Hank and the Piano

Once upon a time, when our older kids were much younger, Joe and I made the theoretical decision that it was necessary to push our kids to take piano lessons. It was something, I felt, that had benefited me quite a lot as a child.* When Madeleine came of age, we did force her to take lessons, despite her very vocal objections. It was for her own good, we reasoned.

A few years, and many wasted dollars, later, Joe and I finally capitulated and gave her the choice of whether she would like to stop or continue. Madeleine took about a half second to reconfirm the decision she had made many years prior: she would prefer not to continue. As an aside, after two (or was it three?) years of lessons, Madeleine still knows very little about the piano relative to what she knew before she started.

During this period, Hank came of age. He, unlike his sister, showed some interest in taking lessons. Unlike his sister, he is (most of the time) happy to sit and practice. He likes to play for fun (as he told me yesterday, "I like to play the piano, but only when someone isn't telling me what to play."). He, unlike his sister, cares about performing well at his annual music competition. He, unlike his sister, chooses, on his own, to continue with his lessons; and he is advancing in knowledge and skill at a far faster pace than his big sister did.

Most adults understand that where there are means and passion, knowledge is gathered, or a skill is mastered. In theory, I know this too. It's just that, sometimes, it's nice to be reminded. Yesterday, hearing Hank play in front of a judge and a room monitor, I was reminded of this, not because he played, but because of how he played. He played with poise and confidence. He played as one who took the experience seriously, and enjoyed the chance to be judged. And this morning, after weeks of preparation? He's back at the piano, plunking out tunes. For fun.

*I forgot to remind myself that, as a child, I as given the choice if I wanted to take lessons or not. Yes, my mom encouraged me to want to, and it helped that my second grade teacher, who I liked, was to be my piano teacher (the excitement of visiting your school teacher's house!), but ultimately the decision was mine. I am no proficient, by any means, but I did, and do, enjoy putzing around on the piano.

Ballet

We parents were invited in to watch Elisabeth and her classmates' ballet class earlier this week. These videos are entertaining, to me, because Elisabeth is my daughter. They may be interesting to some of you with some sort of connection to us or to our family. For everyone else, I apologize. Indulge me.

Like every other girl in the room, save one, E has on the required pink tights with a white leotard. She is one of the few (only?) with her hair thrown up in a loose bun.

The short, brief glimpse into the studio.

A longer peek, for the truly interested.

Learning Piano

Hank has been requesting, and has not yet received, piano instruction. His wish to take lessons has been noted, but cannot be fulfilled until this coming fall. So, for now, he plugs along on his own, staring intently at Madeleine's easier piano books and trying to make some sense of the notes he sees on the page.

That first day he decided to teach himself piano, it didn't take long before he found the notes on the page corresponded to a particular note on the piano, and shortly after that he was plunking out a few simple songs.

I am reminded, once again, that when a person decides they want to learn something we're, by and large, able to do so, often on our own.

Piano Competition, 2010

The dreaded annual piano competition is behind us for another year. I say dreaded because as much as Madeleine likes the accolades she receives when playing for people, she also detests playing for two strangers, knowing that one is listening intently and grading every move she makes.

Still, though, she gritted her teeth and smiled before she and I left the house.



As always, she was intrigued by the University of Wisconsin- Milwaukee's campus and looked around a bit when we walked up the stairs from the underground parking garage.



And, as usual, we arrived too early. This hallway where we waited was silent. And I mean s-i-l-e-n-t. We waited for Madeleine's turn, speaking in hushed tones about things she wasn't terribly interested in, as anxious people tend to do in situations like those.



Afterwards, sweet relief. It took Madeleine awhile to stop shaking. I am certain the Baskin-Robbins ice-cream stop we made on our way home helped calm her a bit.

Piano Lessons

A few years ago Madeleine started piano lessons. She did not want to learn, but Joe and I forced her to play; we felt it was important for a variety of reasons. For three years now we've heard Madeleine complain and moan about lessons and practicing and every other aspect of piano.

Finally, a few months ago, we agreed Madeleine could quit. She could finish up her spring semester, play at her upcoming piano competition and recital and then she could quit.



And then I noticed something funny.

As soon as we told Madeleine she was going to be able to quit, she started practicing more. On her own. Without being reminded. All of a sudden, going to piano lessons early Thursday morning wasn't quite the chore it once was.

And then, today. Today she tells me she doesn't think she wants to quit piano after all.

Funny.

Cauliflower Soup

It is days like today when writing a blog post seems impossible. I have no inspiration, no pictures, nothing. I am surrounded by an unfinished to-do list, piles of junk that need to be put away and a batch of cauliflower soup simmering away on the stove.

I am fixated on the soup, on its smell, its taste, each carrot that was diced and tossed inside. Cooking relaxes me; I love nothing more than to lose myself in my kitchen. But today I struggled. I looked at those heads of cauliflower and stalks of celery and was throughly annoyed. When I started cooking I did not want to; it gave no pleasure. Instead I wanted to surf the internet, read books to Elisabeth and enjoy the quiet of a house with only two small children occupying it instead of four.

But I was committed. I had promised others I would make the soup.

So, with my inner-self protesting, I started chopping, dicing and sautéing. Once I started I lost myself in the cauliflower and tasting to get the seasoning just so.

And yet, here I sit, once again, in front of the computer. But at least now I sit here with less guilt. Now one of the major (only?) items on my to-do list for the day has been accomplished. And with two hours to spare, even! Who said procrastination was my middle name?

And, if anyone wants, this recipe for cauliflower soup, the one I am making, is especially decadent and delicious.

The Last Battle

As a family, we have been reading the Chronicles of Narnia books for a few years now. Madeleine and Hank love them and remember every detail they've ever heard, from The Magician's Nephew to The Horse and His Boy. Joe and I have loved them tremendously as well, and so, we have tried to spread the books out over a few years instead of reading them all at once and not having any more Narnia to look forward to.

Sadly, the end had to come eventually and, last night, with just two chapters to go in The Last Battle we decided to promote our ordinary pre-bedtime ritual of reading together into a Major Book Night and celebrate the last few moments in Narnia as much as we could. Sleeping bags were gotten, popcorn was popped and we all managed to make it through to the end without a great many tears being shed (those of you who've read the books can well imagine a few tears were shed).



We are all sad that we are done with the series, but we were cheered to think that in a few years we could start all over again when Elisabeth and Caroline might be interested in hearing the stories. And this, of course, ignited all sorts of debate about which order to read the books. This last time we read them in chronological order, but I've heard some say no real Narnia fan would read them in any order but the order in which they were written (more info about the conflicting orders here). Hopefully my blog readers can offer their opinions about the "right" way to read the Narnia books in the comments.

A New Cinderella Story

Today Elisabeth and I played Cinderella. Elisabeth said I was to be the stepmother, and she Cinderella.

"Cinderella, wash the floors!" I barked. In response I received an irritated look. "Cinderella, I am going to the ball now and you may not come." I said.

Elisabeth glared at me. "Mom," she began, "I want to play the movie version of Cinderella."

"Isn't that how it goes?" I asked.

"No, the stepmother is nice in the beginning." News to me, but OK.

"OK, Cinderella, let's go to the ball together." And then, as an aside, "When should I turn mean?"

"Oh, how about you be nice the whole time," Elisabeth responded. So, hand in hand, off to the ball Cinderella and the stepsister-less stepmother went.

"Cinderella, it's midnight! You simply must stop dancing with the prince and return home!" I trilled.

"OK, but how 'bout I keep my glass slippers," Elisabeth suggested.



"Well, if you don't lose a glass slipper, how will the prince find you?"

Elisabeth is exasperated. "But I don't want the prince to find me!"

New Project

I am not a crafty person. I am not selling myself short and I'm not simply being modest; I'm being honest. When it comes to being creative, it's just not in me.

That said, there are things in the creative world that even non-creative people can do with the assistance of creative people. Like sewing, for instance. Non-creative people, like me, can still enjoy mending things that need to be fixed and we can even enjoy creating things that other, more creative people, have designed for us. I am one of those people. I enjoy taking nothing and creating something useful. It's one of the reasons I love to cook so much; when all that basic, plain food is mixed together in such a way that something delicious and beautiful is made by my own hands, it makes be feel very satisfied and fulfilled. And when people enjoy that creation? Even better!

So, it's not surprising that I would also feel drawn to the creating and making of useful things like pillows, duvet covers and Halloween costumes.

Except I have a small problem. I don't know how to sew. Sure, I can do basic things like sew a button on a shirt or mend a rip along a seam, but that's it. I'm not too proud to admit that, until yesterday, the very idea of a sewing machine frightened me to my core.

Yesterday that changed. I needed to make cat tails for the girls' Halloween costumes and I decided I was going to use that easy project to figure out how to use Madeleine's Singer Simple sewing machine. And you know what? I did it! It took me all day but, by the end of the day, I figured out how to wind the bobbin, load the bobbin, thread the needle and raise the bobbin thread. My first cat tail's seam was uneven and awful, but my second? Pretty good, even if I do say so myself.

Next week Madeleine and I are going to make a pillow or two so that I can get some more practice in, but our next major project? Madeleine wants to duvet cover for her comforter. Stay tuned!

Thanksgiving

Did you have a nice Thanksgiving? We did.

Madeleine learned how to use her new sewing machine,

Hank got to do a little hunting with his dad, grandpa and uncles

and Elisabeth played with siblings and cousins until she couldn't prop her eyes open for one more second.

A good, good holiday.

Spa Day

Today I finally made good use of a gift certificate I received two (or three?!) years ago issued for a trendy spa downtown. I decided to indulge in a massage and a manicure, two things I never, ever do.

I was looking forward to my day. I chatted with my friends about what to expect since a great many of them indulge in these activities regularly. It seems to be what one does around here to fit in.

And enjoy myself I did. There's no denying that lying on a table with soothing music playing, being treated with various Aveda oils and lotions and having kinks in your neck worked out is incredibly relaxing.

But it may just not be me.

I know little about the nuances involved with regular massages but I gather you're not supposed to be thinking about twenty other things you should be doing or, more importantly, what you'd rather be doing. Surely in massage utopia a complete disconnect from reality and routine is achieved.

I shouldn't be surprised. I've always been more of jeans and tennis shoe type of girl than a fitted pair of Diesel jeans and heels type and you're much more apt of find me without make-up than with, but still, the hope was there. Why couldn't I also be a spa girl?

Truthfully I feel much more relaxed sinking into the futon down in our cold, miserable basement with a bowl of hot, buttery popcorn on one side and a kid snuggled into me on the other and indulging in a movie we rented (for free!) from the library on a Friday night than I do having all my aching, stressed out limbs blissfully and skillfully manipulated to feel as unwound as possible. How bizarre is that?!

But, as always, I'm a contradiction. I loved the gift, and I'd happily accept another spa gift certificate but I think it's time I just accepted the fact that I'll never be the sort that wants or desires regular primping beyond a regular hair-cut, and that's only because I can't physically see if I don't do that. I'm not a spa girl. And that's OK.

Bath Time!

What could possibly be cuter than one sweet eleven-month old baby splashing in the bathtub?



Her big brother joining her, of course!