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Cellist Plays Her Recital Piece Twice as Slow as Ever Before

Perfection?  I'll tell you where you never find it.  At a music recital.  What you can find is entertainment.  Freestone was the first Dopp on the program.  The minute he got up in front of a large group of people, all of them looking at him expectantly, I think he felt a surge of power.  He wanted to do something more awesome than play a dumb old violin song, but he couldn't think what that amazing feat might be.  So he just stood there absorbing the attention.  We'll have to come up with a comedy act for the next recital.  Or not.  He was pretty funny already.

I'm glad Golda played.  This was one of her federation pieces.  After so much hard work, it was nice to be able to perform it for someone other than the few people in the room at federation, including her mom holding a garbage can just in case the migraine got the better of her stomach at just the wrong moment.  This performance was much less nerve wracking! See, Kate?  Golda really does play the flute!  :)

Araceli has the best expressions when she plays.  I don't know why she chose such a slow tempo, but she played well enough to get a thumbs-up from Scott AND Ptolemy!  Copying Scott, he gave her a tiny thumbs-up and said his new word, "Go!"  How cute is that?  OK, cuter if you're his mom, but still...

In a recital version of Sophie's Choice, I had to choose whether to record Ruby or Xanthe, since the memory chip was full.  It was actually an easy choice, since Ruby just played this same piece in recital last week. Ruby did great, but this was Xanthe's first recital.

She took great care getting ready, even asking to wear her glasses, which she never wears because she can't see out of them.  I guess she was on an accessorizing kick and saw how cute Ari looked in her glasses.  The minute the person before Xanthe finished her piece, Xanthe jumped up, ran to the piano and said in the quietest voice, "I'm Xanthe and I will play Mary Had a Little Lamb."  And the rest is history.  The look of pride on her face afterward is priceless.  When I saw that beaming face, and held her when she ran to me, I had a flash of anger.  I was angry that her birth parents will never see their little girl in a tutu at the piano.  The anger was a surprising emotion, but suddenly I did feel angry that those people had to give up so much in this precious little girl.  They won't see any of it, and it is not fair.  Now it falls to us, Scott and me, to appreciate Xanthe for ourselves and also for the parents who sacrificed a lifetime of proud smiles and arms around their necks.  Their sacrifice is eternal.  It's too much heartbreak for a music recital, so you don't think about it, but it is there.  Instead of going away, these feelings will soon have to be experienced through Xanthe's eyes, once she is old enough to feel what I felt in that moment.  I am just thankful to have her here, safe, and forever.

When the music ended, I quickly swam out of my moment of cosmic despair and herded all the kids to Baskin Robbins for a post-recital treat, courtesy of Bill and Coco.  Ice cream can fix just about anything!

Dear Mother Nature

Dear Mother Nature,

I am sad because you keep sending rain and snow and cold.  Please send sunshine and warm temperatures so my big brother can teach me to swim!  I am ready.  My suit and floatie are in the car.

Love, Ptolemy

'Tis the Season

The seasons of the year in our family don't necessarily have to do with the weather.  For one thing, there are only three seasons:  Nutcracker, Recitals and Swimming.  We're in recital season now, which starts with flute federation in March or April and ends with the ballet recital in June.  Although this year, the season has a playoff aspect to it, with The King and I running into July.  What I'm trying to say is, if you're tired of watching You Tube videos of kids playing instruments, don't click here.  Or here.  Or here.  But this one is kinda cute.

Teach Me To Walk

Freestone is Pat Morita to Ptolemy's Ralph Macchio. Wax on, wax off...wax on, wax off. Freestone doesn't know karate, or how to trap a fly with chopsticks, but he is teaching Ptolemy some other valuable lessons, and he is not taking his role as sensei lightly. Freestone made his student a "thermometer" chart to mark off all the times he practices crawling. When crawling became easier for Tolly, Free started getting up every morning and laboriously dragging the little guy around by his armpits, teaching him how to walk.

He has explained how to swim, how to put on his goggles, how to play the violin, how to play the Wii, how to throw a baseball.  Everything Freestone does, he seems to do it for Ptolemy.  All of his violin songs have lyrics like "Tolly Boy!  Tolly Boy!  Freestone's little Ptolemy!"  Or "Go te-ell Tolly, go tell Ptolemy!"  His homework said, "I have a baby brother.  He is very cute.  I play with him every day.  His name is Ptolemy.  I want to teach him Wii.  I am teaching him to walk."

Free was very cognizant of Mothers' Day yesterday.  First thing in the morning, he brought me a carefully wrapped gift.  It was his soccer trophy.  Later, he gave me the cookbook (from my cupboard) that has his favorite gingerbread recipe in it.  But the best gift he gave me was a statement.  "Mom, I have to tell you something."  He waited for me to look him in the eye and said, "Thank you for Ptolemy."  For a little boy with so much fight and bravado, he sure has a tender heart. 

I Love You Because...

Ruby brought home a fill-in-the-blank card from school that said, "Mom, I love you because..." And she wrote, "Because I know that someday you'll remember to buy Nutella at the store."  I like her faith.  Keepin' it real, dog.  Keepin' it real.

I love you guys, and I promise I'll someday remember to buy Nutella!  Until then, thanks for sticking it out with me!  So glad I have you!

Aaaaaarg!!

A certain child of mine who shall remain nameless...

...had to call me from school yesterday.  In a small, yet unnervingly cheerful voice, he told me that he had gotten in trouble in music class and his punishment was calling his mom.  Then his teacher got on the phone and said that in addition to calling his mom, he had to stay in from recess and write a letter of apology to the music teacher.  His teacher told me, "Freestone was hitting his maracas together and the teacher told him to stop or they would break and he would have to pay for them and Freestone said I WANT to pay for them!"  I had to roll my eyes.  It sounded so much like an adult tattling on a six-year-old.  I felt like saying, "On a scale of one to ten, how serious is this problem?"  But I tried my best to support Freestone's teacher, because she is wonderful, and keep my emotions in check.

It is so very difficult to react appropriately in a situation like that.  When a teacher calls to tell you that your child has been naughty, emotions course through you as if a cocktail of drugs is being injected into your arm by IV.  You feel frustration at your child, compassion for him, shame and embarrassment at his behavior, anger at the situation.  You feel protective of him, yet you want to wring his neck!  You want to support the teacher, but hatred at her for attacking your child flares up unbidden.  I literally feel like there's twice as much blood in my veins as usual, and it's running hot.  In that moment, I have to come up with an appropriate reaction, one that conveys my concern, says that I am a responsible parent, yet doesn't sell out my kid.

I find it almost impossible to find a balance here.  On one hand, I don't want to punish him with a reaction that stems from my embarrassment as a mother.  I have done that, and it is not fair to the child.  On the other hand, I want to teach him respect.  I'm just not sure if I can do that in one day.  At school, he lost recess, had to call his mom, and had to write a letter.  At home, he got his DS taken away until June 19th, got lectured at and had to skip baseball practice.  (It was cancelled anyway, but don't tell Free.)  Is that overkill for a moment of defiance in music class?

The larger question is, how can a parent ever see things clearly?  How can I see things clearly at all when a brown-eyed, towheaded extension of myself is out in the world defiantly banging maracas together?

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year!

It's costume time!  Few things are as exciting as showing up for a routine ballet class and seeing piles and piles of tulle and satin!  There is nothing more delightful than little dancers pouring out of the studio with glee on their faces and a beautiful costume on their arm.  Heaven and Disneyland all in one! 

March..by Bach

Araceli is preparing for the recital next week.  Here is March, complete with flaws that will (hopefully) be ironed out by recital time.  Ari is wonderful at practicing diligently at 8:00 every morning.  The concession is that I don't help her.  A book I read recently said that when you become frustrated in a situation, you've helped your children enough.  I have found that to be true and tried to walk away at times.  The combination of Ari, me and the cello is often a very frustrating venture for both of us.  So this is her gig.  She could progress faster with more help from me, but it would be at the cost of our relationship.  Besides, giving her ownership of her practicing is teaching her discipline.  Her teacher is incredible at pushing her in a good way, not letting her slide and building at each lesson on what she is able to achieve in a week.  I am so thankful for good teachers.  Their influence cannot be overstated.  Ari's Saturday lessons with Mr. Marsden, I wouldn't trade for anything.  She is learning accountability, responsibility, preparation and music, too.  She does it all the Ari way.  The lesson I'm still learning is that the Ari way is just fine.  Wonderful, even.

Mothers' Day

 This painting by Emily McPhee punched me in the heart with its haunting and beautiful portrayal of what it is to be a mother.

There is footage of my wedding day, Scott in a tux and me in my beautiful white gown, our families gathered around for pictures.  Scott is tossing a young cousin in the air, laughing with him and being playful.  I'm standing off to the side with a bored and impatient look on my face, fingers interlaced, thinking, "Cute.  Now put that grubby thing down now so we can get back to admiring ME on my wedding day."  I had an academic interest in children, knowing or at least planning that I would have some someday.  On a practical level, however...no interest whatsoever.  Little dresses, downy hair, handmade toys, they were all abstract ideas that I assumed would coalesce one day into quiet children playing at my feet while I did whatever I felt like doing.  My life would go on exactly the same, only I would be surrounded by cherubs in matching outfits.

That's what I thought it would be like, in the distant future.  So Scott's toddler cousin at my wedding was slightly annoying with his runny nose and noisy feet, hogging the limelight. Taking away from my glory with his golden locks and pint-sized suit.  There is a time and a place for adorable, and there was no time and no place for it in my life back then. 

A year and a half later, I was doing my violin-making graduation work 8 months pregnant.  It was a change of heart, and my heart just kept changing and changing, growing to encompass all the little souls who fell under the umbrella of my maternity.  Scott had the parenting instinct from the beginning, but I learned it by experience.  Looking at that wedding footage, we crack up because that girl in the beaded gown is, in some ways, a stranger to me now.  That girl was ignorant of the extent to which her mother carried her, long past the ninth month, or the ninth year.  She probably didn't even notice that her grandmothers and so many aunts were sharing the task of hoisting her to womanhood.  She didn't yet have an inkling of how many little children would reach their arms up to be carried by her, or how much she would love and treasure that weight, that journey.

Mom, Marlene, Big Golda, Nana Ruby, Aunt Tricia, Aunt Pat, Aunt Marla, Aunt Rita, Aunt Da...now I know.  Thank you for teaching me.

Extreme Kid Makeover

Araceli's cello teacher said she was leaning forward to squint at the music and that he was concerned about her vision.  "Yeah, right, her vision," I thought.  "She's squinting as a stalling technique when she hasn't practiced the piece enough."  I did notice the music stand being awfully close to her cello, though, and took her in for an eye exam.  Sure enough, she is having trouble seeing up close and came home with two pairs of cute, trendy glasses.  The optometrist assured me that in addition to being stylish, the glasses would help Ari concentrate on her nighttime reading better.  Hey, I'll pay good money for improved concentration, and I did.  Glasses ain't cheap.

Following up on the makeover theme, Ari had a well child check, a haircut and a shopping trip with Grandma and Grandpa this week.  Thanks to their generosity, she came home with new shoes and socks and a soft, pretty jacket.  To go along with her new look, she fabricated a robot costume at Coco and Bill's while the rest of us were visiting.   The right side of Araceli's brain is continually in motion.  We're working on the left side, the side that controls reason and rationality.  But that's another story.  Ari, we like you just the way you are.  It's exciting being a passenger on your roller coaster.