Little m Long a

As I often do when it’s just the twins and myself in the car I turn off the radio and drive in silence eavesdropping on the conversation taking place just behind me.  It’s a foreign language, mind you,  scarcely intelligible mumblings and loosely formed consonant and vowel sounds.  Much is lost in translation but they seem to understand each other.  At least that’s what I thought until this morning.

Zella:  Wa di dō ar ssay?

(Me thinking to myself:  Ohh I know this–pick me, pick me!!  Woof, Woof)

Zander:  Bar. Bar.

(Good job, Zander–I thought to myself.  A dog does say bark.)

Zella:  No.  Wa di cō ar ssay?!

Zander:  Moooo

(Me thinking still–I’m not so sure that’s what she’s saying, buddy.)

Zella:  NO! NO!  NO! A CŌ AR!  A CŌ AR!!

Silence.  Silence.  Silence.  Then….

Zella:  Rooom, Rooom

(What does a CAR say?)

Zander attempted to say something, I can only imagine in his defense as Zella clearly was not enunciating and had put us all at a disadvantage.  Tempers flared.  There was screaming.  And then she threw a book at him.  I could almost swear I heard her mumble under her breath,

“Fucking idiot!”

Thanks once again to Pat over at Annoyingly Boring I find myself in a position where a response is in order.  You may remember, his photo of the goldfinch at his bird feeder was the impetus for me getting my own bird feeders filled.  The kids and I have been enjoying watching the birds feed, as have my cats.  Each day the feeders seem to be alight with increased activity and watching the blue jays, cardinals, woodpeckers, wrens, morning doves and finally goldfinches return to the yard has been good for my psyche.  Something about standing at the kitchen window with a  fresh cup of morning coffee and watching the birds eat seems to make me feel good.  I am also happy to report that as of yet, no feathers are missing from any of the birds that have chosen to dine at Casa de Zoë’s Dad.

Anyway, it seems Pat, after watching the great piano showdown has found a striking image likeness for myself.  Pat feels there is an uncanny resemblance between myself and Don Music, the bungling composer from Sesame Street who in moments of frustration would bang his head on the piano.  As much as I would like to disagree with him, he may be right.  He e-mailed me the picture below.  (THE ONE ON THE RIGHT!)

In other developments regarding our innovative piano rehearsals, it appears that Dan over at All That Comes With It has prepared a video of his own where he and his absolutely adorable daughter perform marvelously together a wonderful selection that is sure to entertain.  I only wish that my Zoë’s fingers were as light on the keys as little Amy’s appear to be.  If I didn’t know better I would say they were actually floating somewhere above them as the music played on effortlessly below.

(Dan has indicated that he will post his video on his blog on Thursday.  Be sure to check it out.  If for some reason he fails to do so, e-mail me and I’ll forward the link or post it here.)

There are two schools of thought on the whole let your kids win thing.  One states that you should never let them win.  They should have to earn it just as in real life.  It builds confidence, strength, character and a greater appreciation of the victory.  The other school of thought is to toss in the towel, let your kids win every once in a while.  It builds confidence, strength, character and a greater appreciation of the victory.  I’m torn on the whole issue.  While I’m all for winning and building up of a child’s confidence, I also believe that losing builds just as much confidence and strength of character.  It takes a lot to come in second or third.  I’m an also ran, always have been.  As our local paper would recount our high school track and swim meets listing top finishers in each race, they also had the kindness to publish the names of all of the competitors in each race–the also rans.  That was me.  I never recall making it out of the also ran column.  It’s easy to be a winner, but you know what?  Not everyone gets to be that person.  Every race or competition is filled with also rans.

Some of you may recall how last week I was forced to find new and creative ways to get Zoë to practice her piano lessons.  She’s done much better and practices are enjoyable once again.  An overwhelming number of those who commented (thanks Dan and Jen) asked about the actual sound bites that accompany my demoralizing.  Sadly, I was unprepared that day.  I did, however, put in minutes of practice this past week and challenged Zoë to another duel.  A showdown.

Me:  That’s a new cup.  What is it?

Her:  It’s the supposed to be the new coffee from Starbucks.  I’m hoping they just forgot the Equal (she says adding some to the cup) because it tastes like a-s-s. (spelled).

Not so very long ago my wife and I were able to converse freely, adult stuff with adult words.  We spoke above innocent ears that were oblivious to the words or context of our conversation.  As those ears grew our conversation methods evolved and we found ourselves spelling words deemed inappropriate for virgin ears.  We may have to stop talking altogether.  Case in point:

Zia: A–S–S!!

Stagnant.  Stalled.  Halted. At an impasse.  Distracted.  Amotivated.  Indifferent.  She just won’t do it!  I don’t want to.  I’m not going to!  These are just a few of the words or phrases that I could use to describe the current state of Zoë’s piano lessons.  It would appear that as the temperatures rise outside her willingness to apply energy towards practice inversely falls.  Two weeks in a row she has failed to meet her contracted practice commitment of 90 minutes.  (That’s a week people, not a day!)  My frustration level is at an all time high. 

Pressed for solutions, I expressed my concerns to my wife.  Make it fun she said, otherwise she’s going to hate it and we’ll lose her forever.  No easy task, mind you because right now, I’m not having fun.  I’m still looking for ideas (begging really.)  But this is what we did today and she really seemed to have fun…..again.

A little contest Zoë.  You pick the song.  I play it first, then you play it.  We’ll see who can play it better.  OK?

Well, OK, Dad…..You are so going to lose!

(Disclaimer:  It should be noted at this point that the extent of my piano knowledge and playing ability spans the exact amount of time that Zoë has been taking lessons.) Catwalk was the first selection.  I thought I had done a decent job.  She smiled at me and played it better.

Dalmations, she  called next.  Again, I thought my effort was decent, worthy of competition.  When I had finished she asked if that was my warm-up and was I ready to play it for real.  Again, she played it better.  I love you, Daddy.

Just call the next song!

Creepy Crocodile.  She openly laughed at me before I had finished.  Dad, are you really trying she said mocking me as I wiped the sweat from my brow and discretely a tear from my eye.  She played it better.  I was being handed my hat by a seven year old.

And so it went.  Long, Long Ago.  Better.  Claire de Lune.  Better.  I didn’t even try Chant Arabe or Allegretto I.  But she did and performed beautifully.  I was demoralized.  I thought I could get one better, just one.  One of the easy ones.  BUT NO!  The kid pummeled me.  You know what, though.  She practiced.  And she had fun. 

Who’s playing who now, you little imp?!