Piano

The hardest thing about being a piano mom is not the money spent, the shuttling to lessons, the pushing to practice. It’s waiting for the next note. "Ho—ly. Ho—ly. Hooo…………." And I grit my teeth and wait, wooden spoon poised above pan—come on, come on, come on—and finally, if I’m lucky, he hits the "LY" dead on and I keep working and so does he. If not, I cringe at the discordant bang, one or two notches high or low, and the tension creeps up my neck as we have to go through the line all over again. And then finally we’re off to Lord. God. Al---- and we wait for the Might, spaghetti sauce dripping from spoon, and on it goes.

The one nice thing about this is that it tells me I'm not quite as unmusical as I thought. I'm sure they make a lot of mistakes that I never notice, but if they hit a real clunker, I can tell.

Quote of the Day:
"Oh, nice! We get to eat atomic element #6 tonight!"
--Ben, when Amy's brownies were a teeny bit overdone