I hate my son

I hate my son

No, I don't hate my son. Please don't call child services.

I love my son. Still, please don't call child services

But I do hate that he no longer takes the bus to school (he now walks, the healthy little so-and-so).

You see, back in the bus riding days, that five or ten minutes spent waiting for the bus, that was Ukulele Time.

A glorious, tiny chunk of time, when the boy was too sleepy for anything else, and we just had to stand around and wait.

I really looked forward to it. I'd have my little practice routine all worked out.

Some days something technical, a scale or a lick.

Some days, working out a song.

(Songs became more popular, because the little sleepyhead would often join in).

But now he walks.

And I've struggled to replace that uke time. It's not that hard to find 5 or 10 minutes, but the ROUTINE was invaluable. KNOWING that at a certain time each day you'll pick up your uke and play just makes things easy.

Can you find a little nugget of time and make it your sacred ukulele time?

It will quickly and vastly help you get better.

Now you can call child services.