I finished my 8th (and last) year of study 12 years ago and had not attempted to learn a piece since, nor had I ever attempted to learn a piece without my teacher's tutelage. But being the over-achiever that I am, I celebrated the receipt of this new piano by immediately writing up a list of classical pieces I endeavored to teach myself to play. And for a whole year I looked up wooden pendulum metronomes on ebay and dropped hints that such an antique would make me happier than Anne of Green Gables wearing puffed sleeves. I finally got such a metronome for Christmas this year. I ran home, pulled out my copy of one of Chopin's posthumous waltzes and slid the marker to alegretto. I released the pendulum, fingers in position and....my heart froze. For the past year I'd been playing the piece at half its intended tempo. And so, for the first time in over a decade, I experienced the old familiar sensation of trying to play a piece twice as fast as I am able. I start off ok, but as the measures tick by, a note is missed here, a rest must be abandoned there, and next thing I know my fingers are tripping over one another. A quarter of the way through the page, my eyes are nearly crossed, I finds I'm holding my breath, my shoulders so tensed they're up to my ears and... I fall off the piano bench. And truth be told, life feels a lot like that these days.
All is quiet and I hear the shuffle of little feet. Clearly, it's Noemie, who never just walks into a room. She's always creeping. Noemie creeps slowly up to my face at 7 in the morning and whispers, "Where's Dominic?" It appears a game of hide and seek is afoot. I whisper back, "You find him. You're the secret agent." She retorts, "Well this secret agent needs breakfast." Sigh. Time to get up. The morning is going alright. The kids are all fed, the house is acceptably messy, the kids are playing nicely. I plop on the couch and pause to admire my recently upholstered chairs for the third time that day and as I sit there I notice, to my slight annoyance, that the polite game of matchbox cars having a tea party has been exchanged for an exercise in pointing out the naked people cartoons in a book of Shel Silverstein poems. I suggest they find something else to do and I go to my room to nurse Giannina. On my return I find puddles of spilled drinks in random places, the linen closets have been emptied in the name of building fortifications, Toby has knocked over our halogen lamp, and Dominic is swinging from the draw string of his window blinds telling me he doesn't know what to dooooo. And I fall off my metaphorical piano bench.
But practice makes perfect, right? It gets better everyday, I think. I hope. Speaking of my piano, Toby peed on it today. I thought to myself, this child is 2 years old. Surely, if the boy can use a CD player, ride a tricycle, and claim every toy in the house with a mighty "MINE!" all day, the boy can use a potty. I used the 3 day method that I used on the older two but I think he's confused. He and I both. As of today, day five, we still haven't gotten a successful poop-in-the-potty. Every time he walks by the potty (which is often, as the bathroom is located just outside his bedroom door), he flushes it. Every time I hear it run, I come running, praying there wasn't anything in it. Like shoes. Or dollar bills. You never know. The few times he does sit on the potty, he just does a wee little tinkle, then sits there scratching off teeny tiny bits of paper from the toilet paper rolls and dropping it between his legs. And he smiles and cheers himself. His preferred place to relieve himself, we have found, is on top of his bedroom armoire. That's a 5 ft tall piece of furniture! Noemie walks in. "Do you need help? I'm helpful! Did you know I'm helpful? Because I like to help. Even if you say no, I will still help." Danny and I are, needless to say, pooped. Ha.
It's a hug. I swear.
This parenting stuff is tough! I have to pray everyday for more fruit of the Spirit. The fruit of the spirit is that proof that God is in charge of your heart. The fruit of an apple tree proves that it is in fact a healthy apple tree and not a mango tree. Or a pineapple. (The more time in the Word and in prayer, the more fruit!) More love, more joy, more peace, more kindness, goodness, and gentleness, and, Heaven help me, for self-control. You have to pray. Pray without ceasing. And remind yourself constantly that this too will pass. And when it does, you'll cry and cry that they're all grown up! I'm tearing up right now just thinking about it. I'm storing up treasures in heaven.
“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." Matt 6:19
Now I know Jesus was perfect...but moths? rust? I can't figure out why he left out "children" from that list. I've never seen anything so destructive as children. Take a look at my metronome.
I only had it for two weeks.
One last Noemie soundbyte for the road:
N: Let's talk about all the animals I don't know, and all the countries I don't know.
Me: There are a lot of animals you don't know and a lot of countries you don't know. There are a lot of animals I don't know and a lot of countries I don't know.
N: Ok, well, then I'll tell you about one of the ones you don't know. One of them is Ba'in. Where everyone speaks in rhyme. [Proceeds to give me a sample conversation]. Here's a map! [Pulls out an old camera and slides finger along the screen as if it was an iPod. I'd like to point out that neither Danny nor I have any device that works that way.] Here's a picture of me wearing Prima Meli's glasses. She told me to stand there so the camel could lick my nose. [She laughs at herself.] I'm just being jokey!
Giannina's colick has finally subsided. She still sleeps most of the day, and, when I'm not wiping down peed-on furniture, you can find me kissing all her little rolls. I call her Danny's twin. And I love her!!!
I'd tell you, little Giannina, to run for your life. But sadly, you can't do that yet, can you?
Soon, my dear, soon.
No comments:
Post a Comment