And...Check!

Freestone loves to check boxes. In fact, his practicing is more about checking boxes than making music. Today he designed boxes that were all different sizes of rectangles. He then went on to design a practice chart for Ptolemy. See, he has to say "dada, mama and lala" twice each. The "pppppp" represents that raspberry thing babies do, and Tolly has to practice that ten times. Freestone worked tirelessly with his baby, trying to coax him to make the sounds so the boxes could be checked. Ptolemy did OK, although he was much more willing to make the sounds before Freestone called it practicing. At the end of Tolly's lesson, Free suggested, "Maybe that could count as my practicing!" Nice try, kid.

Now little P-Town is incrementally better at making sounds, although he won't sleep more than 20 minutes at a stretch, can't swallow baby food, refuses to sit up and hasn't even taken the LSAT yet. I'll have to have Freestone make some more charts. One thing Tolly IS good at is making literally every moment of our lives a complete joy through his mere presence. We are so, so, SO glad he's here.

Could Have Done Better

I was picking out celery at the store today. As I looked it over and tested different stalks for crispness, the most beautiful little girl walked up beside me. She copied my actions, touching the celery, looking for my reaction. As I smiled down at her, her mother suddenly jerked her arm away from the celery and shoved her toward the grocery cart where a baby waited in a carseat. She yelled harshly, "GIT over here! I told you to HOLD ON!" The girl started to cry, "But I'm hungry!" The mom viciously berated her, saying, "You're going hungry! You'll go down for a nap when we get home! You're acting like a brat!"

As I departed the produce section, I'm afraid I gave the mother a withering stare, a look meant to cast judgment. I immediately felt sorry, and embarrassed about my reaction. I didn't have kids with me, so I wasn't in that frazzled frame of mind where it seems like the kids are touching every piece of fruit in the store and asking for anything and everything made of high fructose corn syrup and lard. But that's where the other mom was, and who hasn't been there?

What she needed more than a scornful glance was a sympathetic comment. "You're doing a good job. You're having a hard day, but I know you're a good mom." It's those times when we are at our worst that we need someone to tell us we're better than that. I could have lifted that woman and changed the trajectory of her day. I could have shortened and sweetened those long hours between now and bedtime. I am sad that I didn't do that for her, because I know what it's like to be in her spent and tired shoes. Now I'll never see her again, and I don't know how to make the universe right again except to say to those moms I know, "You're doing a good job. You're a good mom. Your kids are beautiful because of you."

I have the little celery girl in my mind today, hoping her mom has a restful afternoon and somehow gets the perspective she needs to see her children through a stranger's eyes.

More Tropicana Cabana

What sounds more exciting, a violin shop or a Tropicana Cabana?
Exactly.
Which is why I painted the violin shop playroom the same color as Golda's room, Tropicana Cabana. Before, it was cream-colored, which is fine for "cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels," but boring for a playroom. The happy new color looks better against the deep purple of the shop area, too. I also painted the brick wall behind the couch. I wanted it to be the bright mustard yellow I've seen everywhere lately, but I had this "Arizona" that was close enough, so I used it. The kid in the picture doesn't do anything for the shot, but he was a teenager who didn't see any reason to move just because I was trying to take pictures.

Now the four teachers who teach at the shop, their students and parents, and my customers and I will have a cheerier place to play music. I'll be spending more time there, too. I've taken time off from teaching violin since Ptolemy was born, but I miss it. With Freestone and Lexie starting lessons, it's time to build up a studio full of exciting, colorful kids again. The playroom and I are ready to inspire!

Xantheville

Xanthe offered to buy a unicorn for us to take on family vacation.
She asked Trajan if he was the guy in the mouse suit at Chuck E. Cheese.
She thinks the lyrics to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star are, "Ubba bubba whirl so high."
She calls dinner lunch and breakfast dinner.
She asked me when she was going to be in my tummy, and if Jesus was living in the wall.
It's like she's on a bad acid trip all the time. Her relationship with the world the rest of us live in seems pretty flexible, but she doesn't seem to mind.

Just when I think she'll never bridge the gap between Xantheville and Planet Earth, she demonstrates that she knows exactly what's up. For example, she remembers with perfect clarity that I was late picking her up from ballet once, back in September. Every week when she goes to ballet, we have the same conversation in which she asks accusingly, "Where are you going now? Are you going to be here when I get out?" She also knows, at any given moment, which kid in her class has the Show-n-Tell bag, what day of the week it is, and whether there are M&M's in the glove box.

Those are useful things to know, but what I want to know is, where do you buy a unicorn?

Coats and Coats

How many mismatched gloves, lone shin guards, scribbled-in coloring books, coats nobody wears and outgrown hats does one family need? None, hopefully, because they're all gone. Once I got rid of all the stuff, it became apparent that Scott and I (Maybe just me?) have a problem with paint. I tried to throw out all the half-full gallons, but I could only part with two...beige and grey. Don't need those. I couldn't bring myself to toss Vintage Claret or Arizona, Pacific Bluffs or Purple Mountain Majesty. What would be funny is if we did stripes in the basement laundry room someday when it's finished. We could use all the paint that we've used in the other rooms of the house. Meanwhile, I've been working on another project: the violin shop playroom. I'll show you later, after I take all the old parkas to D.I. Now that the mudroom is bare, do you think it needs a coat of paint? I have a gallon of Eastern Seaboard that I've never used.

Children Are Not Timeless

I was so inspired by this article, I thought I'd share it as we prepare for our family to do sharing time in Primary today.

Yesterday morning as I was driving home from ballet, I saw Scott's car in front of me, driving home from dropping Golda off at her ballet class. A moment later, he called me from his car and said, "This might be the only chance we have to be together alone today, so I thought I'd call." We spent the rest of the drive home talking about the kids' grades. Funny, because "quality time" with Scott used to mean watching an entire NBA game without TiVo, snuggled up in a blanket. Now, just being alone in our cars has to be taken as an opportunity.

It makes me think, none of our relationships are timeless. We have to take every chance we have to strengthen bonds with people we love, and to spend time with them. I remember one time when I was probably ten. My grandfather, Bill, called during Diff'rent Strokes. He wanted to chat about this and that, and I kept my answers brief, annoyed that I was missing my favorite show. I felt guilty, but I could talk to my grandpa anytime, right? That phone call was the first thing I thought of when my grandpa died a year later. I still wish I could pick up the phone and hear his voice one more time.

I'm glad Scott called me from his car yesterday. It did turn out to be one of our only moments "together" yesterday, and it set the stage for peace in a busy day. The day ended with Scott taking the older four kids out for Indian food while I had a read-a-thon with Xanthe and Ptolemy. They called me on the way home to tell me they were bringing me ice cream. Even though my book was really good, and I was almost to the end, I set it down and listened for a minute because the kid on the other end of the line will be mine forever, but his childhood is finite.

Lessons

I know we've been down this road before. A kid starts violin lessons. I mistakenly thought with all the violins in our lives, my kids would take to it naturally, and Scott and I would have to open a special savings account marked, "Juilliard." Reality and parenting expectations rarely overlap. Golda paved the way to infamy on this instrument at the tender age 0f 4. She went to her first few lessons just fine, then one day she refused to play it anymore. Ruby, an obedient little thing at 2 and a half, dutifully picked up the violin and the lessons and did well for a good few years. I was so pleased! Then she fell in love with classical guitar and abandoned her violin. (Golda redeemed herself in 6th grade with a year in the orchestra on violin, just for fun, but flute is her main instrument. She chose it at age 6, I think because I knew nothing about it and couldn't criticize her practicing. Smart girl!)

I had a moment of clarity with Araceli and started her from the beginning on cello (a tiny viola with an endpin, actually. So adorable!), thus avoiding the pattern of violin quitting. When it came time for Xanthe to take an interest in music, she looked around, saw violins everywhere, and claimed one as her own. It was bad luck that we started lessons at about the same time she broke her collarbone. Before I knew it was broken, I was trying to get her to hold the violin on that tender collarbone, and she couldn't do it. Now I know it was because it hurt like crazy, but she never could hold the violin right after that initial painful experience. It was for the best, because she absolutely loves piano and I'm so glad she found her niche.

Last May, when Freestone took a sabbatical from guitar to focus on the French Immersion thing, he kept saying he wanted to play violin instead. I gave him six or seven months to keep asking, and he did. He kept saying, "I need to go to the shop and pick out my violin." Finally, I took him and got him all set up with an instrument. He chose me as his teacher, which works out well financially, but I was reticent. It's so hard teaching your own kid! Four weeks into it, we haven't missed a day practicing, and he has finished the Twinkle Variations and started on Lightly Row. He is still as contrary and ornery as ever, but our daily lessons are fun because if he practices cheerfully, he gets Wii time. So I have the Mario brothers to thank for giving me a child, finally, who has taken to the violin. A kid after my own heart! An apple that didn't roll too far from the tree!

I shouldn't make too much of Freestone taking after me. I was reminded yesterday that he has a lot of Scott in him, too. Trajan asked him what he was going to do with the two dollars he was bragging about. Free said, "Buy a pack of candy. Buy one, get one free." It appears Scott and I have both taught him a few lessons!

INSPIRATION

You know those inspirational posters you see in offices? A formation of jets streaking across a blue sky, and the caption is "TEAMWORK." Or a pristine golf course, and the caption is "PERSEVERANCE." I have a couple for you: Imagine these images poster-sized, staring down at you from your dentist's ceiling or mounted in a chrome frame at your accountant's office.

DETERMINATION.

The thought behind this mess was, "I WILL find Freestone's backpack if I have to rip every last coat out of this closet!" I didn't find it. It was at school. This image is also going to be the poster for CHARITY. Not the good kind, but the kind where you take all the stuff that was in your mudroom closet to D.I., regardless of whether you'll need it later or not.

COURAGE.

This is Freestone's homework from last week. "I am afraid of nothing. I am not even afraid of the A-D-D Ghost. I am not afraid of monstrs. I am not afraid." That's courage for ya. Turns out, the little guy is afraid of something. He's afraid of his mom's wrath when she discovers he forgot to turn in his homework last Friday, the same day he left his backpack at school.

RESPONSIBILITY.

I'm sure Freestone wrote this note to his teacher because I told him I would sell his DS if he didn't, not because he's all gung-ho about accepting responsibility. I also told him not to come home at all if his homework was still in his backpack. It begs the question, Can you force responsibility onto somebody? I'll let you know.

SHARING.

When you are this adorable sharing the plaid look with your little brother, it's OK that you forget your backpack or your homework once in awhile.

PURE JOY.

Or, "Ha ha! You forgot to turn in your homework! Na na na na boo boo! I did all my homework for the whole year the very first day Mrs. Esplin sent the workbook home and I NEVER forget my backpack! Ha ha! Ha ha!"

Are we inspirational or what?

And the Winner Is...

I laughed when I woke up this morning and discovered that nobody wanted my leftover paint. How could that be!? :) Nobody is in the mood to paint garish stripes anywhere in their house? Well, I guess that means I have to give the paint to Scott, the only person who entered. If you see a tangerine, turquiose, crimson and lime green Cadillac de Ville driving around town, you'll know it's your own fault for not coming up with a better idea! For the Caddy, what do you think? Stripes or polka dots? Flames, maybe?

Year of the Tiger

I am so lucky to be part of this group of people! I love that the group is growing, too. Crystal's daughter arrived just two days ago from Haiti! She didn't come this time, but next time, we hope to see all of Chloe's brothers and sisters. We are so glad her family is complete and all together.

We also celebrated Emily's brother, still waiting in Taiwan, who should be here, too, for the next gathering, this summer. Everyone is going to love him!

Thank you, friends! Xanthe said we should have her Chinese friends over every day. I agree!

Five for Five

I drove Scott's car yesterday and was reminded of all the things that make him great. Scott's car is a stylin' 1995 Cadillac de Ville and it cost us less than a trip to Costco on an empty stomach. It is in good shape and Scott keeps it clean. The elderly gentleman who owned it previously would be proud. In fact, the only clutter I saw as I got in was a neat stack of coupons under the armrest in the front seat. Scott's friends used to tease him about his frugality, but I admire it. I remember some of the extremes he went to in college to save money. Working two jobs and going to school, he was sometimes too tired to make the half-hour drive home to his parents' house. On those nights, he gave his apartment-dwelling friends a box of cereal in exchange for a night's sleep on their couch near the university.

I once saw a couple of roast beef sandwiches in the trunk of Scott's car and questioned him about it. He explained that he would buy five for five bucks, eat two for lunch and save three for dinner. When we have leftovers, I sometimes ask Scott if he wants to put some of the food in his trunk. I joke, but it stings when I think of Scott eating those cold sandwiches in his car on his way from school to a job where he would work through the night, going to class the next morning on no sleep.

What speaks to his character just as much is his generosity. It was during that same time period that Scott brought doughnuts to me at school. Not just for me, but for everybody at the violin making school. Everybody. He is generous.

Now that Scott is my leading man, his work ethic, his willingness to sacrifice and his generosity are vital to our family's well-being. Just like he gave up expensive meals in college, he puts his wants aside for his kids. We have a cat whom Scott calls "The cat with the high-definition back legs" because the money Scott had saved up for high-def TV went to save the cat's mangled legs - and his life - when he was hit by a car. I don't even know how many times Scott used his "speaker money" to fund family vacations, new musical instruments and back-to-school wardrobes before he finally saved enough to put in his theater.

You could say that three roast beef sandwiches in the trunk of a used Ford Tempo made me fall in love with Scott. Maybe they would have...if I hadn't already been in love with him. Happy Valentine's Day, Scott. Should I buy you some candy hearts to keep in your trunk?

'50's Day: Give Me Some Lip

There are so many reasons I am thankful I'm not doing what I'm doing in the 1950's, and so many reasons I'm thankful the fifth graders revisit that time in our nation's history to learn where we have come from. They do a big unit on Civil Rights, culminating in a day where the kids are segregated by eye color and those with one eye color are not allowed the same privileges as those with another eye color. The kids learn about key figures of the decade, music, events, politics, etc. It all leads up to "50's Day, a celebration where poodle skirts, hair pomade and afros are de riguer. Golda and Ruby were up at the crack of dawn perfecting Ruby's look. Ruby and Taylor prepared a lip synch to "Nicest Kid in Town" from Hairspray. It was great! The kids had a dance, too. I bet Ruby was the nicest kid in town, and the cutest, too, with her pigtails and Bumpit! Fun, fun, fun!!