Talented

Both of my parents were artists, whether they got paid for it or not. My dad earned extra money doing lettering and pinstriping on boat transoms, and he was an avid carver when he was retired. My mom taught watercolor classes and could have sold her own work, if she had the interest. Dad could build furniture; Mom could make kick-ass Halloween costumes.

I inherited the interest, but not the grit required to practice something until I was really good at it. I can’t draw or paint, and my furniture-building skills only look good if the furniture in question is on a stage and the audience is pretty far away. I’m good at copying things, and I’m good at following directions, which is why the needle arts have always come easily to me. My knitting and crochet may not always be beautiful, but it’s generally RIGHT, even if I had to fudge a few things to get there.

When Liza started showing interest in art, I did everything I could to support her. Supplies, lessons, attention, dedicated space for her to work ... look back through the blog, it’s all there. And to my surprise, she’s kept at it, even when things weren’t working out to her satisfaction. She’s putting in the hours, and it shows.

My dad passed away before he really had a chance to see Liza’s talent bloom, but my mother stuck around long enough to see the first flowers. She was always so proud of Liza’s work, always happy to have her art on the fridge or in a frame. They did some projects together, back before Mom got sick, and I wish they had been able to do a lot more. My mom would have been so proud to see how much Liza has improved in the last year.

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.

“I look like I’m two years old!”

I think I finally found a way to make people stop thinking she’s sixteen!

Eye see you

Liza is taking a class in fashion illustration at Bay Arts, and today they got to work in charcoal and chalk pastels. I feel like she held her own with the high school students:

(Especially since this is the first time she’s ever worked in charcoal. Guess I might have to borrow some from Mom’s supplies so Liza can play with the medium at home.)

The family bush

Some of my favorite branches on Liza’s family history, which is so wide she decided it’s a bush not a tree.

Pretty sure this was not the intended lesson

Things Liza has learned during her family tree project:

• This would be a lot easier if our ancestors had had fewer kids (14 great-great aunts and uncles on one branch is a bit much to put on a sheet of poster board, especially when it happens in multiple generations and multiple branches).
  
• Five generations of ancestors = a whole lot of people.
  
• This would be a lot harder if Ancestry.com wasn’t a thing that I was willing to pay for this month so she can finish her project.
  
• And it would be harder if I hadn’t started working on our family tree on Ancestry.com a couple years ago.
  
• This would be a WHOLE lot harder if we didn’t have ancestors who were into genealogy back in the good old days of writing to churches asking people to go look for dates on stones in the cemetery.
  

Historical Society Research Library

Not shown: three hours of her at the "Manuscripts" table, carefully reading through documents from the 1960s and 70s to learn about Cleveland’s history of school desegregation. Not a peep of complaint the whole time, either.

Rockin’ the Sumo Bun

You know the concert went well when

your favorite percussionist mimes gagging after the last song ...

...then starts banging her head on the wall while laughing.

Back in the bottle, genie

See this child?

Today she went to shadow a student at a local high school to help us decide where she’s going next year. It’s not often that I’m sentimental and want to tackle my kid and make her go back to being, well, a kid, but today was one of those days. My precious pumpkin isn’t much of a child anymore at all, is she?

It’s been seven years

Last time my kid let me French braid her hair was 2010.

Until today, that is!

I am all about the bribery and/or threats

Today's bargain:

• If I finish this blog post before my daughter finishes her homework, tomorrow I get to send her vegetables instead of a few pieces of Halloween candy in her lunch.
• If she finishes her homework first, she gets ice cream for dessert (and Halloween candy in her lunch tomorrow).

I would feel bad about making this sort of deal - after all, isn't motivation and perseverance part of what homework is supposed to be teaching her?  But let's be honest.  My kid's homework isn't exactly thrilling, and she's easily distracted by pretty much everything.  Too much noise, too little noise, people nearby, no people nearby, needing a sharp pencil, admiring how sharp her pencil is now, having to go to the bathroom, having to hide in the bathroom to use the iPad she's not supposed to have until after homework is done, needing a snack, needing a different snack, needing even more snacks because meals are something other people eat ... all of those things derail her from the "let's finish your science notes in less than two hours" train.

It's handy to have something I can say in place of the usual, "Are you actually working on your homework?"  I already hate the sound of my voice asking that question, and it's only November.  One of us is going to explode if I have to keep that up until June.  But not keeping on her back just leads to procrastination, bedtime meltdowns when she panics about what she didn't accomplish, and bad grades that give her headaches and stomach aches and a bad case of "I don't want to go to school."

For some reason, it's less annoying to both of us for me to say, "Wow, you really don't want ice cream tonight, do you?" every time I see her staring at a wall.  She bolts back to the table and gets back to work when ice cream is involved, let me tell you.  "Which kind of veggies should I send tomorrow?" is a little more passive-aggressive, but I'm willing to go there if it gets the assignment done.  And as a side benefit, trying to keep her motivated means I actually have to write a post, which I probably would have blown off otherwise.

Homework isn't the only area where I'm using a carrot-and-stick approach.  Another fun motivator I instituted this year: If I have to drive her the 30 minutes to school (because she dawdled and left home too late for the 5 minute drive to the bus stop) I will spend the entire drive to school lecturing her about all the human sexuality stuff her school doesn't cover in health class.  If we leave the house in time to make the bus, I keep my mouth shut and we listen to the radio.

I made it through female anatomy, male anatomy, consent, and non-heterosexual relationships before she realized I was serious and I wasn't going to run out of material any time soon.  I even had a video all loaded up on my phone to supplement one of the discussions - it was epic.

I have also offered to send pictures of her (very obviously uncleaned) bathroom to the mother of the boy she liked, and threatened to send photos of her carelessly discarded clothing to her grandmother so she knows not to buy Liza any more nice outfits.  I'm kind of a bitch sometimes.
 
But hey, if it works, I can play the Evil Mom card occasionally.  I certainly wasn't getting anywhere with my other approaches.  Maybe eventually I'll figure out some way to motivate my child that doesn't involve threats of embarrassment and/or withholding treats.  In the meantime, I'm hoping she gets lazy in the mornings again.  I don't want to have all those pictures of STD symptoms saved on my browser for nothing.

Motherly conversations I have had to start so far this year (or, What I've been up to since I last posted)

1. Yes, you really do need to wash your face.
2. Every day.
3. With soap.
4. I told you there would be cavities if you didn't brush your teeth (with toothpaste) twice a day.
5. Not everyone is a nice person.
6. Some girls are bitches, even when they're 10 years old.
7. It is not necessary for everyone in your class to be best friends - sometimes it's sufficient to be polite and able to work together when it's required.
8. You Must Not Touch Certain Parts of Your Body (in Public).*
9. Other people may not touch Certain Parts of Your Body at all.
10. Some boys like to show off Certain Parts of Their Bodies.
11. How to embarrass those boys by looking really disdainful and muttering, "Really?  That's it?"
12. Do you really want to be friends with a girl who treats you like that?
13. Seriously?
14. What exactly were you thinking when you ... (decided to build a zip line in the basement with things you had been specifically told not to touch; decided to duct-tape a kid you barely knew to a pole in the basement; decided to cover the toilet in soapy water so you could blow really big bubbles on the toilet lid)?
15. Yes, you really do need to wash your hair.
16. With shampoo.
17. And comb it afterward.
18. Wet towels do not belong on the floor.
19. Or your bed.
20. Or your hamper, unless you're doing laundry, like, NOW.
21. Having homework every night is not cruel and unusual punishment; it's the new normal.
22. Checking to make sure you actually answered every question on the test will help you not get C's on stuff you really do know.
23. Five reasons why I will NOT drive you back to school to pick up the book/paper/assignment/whatever you need to do your homework tonight.
24. Seriously?  You forgot to ask about your password AGAIN? 
25. If you tell me for months that you can't do something because your password "doesn't work," you'd better have actually tried it.
26. See?  (Learning that song; trying a new food; making a presentation; talking to a friend about something difficult) wasn't actually that hard, was it?
27. Perhaps next time, waiting until something actually goes wrong before you freak out would make things more pleasant for everyone.  I'm just saying...
28. When you call a friend's house, it's important to tell whoever answers the phone who you are, because otherwise it's creepy.
29. Yes, I meant it when I said I would take away for the evening "anything with a plug or a battery" if you didn't get your butt in gear this morning.
30. Things you may not do on the new (white) couch.
31. Why, when I'm out on a walk and you're home alone for 20 minutes, you're not allowed to answer the door and buy candy from strangers, even if those strangers are kids and it's a fundraiser for their school.
32. How to dial 911 on my phone in case the chainsawing Dad and I are doing goes horribly, horribly wrong.
33. If you spell emoji out loud during a regular conversation, you sound like a dork (and I want to smack you).  No one thinks "XD" said aloud means "I'm laughing," except you.
34. How to handle grandma when she's having one of those days.
35. Grandma's friend has cancer - let's make her a card!
36. My friend has cancer - let's make her a card!
37. Grandma's other friend has cancer, but you never met her, so you don't need to make her a card!
38. Dad's friend has cancer - but it's too late to make her a card!
39. Yes, it's normal to get out of breath when you run.  Deal with it.
40. You have 75 pairs of scissors,  Figure out how to open it yourself.

* Thank you, Bill Cosby, for cementing that phrase into the permanent language of my family.

A life lesson

Dear Liza:

For years, mothers have cautioned their children against making faces by saying they would freeze that way. We all know that doesn't really happen, but I would like to point out that it's still not a good idea to push your luck when your mother is a blogger ... 

because the internet is forever.

Love, Mom

Third Grade!

Feels sorta weird to photograph her in front of a new tree ... Thought about running over to the new house to take the pics on the porch, but we ran out of time.

Remember this week

This was the week I ...

- became the mother of a rising first-grader

- took a road trip with a good friend

- worked with my daughter to produce hundreds of yards of cord to "yarnbomb" my craft camp

- learned to make my own blocks for printing

- discovered the power of the flying purple olive of doom

- saw this, and felt something inside me unclench

- evicted silkworms from their cocoons and used them to make yarn 

- taught my daughter some of the skills I learned at Squam

- confirmed that my daughter is 48" tall, so I don't have to ride this thing over and over and over every time we go to Cedar Point

- was constantly impressed by the thoughtfulness, flexibility, humor, bravery, smarts, and maturity shown by my daughter.

It's been a good week, and I'm really hoping that this is what I remember about the summer, not whatever disagreements and grumpiness are sure to occur at some point over the next few months.  My heart is full, I am happy, and I can't wait to see how long we can keep this up.

Young authors

Have I mentioned recently how awesome my daughter's school is?  Last week was the culmination of the Young Authors project that each grade has been working on for the past few months.  Liza's kindergarten class used the project as an opportunity to learn about non-fiction books, and each student capped the project by writing his or her own nonfiction book.

The kindergarteners' books included all of the standard non-fiction items, including a table of contents, author biography, and glossary.

This project has been going on for months - can you imagine the level of dedication and skill required to usher 22 kids through that whole process and come out the other side with your sanity intact?  Kudos again to the K teachers for managing to pull this off!  And then on Thursday evening all the parents were invited in to see the books and learn more about what some of the other classes had been doing.

It was a great chance to celebrate the students' achievements and take a look at some of the other kids' books.  It was amazing the breadth of subjects the kids picked, and how excited they were to tell us all about what they wrote.  The kids do this each year, so by the time Liza graduates, we should have quite a library of her books!

Okay, this one actually isn't too terrible

Remember the Christmas concert?  Well, in order to get the full grade school experiences, Liza's school does a spring concert, as well.  It was mercifully shorter than the winter concert, and somewhere along the way this year most of the classes found a bucket in which to carry a tune, so it wasn't as painful, either.

The kindergarten and first grade kids performed songs from "Barnyard Moosical," with each class taking the part of a different animal.  Costumes were easy - try to dress vaguely like a farmer,

... and put on a chicken headband right before you go on stage.

Liza's been running around singing her performance song for the past few weeks, so we already knew it was going to be a cute song ... but when you get 22 kids up there doing the Funky Chicken Strut, the cute increases exponentially.

Isn't that impressive?  You can actually understand many of the words they're singing!  Way to go, 5- and 6-year-olds!

Again with the tiredness

Thursday night I made 10 shirts for Liza and the spelling bee contestants from Kindergarten.  Do you have any idea how hard your hand cramps after using that much puffy fabric paint?

Friday I watched Liza at the spelling bee, where she won "Bravest Speller."  The judge said it looked like she was thinking, "Okay, Mr. Microphone, I know you want to eat my face off, but they told me I needed to use you to win, so I'll just stand way over here and be prepared to run away if you make any sudden movements."  What do you think?

Oh, and I hereby declare that the silent "h" in words like "wheel" is stupid and should be abolished.

Saturday I was getting ready to start painting the bathroom when the power went out.  You know, on the day when it was raining.  And the battery backup on our sump pump was out of juice.  So I got to bail - over the course of 3 hours - 60 gallons of water out of my sump hole, or, as I like to call it, The Black Hole of Olmsted Falls.

In the 10-minute increments between bailings I managed to get the basement even more tidy than it was before.  Um, yay?

When the power came back on, Jason asked if I still planned to paint the bathroom that day.  Two-word answer that starts with "f" and ends with "no."

Sunday I finally got the walls painted.
Monday I got the trim painted.
This morning I got the caulking done and moved all the towel rods and cabinets and curtains back in.  After another hour of cleaning all the dust off of everything, it looks pretty sweet, if I do say so myself.

Even if I still don't have a fucking faucet, which, if you recall, was THE ENTIRE REASON I STARTED THIS PROJECT ALMOST A MONTH AGO.

This afternoon I went outside to look at something other than my bathroom or basement for the first time in like a week and a half.  It was worth the trip.

2010 Christmas Concert, or, "The Cute! It Burns!"

Friday night Liza's school had its annual winter concert, complete with performances from grades K-7.  I had expected to have to drag Little Miss Stage Fright there kicking and screaming, but apparently she's gotten over that, at least temporarily.  We actually had problems getting through dinner fast enough to make it to the school on time, because she insisted on telling everyone at the restaurant who spoke to her at all every little detail about why she was dressed up and what they were singing and how she felt about it and on and on and on.  I thought our meal would be cold by the time she shut up long enough for the waitress to serve the food :)

The rest of her class were pumped up, as well.  I have a dozen shots from before the show, and every single one of them looks like this:

Her class was pretty much populated by 40 small taffeta-wearing-or-sweater-vested rubber jackhammers on crack.  I'm not sure what the teachers did between when we left Liza in the band room and when she came on stage - it possibly involved large doses of pharmaceuticals or some sort of mind control - but she and the other kids were all well-behaved at showtime.

(that's the legendary Lewis to the right of Liza in the picture)

Their performance was as cute and earshatteringly awful as you can imagine.

Based on data we collected at the show, I'm pretty sure the ability to carry a tune develops sometime early in second grade - the K's and first graders preferred to just shout theirs at the tops of their little lungs.  And by the time the kids hit second grade, the music teacher is sick of having them shout at her, so she hands them all recorders and they honk in dissonant unison for a couple minutes.

I think my favorite moment of the whole evening was when one of the readers from the second grade announced that her "favorite things" (the theme of the show, and what selected kids from each class wrote and read to the audience) included her dog, her teacher, and her school "because I like to blow things up."

Ah, school concerts.  Next time: earplugs and a fully-charged iPod with a new ebook loaded and ready to go.  Doesn't Jason look like he could have used one or both of those to help him weather the evening?

If Liza looks less than thrilled there, it's probably because it was getting close to 9pm at that point, and we were moments away from bundling the limp-as-a-ragdoll performer into the car and heading home.  Well, actually heading to DQ for a celebratory Blizzard, but who's counting?