Piano

We are very fortunate in that we are the lucky recipients of some really big gifts lately. Opportunities for family and personal enrichment seem to be falling out of the sky.

During the hottest part of Saturday afternoon, movers brought us a piano that is being given to us by Ian’s ex-step-family. It is a Kimball that Dan Sr., Ian’s sister’s father, purchased new in 1968. It was in Dan’s possession until about five years ago. What I hear is that he was a good musician and enjoyed playing it until he and his wife moved to an upstairs condo in Capitola. For the last several years, the piano has been at Dan’s sister’s home. A fall and a broken hip has resulted in elderly Aunt Rachel’s having to move to an assisted living home. Rachel’s family are selling, donating, and disposing of her things, including her home, to help pay for her long-term care. 

We were very touched to hear from Ian’s sister, Kellie, and his ex-step-brother, Dan Jr., that Dan Sr. wanted his piano to stay “in the family.” He hoped we might want it, and tearfully said he feels Ian has “always been like family” to him. Dan is understandably upset about the changes that are happening for Aunt Rachel, his sister, and he is frequently emotional since he had a stroke several years ago. 

So through old connections and the good will of some really sweet people, we now have a pretty, 40-year-old mahogany piano in our home. I do not play, but I have always wanted to learn. I always felt at a disadvantage when I was singing because I couldn’t plunk out my own part without help. I have held a secret hope that Lucas would learn to play someday. It seems to me that if you learn piano, nearly every other musical endeavor comes more easily. It feels like a tremendous windfall to have this instrument for the cost of moving and tuning it; we would never be able to afford one otherwise.

I know of another young boy who was in Lucas’s class last year and he plays. A music teacher comes to his home once a week and teaches Charlie piano and Charlie’s sister, the violin. I’m hoping to arrange for lessons for us to start this summer. 

So, in honor of kind people who gift us with wonderful opportunities to learn new things, I raise my popsicle in a toast: Thank you!

Piano

We are very fortunate in that we are the lucky recipients of some really big gifts lately. Opportunities for family and personal enrichment seem to be falling out of the sky.

During the hottest part of Saturday afternoon, movers brought us a piano that is being given to us by Ian’s ex-step-family. It is a Kimball that Dan Sr., Ian’s sister’s father, purchased new in 1968. It was in Dan’s possession until about five years ago. What I hear is that he was a good musician and enjoyed playing it until he and his wife moved to an upstairs condo in Capitola. For the last several years, the piano has been at Dan’s sister’s home. A fall and a broken hip has resulted in elderly Aunt Rachel’s having to move to an assisted living home. Rachel’s family are selling, donating, and disposing of her things, including her home, to help pay for her long-term care. 

We were very touched to hear from Ian’s sister, Kellie, and his ex-step-brother, Dan Jr., that Dan Sr. wanted his piano to stay “in the family.” He hoped we might want it, and tearfully said he feels Ian has “always been like family” to him. Dan is understandably upset about the changes that are happening for Aunt Rachel, his sister, and he is frequently emotional since he had a stroke several years ago. 

So through old connections and the good will of some really sweet people, we now have a pretty, 40-year-old mahogany piano in our home. I do not play, but I have always wanted to learn. I always felt at a disadvantage when I was singing because I couldn’t plunk out my own part without help. I have held a secret hope that Lucas would learn to play someday. It seems to me that if you learn piano, nearly every other musical endeavor comes more easily. It feels like a tremendous windfall to have this instrument for the cost of moving and tuning it; we would never be able to afford one otherwise.

I know of another young boy who was in Lucas’s class last year and he plays. A music teacher comes to his home once a week and teaches Charlie piano and Charlie’s sister, the violin. I’m hoping to arrange for lessons for us to start this summer. 

So, in honor of kind people who gift us with wonderful opportunities to learn new things, I raise my popsicle in a toast: Thank you!

 

Blushing with Pride

Last year for my birthday, NoNoSays gave me a beautiful pink hydrangea in a 4-inch pot. I planted it in my front yard in a partly shady spot and it has easily quadrupled in size. Its leaves are a charming light green and it’s just beginning to bloom in time for my birthday again.

When I was a little girl, we had a clump of irises in the front yard near our mean neighbors’ house. I rarely visited that side of our yard because the neighbors had big, mean dogs, teenaged mean boys, and a pinched, mean mommy. Every year, though, right around my birthday in May, those irises would burst into the most magnificent purple you ever saw. My mother called them my birthday flower, and over the years, whenever I would begin to get antsy and excited about my impending birthday, she would say, “Go check your birthday flower and see how it’s doing. If it’s blooming it’s your birthday.” For several weeks of the year, I would brave daily visits to that side of the yard to check the progress of the buds.

I’m very happy to have a beautiful birthday flower again. Next week, the day after my birthday, NoNo graduates from CSU Sacramento with a coveted and hard-won design degree. I know that pink hydrangea is blooming for both of us. Thank you, NoNo, and congratulations!  

Birthday Flower

Blushing with Pride

Last year for my birthday, NoNoSays gave me a beautiful pink hydrangea in a 4-inch pot. I planted it in my front yard in a partly shady spot and it has easily quadrupled in size. Its leaves are a charming light green and it’s just beginning to bloom in time for my birthday again.
 
When I was a little girl, we had a clump of irises in the front yard near our mean neighbors’ house. I rarely visited that side of our yard because the neighbors had big, mean dogs, teenaged mean boys, and a pinched, mean mommy. Every year, though, right around my birthday in May, those irises would burst into the most magnificent purple you ever saw. My mother called them my birthday flower, and over the years, whenever I would begin to get antsy and excited about my impending birthday, she would say, “Go check your birthday flower and see how it’s doing. If it’s blooming it’s your birthday.” For several weeks of the year, I would brave daily visits to that side of the yard to check the progress of the buds.
 
I’m very happy to have a beautiful birthday flower again. Next week, the day after my birthday, NoNo graduates from CSU Sacramento with a coveted and hard-won design degree. I know that pink hydrangea is blooming for both of us. Thank you, NoNo, and congratulations!  

Birthday Flower
Birthday Flower

 

Desires

Asher is away with his grandmother for a few hours, probably for the first time. I am alone in the house and I’m supposed to be working because I have this little book to edit called Lebanon

I don’t want to be all thinky, though. I just want to go outside in the coolish morning and sit in the hot tub in the shade. I want to drink shameless morning cocktails all by myself. Or with a shameless friend, who is over 21 and doesn’t call me “mommy.” 

I have recently discovered my inner drinker. My children helped me find her; she was locked deep within me and yearning to come out into the sunshine. 

I didn’t truly discover the sacrament of coffee until Lucas was a baby. I didn’t truly discover the medicinal use of alcohol until this year. 

Call me Mother of the Year. 

OK. Back to Lebanon, where everything is peaceful and tolerant.

Desires

Asher is away with his grandmother for a few hours, probably for the first time. I am alone in the house and I’m supposed to be working because I have this little book to edit called Lebanon

I don’t want to be all thinky, though. I just want to go outside in the coolish morning and sit in the hot tub in the shade. I want to drink shameless morning cocktails all by myself. Or with a shameless friend, who is over 21 and doesn’t call me “mommy.” 

I have recently discovered my inner drinker. My children helped me find her; she was locked deep within me and yearning to come out into the sunshine. 

I didn’t truly discover the sacrament of coffee until Lucas was a baby. I didn’t truly discover the medicinal use of alcohol until this year. 

Call me Mother of the Year. 

OK. Back to Lebanon, where everything is peaceful and tolerant.

Feeling Like a Jerk, Hoping to Do Better

I’m not feeling too great about how things went with Lucas yesterday afternoon. I feel like I ought to know better. I ought to have defused the situation before it escalated into the fight it was. Thing is, Lucas’s behavior is basically bipolar lately. He swings rapidly from adorable “I’m a flower fairy and my magic flower wand will cause all your flowers to bloom beautifully, Mommy” to … well … what I described last night. He went from being totally fine and companionable to hitting me in zero seconds flat.

To all of you who read that and sympathized with me (well, or with Lucas), thank you. I can sum up parenthood by saying this: every day, I wake up and try, try again.

Quoting from Your Six-Year-Old to validate my own experience and remember what’s going on with him:

“Your typical Sx-year-old is a paradoxical little person, and bipolarity is the name of his game. Whatever he does, he does just the opposite just as readily. In fact, sometimes just the choice of some certain object or course of action immediately triggers an overpowering need for its opposite.

“The Six-year-old is wonderfully complex and intriguing, but life can be complicated for him at times, and what he needs most in the world is parents who understand him. For Six is not just bigger and better than Fve. He is almost entirely different. He is different because he is changing, and changing rapidly. Though many of the changes are for the good—he is, obviously, growing more mature, more independent, more daring, more adventurous—this is not necessarily an easy time for the child.”

“One of the many things that makes life difficult for him is that, as earlier at Two-and-a-half, he seems to live at opposite extremes. The typical Six-year-old is extremely ambivalent. He wants both of any two opposites and sometimes finds it almost impossible to choose.”

“One of the Six-year-old’s biggest problems is his relationship with his mother. It gives him the greatest pleasure and the greatest pain. Most adore their mother, think the world of her, need to be assured and reassured that she loves them. At the same time, whenever things go wrong, they take things out on her.”

“At Five, Mother was the center of the child’s universe. At Six, things have changed drastically. The child is now the center of his own universe. He wants to be first and best. He wants to win. He wants to have the most of everything.

“Six is beginning to separate from his mother. In fact, it is this quite natural move toward more independence and less of the closeness experienced at Five that makes him so aggressive toward her at times. On the other hand, his effort to be free and independent apparently causes him much anxiety. He worries that his mother might be sick or might even die, that she won’t be there when he gets home from school.  And in his typically opposite-extreme way, one minute he says he loves his mother and the next minute he may say he hates her.

“It’s not hard to understand why this strong emotional warmth toward and love for his mother, which occurs at the same time he is trying to learn to stand on his own feet, causes him much confusion and unhappiness. It is fair to say that Six is typically embroiled with his mother. He depends on her so much, and yet part of him wishes he didn’t.”

“But, rather sadly and touchingly, often when the child has been at his worst, once his temper calms down he will ask, “Even though I’ve been bad, you like me, don’t you?” Or, somewhat inappropriately, at the end of a very bad day a child will ask his mother, “Have I been good today?” It is an interesting fact about child behavior that the less praise and credit a child deserves, the more he wants and needs. The very difficult child needs a great deal of assurrance that he has been good. 

“We must remember that a Six-year-old isn’t violent, loud, demanding, and often naughty just to be bad. There are so many things he wants to do and be that his choices are not always fortunate. He is so extremely anxious to do well, to be the best, to be first, to be loved and praised, that any failure is very hard for him. 

“He is, part of the time, demanding and difficult because he is still, even at this relatively mature age, extremely insecure, and his emotional needs are great. If, with tremendous patience and effort, you can meet these needs, nobody can be a better, warmer, more enthusiastic companion than your Six-year-old girl or boy.”

“The child of this age is really a very vulnerable little person, very sensitive emotionally, especially when he is being good. Very small failures, comments, or criticisms hurt his feelings. But if he is being naughty, once he gets started on a bad tack, he may seem almost impervioust to punishment. That is why he needs so very much protection and understanding from his parents.”

A Fine Day … for a Fight

It was a fine day today. Except this time, I’m being facetious. It was fine up until about 3:15 or 3:30 when Lucas completely lost his mind. You see, I wanted to put Asher down for a nap, but Lucas wanted to play with Asher instead. So, naturally, Lucas started hitting and kicking me. Of course. That’s what you would do if I tried to put your little brother down for a nap.

I took Lucas by the arm and led him to his bedroom, saying something to the effect of “It is not OK for you to hit and kick me. Now you may go to your room. I will be putting Asher down for a nap now.” Lucas tried to punch me nearly all the way to his room, until he went limp and collapsed on the floor. So I bodily pulled him into his room and repeated my message. Then I closed his door.

Much screaming and gnashing of teeth ensued. In and out of his room he went; every time he came out, I put him back in his room. At one point I held him really close so he couldn’t deck me. That’s when he spit at me.

And that’s when I lost my temper. I shouted. I even said “fucking,” as in “YOU WILL STAY IN YOUR ROOM FOR THE REST OF THE FUCKING AFTERNOON!”

I left, went to soothe Asher, and quickly realized that Lucas had won. There was no way in hell Asher was going to relax enough to go to sleep now. He was crying and fussy and confused about all the drama. Of course. That’s how you would feel if I tried to put your big brother into his room for being a shit.

So, I just lied there beside the baby, listening to Lucas’s tantrum run through its predictible phases and thinking how pissed off I was that he took us to this place and, damn it, I should have handled it better. Somehow. See, there’s really not all that much you can do to a child when he decides to be an ass—that is, there is not much you can do if you’ve already decided that spanking isn’t right. Lucas may not be a big kid yet, but he’s plenty powerful and when one of his blows connects—damn! It hurts. I thought about how convenient it would be if there were a lock on his bedroom door so I could ensure that he stayed put, but then I remembered a friend’s story about how her parents used to regularly lock her in her room.

The screaming changed from “You’re a mean mommy! I hate you!” to “I forgive you, mommy!” to “Do you forgive me now, mommy?” Eventually he got quiet and miraculously he did not leave his bedroom. I peeped in after a while and saw that he had turned off the light and gotten into bed. Another time I noticed the door open a bit, but saw him still inside.

He stayed in his room for an hour and a half. That’s the longest time out ever. I felt I had to make a lasting impression—it is unacceptable for him to hit and kick and spit at me. If it happens again, he will stay the rest of the day in his room, until 5 o’clock comes and he can apologize to me and then explain the day’s events to his father, who doesn’t take kindly to news of Lucas beating on me.

When I finally let Lucas out at 5 p.m., he was all sweetness and roses. He apologized profusely and clearly explained to me what behavior was unacceptable and why he was in trouble. He seems to have gotten the message. 

It’s been a long time since he pulled this type of shit with me.* Somehow, turning 6 has made him insane. Fortunately, the book (Your Six-Year-Old: Loving and Defiant) says it will pass in about six months.

* Since he was 4, I think.

My Mother’s Day Weekend à la Stream of Consciousness

Friday

Working, Asher at babysitters’ house, May Day celebration at Lucas’s school, potluck lunch, Lucas at babysitters’ for afternoon, hair appointment to become more fabulous, 4:30 p.m. vodka and seven, visit with my mom, Ian home from work with more fixings, dinner out, carboliscious Mexican food including nachos and a fajita burrito, evening visit to Chicken Park, bedtime rituals, fell asleep with each of my kids in turn.



Yesterday

Shopping for mom, trip to Lowe’s garden store to purchase new plants, Ian’s labor (shirt off, mattock swinging, digging holes), Lucas’s helping, coreopsis, primrose, orange honeysuckle, purple fountain grass, artemesia, foxgloves, marguerites, agapanthus, muddy baby, sex-on-the-beach cocktails, leftover pork tenderloin and salad, bedtime rituals, TV, lovemaking, snoring. 

 

Today

Awake at o-dark-thirty, nursing and listening to birdsong, snoozing, Lucas’s 6 a.m. temper tantrum, later in bed alone reading Dr. Doolittle, coffee, receiving handmade gift from Lucas (a heart-shaped necklace made of wet-felted wool and yarn) lax and cream-cheese omelet and breakfast sausage, champagne, brief visit from mom and dad, fancy soaps for my mother, hot tubbing with all of my boys, lunch at Ian’s mom and stepfather’s with Aunt Kellie, VoVo, and DeeDee, fancy necklace for grandma, Lucas swimming, breezy back porch time, Asher throwing the ball for the dog to fetch, Lucas’s temper tantrum, grumpy ride home, nap for me and Asher, chess and a Mary Poppins chapter for Lucas and daddy, waking up, playing outside, crab cakes, more sex-on-the-beach, homemade chicken dinner, crying baby, Lucas in bed early, blogging, and … if I am really lucky, soon sleeping baby, Eskimo kisses, toe nibbles, and spooning.

  

Happy Mother’s Day!

My Mother’s Day Weekend à la Stream of Consciousness

Friday
Working, Asher at babysitters’ house, May Day celebration at Lucas’s school, potluck lunch, Lucas at babysitters’ for afternoon, hair appointment to become more fabulous, 4:30 p.m. vodka and seven, visit with my mom, Ian home from work with more fixings, dinner out, carboliscious Mexican food including nachos and a fajita burrito, evening visit to Chicken Park, bedtime rituals, fell asleep with each of my kids in turn.


Yesterday
Shopping for mom, trip to Lowe’s garden store to purchase new plants, Ian’s labor (shirt off, mattock swinging, digging holes), Lucas’s helping, coreopsis, primrose, orange honeysuckle, purple fountain grass, artemesia, foxgloves, marguerites, agapanthus, muddy baby, sex-on-the-beach cocktails, leftover pork tenderloin and salad, bedtime rituals, TV, lovemaking, snoring. 

 
Today
Awake at o-dark-thirty, nursing and listening to birdsong, snoozing, Lucas’s 6 a.m. temper tantrum, later in bed alone reading Dr. Doolittle, coffee, receiving handmade gift from Lucas (a heart-shaped necklace made of wet-felted wool and yarn) lax and cream-cheese omelet and breakfast sausage, champagne, brief visit from mom and dad, fancy soaps for my mother, hot tubbing with all of my boys, lunch at Ian’s mom and stepfather’s with Aunt Kellie, VoVo, and DeeDee, fancy necklace for grandma, Lucas swimming, breezy back porch time, Asher throwing the ball for the dog to fetch, Lucas’s temper tantrum, grumpy ride home, nap for me and Asher, chess and a Mary Poppins chapter for Lucas and daddy, waking up, playing outside, crab cakes, more sex-on-the-beach, homemade chicken dinner, crying baby, Lucas in bed early, blogging, and … if I am really lucky, soon sleeping baby, Eskimo kisses, toe nibbles, and spooning.

  

Happy Mother’s Day!

  • About Sara

    Thanks for visiting! I’m Sara, editor and writer, wife to Ian, and mother of two precious boys. I am living each day to the fullest and with as much grace, creativity, and patience as I can muster. This is where I write about living, loving, and engaging fully in family life and the world around me. I let my hair down here. I learn new skills here. I strive to be a better human being here. And I tell the truth.

    Our children attend Waldorf school and we are enriching our home and family life with plenty of Waldorf-inspired festivals, crafts, and stories.

    © 2003–2018 Please do not use my photographs or text without my permission.

    “Love doesn’t just sit there like a stone; it has to be made, like bread, remade all the time, made new.” —Ursula K. LeGuinn

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