Our Very First Concert

The Munchkins have been diligently practicing beginner violin for a few months now.

and we've progressed from the squeaks and squeals of those early days to some confident bow work. We're not Vivavldi by any means at la casa, but all three Munchkins can play a tune or two error-free. They can tighten and rosen their own bows, they can properly hold, carry, walk with, store and extract their own instruments. And, knock on wood, I have yet to bribe anyone into practicing on a semi-daily basis. Usually just a gentle reminder that it's time to practice is all it takes to have them sprinting for their violins.

That being said, when you dress them in the traditional black and white concert get up, and then hand them off to a bevy of instructors while you go battle it out for decent seats at their first real concert? Your stomach will be doing somersaults. Guaranteed.

It's such a difficult thing, to let your kids stand up in front of others, the possibility of failure hovering just at the fringes of your consciousness. It's hard to let go. To trust that all those hours of practicing has paid off; that they won't stumble on the way to the stage, forget their music, or suffer a massive bout of stage fright at the last minute.

 

I wonder, at times, if I'm the only parent that suffers these worst-case-scenario nightmares on a daily basis?

How do you know they're ready?

I think that's the question I wrestle with so often these days.

There are times when I forget that The Munchkins are so relatively young. At eight, seven and five they seem so mature when they're not picking their nose or making poop jokes. I heap responsibilities on them that I'm not sure I had at their age because our small, four-person household would not function without them pitching in as equal parts instead of as just dependents. They are as equally responsible for cleaning and dusting and laundry folding and dish cleanup as I am on a weekly basis. And I ask it of them time and time again because it is necessary, hoping each week that it is not going to be the straw that breaks the camel's back, almost fearing each time that I'm dooming them to failure by expecting too much of them...

But on Sunday, The Munchkins, solid and steady as ever, pulled off a flawless performance for hundreds of parents, families, friends, and guests.

I am raising virtuosos...

One terrifying moment at a time.

Solving Puzzzles

The Monkey was home sick the other day.

The bulk of our day was spend spoon-feeding Tylenol and curling up on the couch trying to sleep it all off. They’re so sad and pathetic when they’re burning up with fever, you know? At one point; however, the girl thought she might be feeling better and requested we do a puzzle.

And a good 10 or 15 minutes into putting together a slew of Disney Princesses and Kitty Cats and such, The Monkey half turns to me and says:

“it’s a lot like God, isn’t it?”

“What is sweets? Puzzles you mean?”

“Yep” she replies stoically.

“ Because they’re difficult to put together?”

“No mom,” she replies with a heavy and somewhat disgusted sigh and small shake of her head. “Because there are so many different pieces. I mean. I have one piece and you have one piece and maybe there could be, like, Angel from my class at school that could be helping or something and she could have a piece. You know?”

I just wait…hoping she’ll elaborate if I nod and smile a little

“Because we don’t get to see the picture until it’s all done, but we all have different pieces. And all our pieces look different, but they’re all to the same puzzle.”

Mind. Blown.

My five-year-old just schooled me on religion.

I don’t know why it’s always such a revelation when children say intelligent things. At this point in their development I should be innured to the shock of The Munchkins saying something so completely sensible. Kids just have a different way of looking at the world I suppose. They relate everything back to their level, back to what they know. And I think that, as adults, we try and ‘smarten up’ our statements on life. After attending 12+ years of school and reading thousands of books, I’ve somehow trained myself to think that anything of a philosophical nature that comes out of my mouth better be backed by some research and include some name dropping and citation of knowledgeable sources. And, inevitably, I fall flat on my face, because in this approach, I just make the abstract more abstract. Whereas kids, at least in my experience, make the most sense because they make the abstract more concrete. Kids play with puzzles. God is a puzzle. Got it. Locked down. Moving on. No crisis of faith here, people. She gets it.

And who am I to say she’s wrong? I dig it. God is a puzzle. Makes as much sense as anything I learned in the past 30 years. I need to remember to listen more and assume less… I learn more this way. Especially from my children.

apologies

i know...i know...i have neglected this blog terribly lately. but i have a good handful of big projects in the works that i will be able to share soon. and also...the holidays...they approach. and  all their diy craftiness and homemade gifts comes with it.
a thousand apologies. truly. life just got in the way there for a bit.

stubborn love

Sometimes that stubborn ache,

That 'never enough' hole in your middle

In the very center of you-

Never quite dissolves

Even when you find yourself blindingly, maddeningly surprisingly joyful

at the way things seem to be unfolding unexpectedly right before your eyes.

And maybe that can be a good thing, the way the emptiness claws at your heart and tugs

Maybe it pushes and prods you to be beyond.

Beyond what you thought you could be or could do or deserved to have

Beyond regular. Beyond ordinary. Beyond beige.

Maybe it’s the contented happy people that grow up mediocre, and those of us that had that blood-metallic taste of loss in our mouths earlier than we thought we could, that go on to great passions. 

Because we demand it of ourselves.

And others.

Maybe we finally learned to.

 source
sometimes. 

loving fiercely

requires a little extra effort

Rollercoasters.

What a roller coaster weekend we had at the homestead.

I was on an independent-adult high going into Sunday. I had a rare day Saturday all to myself, and spent it in the best way possible: With a bunch of friends, and a bunch of drinks, floating down a river. By the time I dragged myself home Saturday night I was exhausted, but felt ready to conquer the world. I was refreshed. I was ready to have The Munchkins back and get a fresh start on our week together, sure that everyone’s moods would be improved with a little time off from each other.

Good Lord, was I ever wrong.

I spent Sunday morning dragging cranky Munchkins out of bed, squeezing little arms and legs, sausage-like, into church-clothes casings. I pushed, prodded and dragged them all the two blocks to Mass, where they sat/squirmed/whined/half-knelt/eyerolled their way, sweating, in sticky wooden pews through an hour of church. The promise of the routine post-mass doughnut was the only thing that kept us from killing one another by the homily. And then? No doughnuts. Isabelle burst into tears. Sophie nearly did. Heck, I nearly did.

We were set to have one last practice/walk-through for the elder two’s First Communion directly after mass. Sebastian was ready to get it over with. The Monkey was stoic, but entirely ready to go home. The Biz begged off for a moment to run to the bathroom.

And promptly Locked. Herself. In.

No shit. She locked herself in the church bathroom. On Purpose.

Once I realized what she’d done (because we thought she might have fallen in she was taking so long) I spend a good solid few minutes trying to cajole her out. After that didn’t work I had to appeal to several people still milling about to find a way to force the door open and force out a panicked, crying, screaming kid. Regardless? NOT a great morning. We spend the next hour discussing and punishing and crying our way through it at home. Isabelle was never talking to me again. I was never trusting her again. She was angry and I was grounding her faster than you could say boo. It was not pretty. It was more punishing than parenting. I was humiliated and taking it out on her. And once you start sliding down that slope, I’ve found that it’s nearly impossible to claw your way back up.

So the two of us spent the next few hours sulking separately. The Biz in her room, and I in the kitchen.

By the time we needed to leave the house again we were on speaking terms, and I’d received a very grown- up sounding, non-prompted apology. And, by the time we returned home from 2 hours at the Metropolitan Youth Orchestra orientation we were on functioning family terms again, for the most part, although she clearly preferred her grandmother’s presence to mine (and who can blame her?). So it took me a bit by surprise when she crawled into my lap near bedtime for some advice.

“Mom, there’s this girl in my class and she doesn’t speak any English” she starts out.

Apparently one of the new students in her class is undergoing the trial-by-fire version of learning English in the third grade. Poor kid. I can’t imagine. I know the experts say that there is no better time to soak up a new language than when you’re young, but I can’t even imagine walking into a place, not only full of new faces, but of new faces speaking a language you didn’t even understand.

And Isabelle, as this little story unfolds, has taken this little girl under her wing. She sought her out at lunch last week and sat by her every day. She’s helping her learn her English by translating her lunch for her (This is a sandwich, these are pineapples, this is a French fry, etc).

“And Mom? She didn’t even have anyone to play with on recess on Thursday? And I made all my friends come with me to play with her”

And suddenly this little girl, who’s not really so little any more, isn’t just the kid that locked herself in the bathroom at church anymore; she’s the kid that’s brought me to tears I’m so proud of her.

That’s the thing about parenthood, gang. It’s a roller coaster. Children have this amazing ability to go from furious to elated in 2.8 seconds flat. And if you can’t keep up? You’re going to miss out. On everything.

So I looked her right in the eye (hard as that was to do what with the sniffling and the nose blowing and all) and I told her that even though we didn’t get along very well that morning, I was so proud of her. And when I asked her how it made her feel, to be the one who made sure this little girl didn’t feel lonely at lunch, at recess; she said it made her heart feel good.

And that made my heart feel good. To know that, despite the fact that this kid is so ornery that she locked herself in the bathroom at church (see how I’m having trouble letting that go just yet?) we must have done some things right along the way, is encouraging.

So I told her to hold onto that feeling. To help her friends have that feeling. And above all, to keep doing what she was doing. That she’s learning what’s important about school, not just the math and the science and the spelling; but how to treat other people. She’s learning how to be a good person.

And I suppose I’d better hold on to that feeling, that surge of pride that nearly brought me to my knees that evening, because I’m fairly certain we haven’t see the last of our locked-bathroom-door days with that one. 

The obligatory First Day of School post.

Well, it's finally happened...

All Three of The Munchkins are in school.

No more babies. No more bottles. No more sippy cups. No more daycare.

I have a house full of "big kids" now.

God, it just breaks your heart sometimes, doesn't it? I blinked and they were out the door.

The Monkey just missed the window to join her brother and sister at the world's best IPS Magnet school, so we signed her up for Holy Cross Central just down the block from our place. And, oh, does that place bring tiny memories surging back. Catholic schools all just smell the same don't they? It's this mix of carpet shampoo and worn wood bannisters and incense and floor wax. 

And the Monkey didn't even hesitate, didn't even flinch this morning. She treated her first day of school in much the same way that she does every aspect of her life: Full tilt forward.

Not a glance back, not a moment's hesitation. And much as it would have soothed my maternal instincts to have her be just the tiniest bit tearful this morning, practically speaking I was thankful she wasn't. Otherwise I wouldn't have been able to hold the tears at bay until my breakdown in the parking garage at work.

~

Rally on, gang. Life moves to fast to stress the small stuff.

~

 

 

More People

A very smart man recently reminded me “Life’s not over…you just have more people to enjoy it with now”

Sometimes, people unintentionally tell you exactly what you needed to hear your entire life.