On Wednesday night, I got a chance to see The Police in concert at the Key. They haven't been in Washington since 1983 when they played the Tacoma Dome. I couldn't go then. No way mom and dad was going to let their 14-year-old go to a concert alone. It was an incredible concert.
I did have a bit of mommy guilt as Aidan had been battling a cold, but he was in good hands. Thursday night, he couldn't settle down for bedtime. Paul did his usual storytime routine and Aidan got his nightcap of lactose free milk, but the kid wasn't interested in sleeping. Paul let him play a bit and then put him in his crib. Of course, cries and screams ensued.
After about five minutes, I decided to go up and calm Aidan down. Usually, we pat his back and avoid picking him up. This time, he was too upset so I picked him up and and rocked him in the glider chair. I tried singing the marching ant song. No dice. Hey Jude. Same thing. Since I had The Police songs fresh in my head (I sang with everyone else at the arena after all), I started singing "Every Little Thing She Does is Magic," and "Every Breath You Take." He began to settle. Then I began the next song:
"Roxanne, you don't have to put on the red light
those days are over, you don't have to sell your body to the night
Roxanne, you don't have to wear that dress tonight
Walk the street for money, you don't care if its wrong or if it right..."
Sound asleep in less than two minutes. All I had to do was sing about a prostitute. At least I didn't sing "Murder By Numbers."
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