Hey Diddle, Diddle, the Cat and the . . . Cello

Daniel loves school.  He loves reading, he loves arithmetic, he loves science.  He loves drawing and gym.  He is in the Chess Club.  He loves recess.  He adores his teacher.   And then there is music.

As a toddler, Daniel loved to listen to bluegrass and jazz, but he never really had an interest in playing music, and this indifference has continued through school.  When he was in grade 1 and made his first foray into a structured music class,, I asked him about it.  

"Who is your music teacher?"

He shrugged and claimed he didn't know.  

"Do you like music class?"

There was another shrug and he grunted out "I dunno".  

The report card came out.  The comments section made all of Daniel's grade 1 subjects sound very exciting.  All except music, that is.  This was the comment from the music teacher:

"This term we have continued to develop our rhythmic (ta, ti-ti, rest) and melodic skills (so-mi-la) through reading and notation."  

The basis for his indifference was very clear.  Music class sounded, frankly, lame, and I rationalised that I could blame Miss Ta Ti-Ti for my son's attitude.  But then there was the comment from the grade 2 music teacher, at a different school, the following year:

"Daniel does well at music when he chooses to participate.  Unfortunately, he does not usually choose to participate."

I wasn't too concerned, as the rest of the report card seemed fine.  The phys. ed. teacher thought Daniel was wonderful and his homeroom teacher loved him, too.  I figured that the music teacher had her period on the day she wrote that and I forgave her for slighting my child.

Daniel's ambivalence to music class continued throughout the first term of grade 3.  There was yet another teacher.  Daniel's grade seemed to have improved in that it was the equivalent of "doing okay", and  the teacher's comment was unremarkable.  Along with enquiries about his other subjects, I asked him about music class.   He was frank and told me flat out that he didn't like it and found it to be a waste of time.  He hated his Christmas concert and wanted nothing to do with it.  It was then that I decided to just let things be.  Not playing an instrument is no big deal and there would be other opportunities for music later.

So imagine my surprise when he came bounding up to me after the first day back to school after the Christmas break and breathlessly declared that he, the boy who despises music class, was going to play the cello in the soon-to-be-formed Junior String Orchestra. 

The cello.

We have in our house, at present, a violin, a banjo, a guitar and a piano; but Daniel wants to play the cello.

I was torn.  He was finally displaying an interest in music and in a music program.  He was interested in an activity coordinated by the music teacher.  In fact, it appeared that the two of them had spoken at length about this.

"We don't have a cello," I hinted, hoping he would change his position and choose the violin. "And they're very expensive."

"You can rent a cello" he assured me.  I had no reason to doubt the accuracy of his statement. Surely, the acquisition of instruments would have been discussed with the potential "orchestra" members.

I conceded.  "Okay.  A cello it is."

Daniel talked about it everyday for a week.  There would only be five cellos in the string orchestra. The teacher had told him he should play it, because he has the biggest hands in his class "and you need to have big hands to play the cello, Mom".  

Finally, it was sign-up day.  I happened to be picking Daniel up from school that day, and as I waited outside his classroom, I was reminded by one of his classmates, who also wanted to play the cello, that we had to get our forms in.  She was supervising her own mother filling out the form.  She told me (most helpfully) that Daniel's form was in his backpack and suggested that I have him go and get it, immediately.  Daniel had joined us by then and did as his classmate suggested.  He handed me the form and told me to fill it out.  I flipped past the information and instruction page. I ticked off the appropriate boxes, filled in the the information and headed to the music room to hand it in, Daniel and Janet now both in tow and very excited.  I was the second mother to hand in the form and the music teacher smiled and told me that Daniel would "get" a cello.  

It felt good.  Daniel smiled and it made me feel like maybe, just maybe, my shortcomings as a mother (like not booking a birthday party for Janet, whose birthday was last week) were not as bad as I thought they were.  We went on our way.

It was only later, while the kids were getting their hair cut, that I pulled the information sheet out of my pocket and read it.  My eyes searched hungrily for the cello rental information.  I found the section that described how I could purchase a cello, for anywhere between $950.00 and $1,600.00.  I chuckled to myself.  What kind of idiot parent would buy a cello for an eight-year-old in a town of 17,000 people in Canada's north?  I turned the sheet over, looking for "rent", "rental" or anything synonymous.  

Nothing.

It seemed that we were to buy the cellos.  I felt a bit sick.

Arnold and I brought the subject up with Daniel at dinner that night.  I gently asked if he would like to play the violin.  After all, his grandfather was a great Metis fiddler.  And, of course, we have a violin. Daniel, my dear, sweet, compliant and reasonable little guy, who makes almost no demands on us,  shook his head and was obviously fighting back tears.

"I want to play the cello" he said, sadly.  He hung his head.

All weekend I racked my brain for alternatives.  Daniel had finally displayed an interest in playing music, and I didn't want to discourage him, but I just couldn't justify buying a cello for what could turn out to be a four month endeavor.  I looked around on the internet.  There were a few leads on E-Bay, but knowing nothing about cellos, I knew I could wind up throwing away money.  As She of Many Children noted, the only thing that sounds worse than a cello played badly is a bad cello played badly.  I was stuck.  

To add to my anxiety and misery, Daniel has asked about his cello everyday.  He so wants to play it.  Today, I decided that I would try in earnest to find a cello for him.  I had no idea where to start and put a call in to the local music store.  They said they would get back to me, but that there were very few places that would rent such instruments.  Time was getting tight.  Options were getting limited.    

Then, as though she read my mind, She of Many Children, who is also known in the neighbourhood as  "She of Great Resourcefulness" and "She of the Half-Consumed Bottle of Chardonnay", came to my rescue and connected me with a place that would rent me a cello.  There was one in stock.  If Daniel loves the cello, we can buy it and our rental money will be applied to the purchase price.  If he hates the cello, then we can send it back and never again wonder if he could have been the next Yo Yo Ma.  The cello will start its journey here tomorrow, fully set up and ready to go.  There is even a carrying case, so that Daniel can proudly lug it to and from school on practice days.  

Daniel was thrilled when I told him.  As for me, I feel like far less of a failure, and I am far less poor.

Finally, I love cello music and if you do as well, give this a listen:

She of Many Children, I applaud you and am forever in your debt.

Trapped in Wal-Mart

A former colleague of mine told me that he had never set foot in a Wal-Mart, anywhere, and that he never would.  An unabashed snob (not that there is anything wrong with that) his main concern about venturing into Wal-Mart and mixing with the great unwashed was that someone might see him there.

I, too, am a snob, but I have learned to suppress my snobby side and, like most people in Name-of-Town-Withheld, I have grown to very fond of Wal-Mart.  It's always exciting.  For one thing, there is all kinds of stuff:. small kitchen appliances, baby supplies, bath mats, bedding, toothpaste, cosmetics, purses, crafts, fabrics, DVDs, sporting goods, books, electronics and, that most gratifying of products, cleaning supplies.  For the kids, there are toys, Hallowe'en costumes, and more toys.  There is a McDonald's.  For little girls like Janet, there are shoes, shoes and more shoes, and lots of clothing with pictures of Hanna Montana and bling.

And that brings me to my story.  Janet and I were in Wal-Mart recently.  We were there primarily to kill time, I think, but in our aimless wandering, we managed to find that perfect skirt with blue sparkles and a really great top.  As for me, I had loaded up with much-needed underwear and felt like a real grown-up.  Suddenly, just as we were making our way to the cashier, there was a loud humming sound, and then the store went black.  The power had gone out.  

I took Janet's hand.  She was clearly nervous, but her nervousness subsided into something just shy of sorrow as I explained that we would have to leave the cart and the contents at the store and come back and "re-shop" for it.  

"When the power goes out the machines don't work and we can't pay," I explained.  "They'll put it back on the shelves and we can come back later".

Janet's bottom lip protruded and quivered, and she folded her arms.  She was clearly unhappy. I waited for her "dictator within" to emerge.  Then, to my surprise, she sighed, took my hand and started to lead me to the door.  I was relieved.  Usually, my attempts to reason with (or, more accurately, appease) Janet are unsuccessful.  I wind up frustrated and using a very scary tone which results in somewhat shocked and even frightened stares from innocent bystanders, and Janet protests even more loudly, attracting more frightened stares.  I often wind up buying stuff for her.

We arrived at the exit door to find a group of people standing by it.  No one was leaving and I wondered, momentarily, if the electronics were fried and the door was temporarily stuck.  But, that wasn't the case.  Standing at the door was a young girl with a security badge. I overheard her tell a man that no one could leave the store until the power came back on, "for security reasons".  

I did not become outraged.  I was not even concerned.  Instead, I just assumed that I hadn't heard her right.  No right-thinking person would think that we could be detained by the Wal-Mart police.  Then someone else tried to leave and the girl with the badge repeated herself.  And then, people in the crowd started passing the message on to others, as though it was a fact and the store had the right to insist we stay there until the power came back on.

Now, in fairness, the security guard was young, and had likely not experienced first hand whatever protocol the store has in place for dealing with these situations.  I expect she was told to keep people calm while the store staff got organized enough to ensure that in leaving, people were not taking undue advantage of the fact that the electronic security system was not working.  

Nevertheless, the lawyer in me started to emerge.  While I do not maintain a practice in the area of detention by discount department stores, I remembered my first-year torts professor mentioning that this kind of thing was generally frowned upon by jurists.   I looked around at the crowd to find allies. There were none there.  Instead, everyone was quiet and patient, and appeared to be only too willing to comply with the directions of the 20-something security guard.   The sheep-like complacency was disturbing on a number of levels.  That is, after all, how people have historically wound up becoming oppressed, powerless and stripped of their rights.

It was going to be up to me to deal with this and so I resolved to put my legal training to use and tell her that she couldn't keep us there.  I began to articulate my thoughts (always a good idea when speaking in front of crowd, even if its an impromptu performance at a Wal-Mart) and consider how to approach it so that I would get the best result with the least amount of confrontation.  Would I politely suggest that it was unlawful?  Should I ask to speak to the manager? Should I invent some kind of medical emergency, walk out and just leave all the other people in the store?  Should I just push past her and "lead" the crowd out of the store?

But I didn't need to tax my little brain any further.  Before I could say anything, Janet started wailing.  I do mean wailing.  

"We have to stay at Wal-Mart?  All night?" She was loud and incredulous.  Her voice echoed and resonated throughout the store, I'm sure.

I tried to calm her down, as did a friend of mine who was trapped in Wal-Mart with us.  Janet would have none of it.

"I want my daddy! I want my daddy!" she shrieked, over and over.  "I want to leave!'.  The noise emanating from my little cherub was clearly disconcerting to many in the crowd, including the security guard, who began to shuffle nervously from one foot to the other.  

It was at that point that I decided that I would just let Janet scream.  It seemed to doing some good.  Indeed, it wasn't long before a store manager literally ran to the front door and hurriedly told the security guard to let people out of the store.  The security guard pushed the door open and stepped aside to let a man and his cart out.  Janet pushed past her, still shrieking.  There would be no orderly exit by us.  I wound up having to run full out through the parking lot to catch up with her.  She was waiting at the van, panting.

As we drove away, Janet's panic quickly turned to anger at being told she couldn't leave the store.  She cried, and then ranted, almost the whole way home. I didn't try and quiet her.  Instead, I told her she was right, and the the store was wrong.  It was wrong to suggest it, even for a moment, and it was even more wrong that there seemed to be no one, other than my 5-year-old, willing to stand up and question things.  

Janet, I'm proud of you.  Keep screaming!

A Failed Mommy's Guide to a Completely Unproductive Christmas Break

A good Failed Mommy makes all kinds of plans for school breaks and other times when she is not working, but maintains her Failed Mommy status by looking back and seeing that, despite all of her good intentions, none of the plans have materialised.   The plans can be a variety of things. My own plans typically involve cleaning and organising my house and completing various projects, like half-finished quilts and unframed and unhung photographs.   I usually plan on baking, and cooking "make-ahead" meals that I can later just pop into the microwave, thus cutting down on those trips to McDonalds and Pizza Hut or endless nights of Kraft Dinner. Alas (you knew this was coming, didn't you) I wind up looking around on the last day of the break or the weekend, as the case may be, and realising that I accomplished none of the goals I had set for myself.  

Today is the last day of the Christmas break and, true to form, there are mountains of clean, but unfolded and now terribly wrinkled, laundry sitting in various places in the my bedroom. Speaking of my bedroom, it remains the dusty, disorganised disaster area that it was on December 19 (or October 1, for that matter).  The kitchen floor is still crying to be washed (although it has been swept at least once in the last two weeks)  and there is still a gerbil living in my bathtub.  The play room downstairs remains the scary, dungeon-like place that it has been for the last ten years, and besides toys, contains our filing cabinet full, mostly, of utter crap. 

There is still a door missing from our pantry, making the kitchen seem more messy than it really is.  Arnold took the door down last August.  Sure, it's his job to put it back on, but it is my job to nag him about it until he reaches the point that he can't take the sound of my voice anymore.  I have even failed at that.

And, of course, I have been to Wal-Mart twice over the holidays, but have still not purchased new underwear.

My feelings go from panic (will the kids have clean clothes for school tomorrow?  Will I?  Will I be able to find all of the mittens, snow pants, toques?  Is there mould in the lunch kits?  What will my to-do list look like at work tomorrow?) to disappointment, to ambivalence and finally, to the hope that perhaps 2009 will, by some miracle, be different. 

 

Indoor Adventures

We're in the middle of our yearly cold stretch, which seemed to arrive much earlier than usual this year, right before Christmas holidays.   When I was a single person with no kids, the cold snaps never bothered me that much.  It was still relatively easy to get out and go to the gym or to work to pass the time, and in fact, it was fine to sit on the couch and read books or cross-stitch for hours on end.  As a mom, though, it is a different story.  My kids - and their friends - have a major case of cabin fever.  There are small outings, to the rink, the theatre or to the pool, but nothing that lasts all that long and burns the amount of energy that kids need to burn.  

Yesterday, I pulled out my scraps of fabric to try and put together the beginnings of a quilt to hang in the entry way.  Janet decided she wanted to sew.  I was reluctant at first and even tried to discourage her, with visions of poked and bloodied little fingers swirling around in my head. In the end, though, I gave in to the begging.

We decided that Janet would sew a pillow.  She designed it herself - a red satin heart with a flower on it.  She drew out the patterns, which included the heart and the flower and then we cut them out of the fabrics.  All the time, I was expecting her to get bored, but she stayed right on it, sewing the pieces together, stuffing the pillow and then sewing up the last little bit.  Her excitement was so incredible that Daniel asked to make a pillow.  He designed a red rectangle with a maple leaf in navy blue.  Like his sister, he patiently sewed up the edges by hand,  stuffed it and finished up the last of the seams.  He remarked that it was a great way to pass the time.  

The kids then helped me iron and cut fabric for the quilt, and proved that they have quite an eye for how fabrics go together.  We worked until 10:30 last night, when I had finally had to sit down.  We had spent about six hours on our projects, with no television, electronic games, computers or anything else interrupting us.  Daniel remarked that it was a great way to pass the time and we all went to bed with a great sense of accomplishment.

This morning, Janet woke up early, jostled me, and asked if it was time to start sewing.  Both she and her brother want to spend the day creating with needles and thread.  As for me, I feel like Supermom!!!