs to play with. I made haste, knowing I was losing them.
“Okay, Okay! I’ve got it. Let’s do this!”
“I sing the migh-ty pow’r of God, who ma-ade the mountains riiiiiise,” we all warbled the first line while the ukulele doggedly struggled to keep up. The word rise in this song hits a long and high note, which is not actually helped by several vain attempts at a correctly played ukulele chord. We continued through the first verse in stops and starts – an immense accomplishment for me, and quite enough for one day.
“That was great, guys! Isn’t this fun?”
They were silent for a beat. “Mom? I don’t want to do it with the ukulele next time,” said Deuce. “It’s just so….so….embarrassing. I feel so awkward when you’re playing it.”
Keep in mind, this is just us, at home.
“It’s the stopping. You have to stop so much during the song to move your fingers. I feel so bad for you.”
“You’re quite good, Mom,” the Eldest placated. “It’s just…it’s hard to follow along because the ukulele is loud. But you’re doing great.”
Could it be possible? Was I really that bad? Looking at their earnest and pained little faces, I realized…I was pretty bad. I laughed, breaking the tension. The kids laughed. We kept laughing.
And so I learned I am not a natural on the ukulele. Until the children can compliment me with honesty, it is reserved for my own solitary amusement. But writing this makes me want to dig it out tonight, and plod through How Great Thou Art.
In my room, with the door closed.
The Type B Mom 