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Tuesday, September 23, 2008The Ideal Piano StudentSpencer is taking piano lessons. From me. Mind you, it's been a long time coming. I've known since he was in diapers that he was gifted in music. The child sang before he spoke. Sang, as in, correct pitches. Real melodies. I had a feeling that he'd play the piano, but I decided not to push it. Oh, how glad I am that I didn't! Because about two months ago, Spencer made the unilateral decision that he would, indeed, play the piano. Of course, I didn't get around to the lessons right away (typical of me). Did this deter the boy? Nope. He sat there and "taught himself" things. Things like...oh, reading notes. And time signatures. And chords. And...well, he's borderline prodigy. Seriously. Well, seriously with a tinge of mama pride. So about a month ago we finally sat down to our first "formal lesson." I realized right off the bat the the child was beyond the regular "book one" level that I've used to start all my other students. This boy -- this nine-year-old, do-it-yourself pianist, was ready to jump right into "Piano For The Older Beginner." And in the first lesson, we covered the entire two first units. For the uninitiated: That is probably two to three months of work for the average student. Four weeks into the venture, he has not ceased to impress me. Every morning directly after breakfast, he sits down and practices. He is methodical -- precise. He taps his foot on the floor to keep a steady beat. I didn't even tell him to do this; he just did it. On his own. He is every piano teacher's dream. He doesn't only practice once a day, either. In addition to his intensive morning practice, he usually sits down mid-afternoon and practices some more. And sometimes he practices in the evening, too. The boy is...unreal. He transposes his lesson pieces to other keys -- on his own. He has taught himself minor chords, when we've not even moved beyond C Major in the book. And he writes music. By hand. On manuscript paper. Some of it has lyrics. They're hysterical. In church on Sunday, during pre-worship, he sat quietly beside me and made up his own time signatures. I have here a bonafide musician. And it's thrilling the wadoobies out of me. To be fair to Rachel, she is my other "natural talent." We have finally -- finally! -- resumed piano lessons. And she is absolutely excelling. She's dipping her toes into the waters of scales and arpeggios already. I'm immensely proud of her. Bach is no more than a few months away. So I'm thinking, my college degree was worth something after all. There is nothing -- I mean absolutely, positively nothing -- as fulfilling as watching one's children bloom at an instrument that has given me so many years of pleasure. Thirty-eight years, to be precise. And that's my Proud Mama rant of the week. This is my reward for all those dud students I had to deal with in the past. Students who never practiced. Students who forgot to bring their piano books to the lesson (hello???). Students who informed me that they were only taking lessons because their mom was making them, and they really wanted to be a marine biologist. No, I'm not making these up. So. I'm delighted. Thrilled. Ready to actually pay a piano tuner to fix this poor Baldwin of mine. I might even brush up on some Beethoven myself. Ah, the joys of music. I'd almost forgotten them. Labels: homeschooling, life Friday, September 12, 2008Don't Scare Your Mama Like ThatI was in my office when I heard Molly cry -- one of those loud, long, I'm-hurt-and-upset-and-inconsolable cries. "What happened?" I yelled to Spencer, who was with his baby sister downstairs in the hallway. "She fell, but she's okay," came the sweet reply. But the cry had had the "I need my mommy" tone to it, so I got up and made my way down the steps. Molly was lying on her back in the hallway, right at the bottom of the stairs, where I'd stuck the safety gate two steps up to give her a little "safe practice" with step climbing. As I hurried toward her, something felt dreadfully wrong. And as I approached her, I realized what it was -- she had stopped crying. Not only that. Her face was a strange, purplish color, and her little arms, bent in front of her, were sort of twitching. I sank to my knees and leaned over to assess her. Her little body was limp and her eyes were rolling. My world stopped. "Molly." I leaned close. "Molly." Fearful of a neck injury, I didn't want to touch or move her. The hour-long seconds passed, and there she was, looking up at me with normal eyes, completely awake. She began to cry again, so I gently scooped her up. There was no sign of injury on her head. No goose egg, no redness, no gash. For the rest of the evening, she was completely fine. Playing, crawling, cruising, jiving to Telemann. Molly went on as though nothing had happened. Mommy, on the other hand, was an emotional wreck. I had a theory, deep in my gut, but I had to research to be sure. It seemed to me that she had somehow "asphyxiated" herself with too deep a cry. Because, ya know, the child can really go there. Those deep, will-she-ever-breathe chasms between wails that clutch at a mama's heart. And wonder of wonders -- I was right. You want to know what happened to my baby? It was a Breath Holding Spell. Yep. My tiny drama queen held her breath and caused herself to pass out. To be fair to Molly, babies don't do this on purpose. Only about five percent of children have this kind of physiological response to sudden pain, fear, or frustration. It will often occur after a fall or a sudden injury like a pinched finger. And if you react by giving them the world on a golden spoon every time they go through it, they will learn to do it on purpose. Guess who's going to play it really cool if this ever happens again. Despite my frenetic personality, I'm not a nervous type of mama. I don't run my children to doctors when they have a fever (what can a doctor do, anyway?); I don't wring my hands if they fall and hurt themselves; I've cleaned up fresh blood from the bathroom tile (head gash) without blinking more than twice. But you know what? This. Really. Scared. Me. It just looked so...wrong. And from what I've read, every mama who experiences this for the first time feels that way. Scared. It was downright creepy. I needed extra chocolate after this one. Oh, Sweet Baby. Don't do this to your mama again. She's too...old. Well, old-ish, anyway. Tuesday, September 02, 2008And Here's The Princess...
   Labels: baby Monday, September 01, 2008Sweet Molly Turns OneIf I lament about the rapidity of the first year of my baby's life, it'll sound trite. Yet it's true. Sweet Baby is decked out in pink and brown, toile and ruffles, big bow and smiles. First cake, first presents. Seventy thousand photographs. Some of which will end up right here. Oh my precious daughter, my Bohemian Princess, my Earth Baby. How I love you! One of the best days of my life happened exactly one year ago today. God is so very good. |
About Me
I am: Mother to five stunningly individualistic children... Writer of young adult fantasy... Passionate advocate for Women At Home... Madly in love with my husband... In need of Organic Gourmet Chocolate on a regular basis. I've got a Paypal account if you'd like to contribute to the cause....
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