Today has been a challenge

I was finishing clearing my breakfast dishes when I heard Liza laughing in her room. Only ... maybe not laughing. I stopped to listen, and it was probably not laughing. Damn it. I go up to her room, bracing myself as I knock on the door. She’s full-on wailing now, and I just know that one of her friends is in the hospital or someone revealed Avengers spoilers. You know, something must be majorly wrong.

Turns out, nobody’s dead, nothing has been spoiled, my daughter is just a dumbass who didn’t bother to actually read the email she got from her orchestra last week. She skimmed the message, saw the links to the new music, opened one and decided it was impossible, and forgot about it. Today - the first day of practice - she opened the email and actually read it and found out she was supposed to have the first 90 measures of the impossible song practiced and pretty much ready to go by the start of practice ... in six hours.

I swung into Crisis Management Mom Mode, and we got the music printed out and her into some clothes so she could practice. We watched the video, looked at the music, looked at the six-page key to the musical notations, and both were like WTF KIND OF BULLSHIT IS THIS?? French performance art, that’s what. Freaking French.

So while she continued to sob herself into dehydration, I watched the video a half dozen times and finally got the hang of following along with Liza’s part. Ish. Sorta. Because, let me tell you, that notation is some bullshit right there. It’s closer to choreography or tap dancing than it is to percussion (freaking French performance artist bullshit), so parts of it are more logical than others, and the whole thing requires liberal use of the key and the video to figure out.

That’s some bullshit right there, even sideways

I sent the music to Liza’s instructor to warn him that we would be living in Table Music Hell for all future lessons until this got figured out, and he happened to be nearby and offered to stop by. I traded pizza and soda for Emergency Percussion Assistance, and 45 minutes later Liza was mostly finished crying and actually had a handle on a few parts of the piece. Not enough that she felt sure she wasn’t going to make an ass of herself during rehearsal, but enough that she was willing to go to rehearsal in the first place. So, you know, progress. Thank you, Emergency Percussion Instructor!

The Great French Performance Artist Fiasco had taken up all of the time I had intended to use to exercise, so I brought my shoes to rehearsal so I could at least walk a bit. But, of course, the clocks changed last night, so now it gets dark extra early. Between the time change and the clouds, I didn’t have a ton of time to walk, and the photos I wanted to take of Tappan Square turned out less than fantastic. Still, I got most of my steps in, and I decided to treat myself with something from the bakery.

I made it two-thirds of the way through my SEVEN DOLLAR piece of cake before the sugar caught up with me and I had to put the fork down. Meanwhile, Liza was having her sectional, and declared afterward that her instructor had been “totally wrong” and everything was awful and the whole concert is going to rely on counting and it’s going to suck. That may have contributed to my loss in appetite, too. I set the cake aside (who knows, I might want a half-gnawed baked good later today if this keeps up) and went inside to get a Diet Coke from the vending machine near the practice hall. Which, of course, only sells Pepsi products, and it’s sold out of diet products. So now I’m stuck for the next two hours with Super Sweet Frosting Taste in my mouth, which I ceased enjoying before I started typing this up, and that was a while ago. And no, the water fountains aren’t cutting it.

And now I get to look forward to Liza bitching about orchestra practice, Jason not understanding why Liza is freaking out about it so much, and probably Liza realizing later tonight that she forgot some homework assignment. I’m just going to sit here and stare at my pretty leaf photo and try not to dread the rest of my day.