"All of my friends want to go to my farm. It is a dachsund farm."
J: "James, why is there a pile of blankets in the middle of your bed"
James: "It is not a pile of blankets. It is a sculpture."
James: "We need one basket for George."
J: "You may use one basket only, and you need to keep it on the rug. These are not toys."
James: "We need another basket too."
J: "Just one basket."
James: <crying> But we also need a basket for Woof-Woof."
J: "Just one basket."
James: "We will get another basket on Friday. Oh, okay George. Hear that Mommy? We will get another basket on Friday."
J: "Probably not."
James: "Probably."
"My cereal is squishable."
Me: <hiding helicopter remote in my pocket and making helicopter move> "I haven't seen it, James."
James: "You need to give me that remote."
Me: "Can I use it?"
James: "It is not yours."
James: <points at me, just in from a run> "You need to go take a shower."
Me: <panting> "Why?"
James: "Because you are dirty."
Me: "Do I stink?"
James: "You are stink." <looks at J> "Daddy stinks."
<watching marble run> "Now the scrubbing. This part is my fravorite."
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Sunday, November 23, 2014
Bath Time
<after soaping up James' hair>
Me: James, we need to do the lying down part. We can do it now or we can do it later. Would you rather do it now?
James: Do it later
Me: Okay, we will do it in three minutes
James: No, not in three minutes. Maybe we will do it on Friday
Saturday, November 22, 2014
Wedding Gig (Or, 58 Emails)
10/16
I get an email from Stacy, one of the trumpet players I teach with on Mondays. He wants to know if I am interested in a wedding gig. It's in November, and will pay $100-150, all music from the Canadian Brass books. (Easy gig music collections) My first reaction is ambivalent. $150 is okay for a wedding, but $100 is definitely too low. I scroll over to my calendar and check the date against all the orchestra schedules. Doesn't look like I have anything going on. We are in the midst of saving aggressively to make our down payment, and I think about the first mortgage payment on our house, due Dec. 1. If it's Canadian Brass arrangements I won't need to practice beforehand. I email back and say that I'm available. After all, I'll only need to show up, play for a few minutes, and collect the check, right?
That night I tell J I took a wedding gig in November. I say it will probably pay $150. She does not look impressed.
10/18
Stacy emails back and says he'll leave the music in my box and let me know when he gets more details.
10/19
I pick up a neatly organized binder of music from my box. The first page is a printed out spreadsheet and flow with highlighter markings. I puzzle over whose book this could be. I didn't think Stacy was this punctilious. I make a mental note not to lose my music between now and the gig and toss it in the back of my trunk.
10/22
I get the standard "Gig Info" email with time, date, location dress from Stacy. We're going to get $150. Stacy mentions that the contractor for the gig is the Tuba Player. There is a dress rehearsal, but we don't need to attend, because the Tuba Player is going for us. I notice that the horn and trombone players (LB&BD) are two of my carpool buddies. It will be fun to hang with them, and I feel much better about having taken the gig. This will be fun.
10/31
I am driving back to the hospital (Owen was born the day before) on Rt. 15 and pull into a Bruegger's to get a coffee. I notice that I have a new email. It is a four paragraph document from Tuba Player. It's addressed to the whole brass quintet and the organist. He has consulted his teacher about the best key for the Pachelbel Canon and he lists several reasons for his preference to play it in B-flat. He wonders if the trumpets will need transposed parts. He also mentions some details from his conversations with the bride, and writes out a detailed flow for the hymns in the service, which he would like us to play on. He writes that he would like to schedule a rehearsal for next week and suggests several times.
I am determined to put a stop to this "rehearsal" nonsense immediately. I write back and tell him that B-Flat is fine, and he doesn't need to worry about transposing parts. I tell him that getting together for a rehearsal is fine, but it will cost an extra $100 a person...is the family willing to pay for this?
I send the email, then text my carpool friends checking to make sure that they are on board with avoiding a rehearsal.
Response "OMG thank you, I couldn't do any of the times he suggested anyway."
I feel temporarily proud of myself for being taking charge.
As soon as I send the email, another email pops into my inbox. It is also from Tuba Player. It's a copy of the excel document song list which was in our folders, just in case we needed another copy.
Five minutes later, another email pops in from Tuba Player. It contains audio recordings of all the wedding music, for our listening reference. You know, in case any of us were unfamiliar with the Pachelbel Canon. (The B-flat version, of course.)
A few minutes after that, Tuba Player writes back again. The fee that he agreed to with Stacy was $100 for the ceremony and $50 for the rehearsal. If that's a problem, please let him know. I hold the new baby and think about the first mortgage payment. I figure that there could be far worse ways to spend an hour some evening in November than hanging out with my carpool for an hour.
J is not impressed.
11/1
I have a service in Syracuse and ride in with my brass quintet. I ask BD if he knows Tuba Player, and he tells me that he is a retired teacher from somewhere who takes lessons very enthusiastically and that this is probably his first professional gig. He says he is a nice guy who "kind of thinks it's all about the tuba." We compare schedules and I write back requesting to just rehearse at 2:30 the day of the gig. (The ceremony is at 4)
11/2
The Organist (a friend who I gig with regularly) writes and asks us to check in with her about rehearsal times since the church isn't always open.
LB responds to my email and also wants to rehearse at 2:30 the day of the gig.
Stacy responds. He's also down for 2:30
BD responds. He's good for 2:30 too.
Tuba Player responds. He's also good for 2:30.
11/5
Organist writes and says that the church won't be open until 3. We are welcome to rehearse then. My initial reaction is "Great, we can get it all done if we meet at 3."
Tuba Player writes back a few hours later and says that we will start at 2:30. He also asks us each to write back and confirm (in bold type) that we will be there at 2:20 to start rehearsal. He wants us to play along on the special vocal numbers during the ceremony. The email includes three paragraphs of clarifications regarding the order of music and the verse-refrain patterns for the hymns.
Organist writes back. She won't be there till 3. She says that it really won't take more than 15 minutes to play all this music. If we want to meet at 2:30, we have to talk to the parish about getting the building unlocked.
Tuba Player writes back. He writes that he would be willing to pay someone extra to come and unlock the building 40 minutes early for us. He also requests that he come pick up music for the singer's numbers so that the brass can play along on that as well.
Vocalist (who has been copied in on the last few emails) writes back and says "just organ accompaniment, please and thanks."
Organist texts me privately asking me whether I know Tuba Player, why he's sending so many emails, and why he wants so many extra rehearsals. She sends five more texts venting about how she knows the rest of the group can sight read anything, so what is the point of all this?
11/6
Organist agrees to give Tuba Player a copy of the vocal music if he wants it and tells him when she plans to meet with the Vocalist to practice it.
Tuba Player responds and confirms that he will indeed go to the organ/voice rehearsal to watch.
Organist says okay.
Tuba Player sends a scan of the Vocal Music (which we are not playing) to everyone in the brass quintet.
11/8
Vocalist responds to Tuba Player's email, confused because she already has a copy of the music.
11/9
I email BD/LB separately and suggest that we meet at 7 AM the morning of the gig to see if we can get in on any of the wedding photos.
LB responds and suggests 6:45 AM would work better for her.
11/12
Tuba Player forwards an email from Vocalist. She enjoyed meeting him at their rehearsal. She has a request that none of the brass players wear perfumes or colognes, because her allergies could cause extreme difficulty singing.
Tuba Player sends an email to the quintet and marvels at the acoustical properties of the space. He assures us we will sound very good in there. However, he is having too much trouble getting into the space for a 2:30 rehearsal and has decided we need to rehearse sometime during the week before. He suggests a time Wednesday or Thursday evening.
Stacy responds and commits a major faux pas, indicating that he is actually available and willing to do an outside rehearsal.
I write back and say that I'm not available for either time (I'm not--I have orchestra rehearsals scheduled) and perhaps we can just meet offsite somewhere on the day of the wedding.
LB writes back and offers her house as a place to rehearse on the day of.
Vocalist writes back (apparently she's been copied in on these emails) and offers to come over to LB's house, although she doesn't actually need to rehearse anything with us.
BD responds. He is down for meeting at LB's place.
At this point LB is texting me with every new email that pops in to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, since we are playing 5 MINUTES OF SIGHT-READABLE BRASS QUINTET MUSIC WE'VE ALL PLAYED DOZENS OF TIMES. She, like me, is only sticking with this gig for entertainment value.
Another email pops in from Tuba Player. It is a message with the Google Drive logo asking you to CLICK HERE to access the documents he has shared. It looks like spam.
LB: "Did you get that email too? Do you think it's spam?"
Me: "I don't know. I'm going to open it. If you don't hear back from me in 5 minutes delete the email and bury your phone."
I open it. I'm brought to the Google home page and asked to sign in. I sign in. I'm brought to a South American web page with a bunch of car advertisements. I immediately sign out, delete the email, and change all my passwords.
11/12
Tuba Player sends a depressed sounding email. Because I having the most restrictive schedule, it doesn't look like we'll be able to rehearse until the day of the wedding. He has also given up on trying to get brass on the vocal number. He suggests we all meet at LB's at 1:30 (for a 4:00 wedding) and then try to get into the church at 2:30, or at least 3:00 and rehearse some more. He asks LB to write back with her address and parking suggestions.
11/17
Tuba Player has not heard back from any of us. He writes "the offsite rehearsal as I suggested at 1:30 does not make sense." He will plan to arrive at the church at 2:15 and rehearse with us then. He also plans to attend the wedding rehearsal so he can talk to the bride and clarify any concerns she might have. He has, as an attachment to the email, sent us a copy of their Save the Date. They look very nice.
LB responds asking many important and entirely serious questions, like whether we need to print out the music ourselves? Will there be music stands? Which street should we park on? She notes that the bride and groom look like a lovely couple.
Stacy responds that he is "uber good" with 2:15
Tuba Player responds that he will have extra copies of the music printed out, there will be music stands there, we should park in the church lot, and we should wear black ties.
LB texts to make sure that I know to wear a black tie.
11/18
Vocalist wanders (accidentally?) into the emails again. She will also be present at the wedding rehearsal on Friday.
Vocalist emails again. She is confused about how many verses on the nuptial blessing.
Organist: Refrain-Verse-Refrain
BD responds. He is good for 2:15
Vocalist says thank you, that's what she thought.
Tuba Player confirms the building will be opened at 2:15. "See you brassers then."
LB texts"I didn't get this many emails for my own wedding!"
11/19
No emails from Tuba Player, but he attends LB's horn choir concert. They have a chat about the wedding gig. He is very excited
11/21
Tuba Player emails the last minute clarifications. Dress is tuxedos for the men, black gowns (?) for the women. Everyone be there at 2:15. Everyone bring a music stand. Tempos will all be just like the recordings. Who will down dowbeats and cutoffs? He has attached the revised songlist as an excel document again. There is a list of updated repertoire. In the recessional the second trumpet solo will now be a TUBA SOLO. (In all caps, bold type.)
I respond whoever is playing first trumpet will give cutoffs.
LB responds ditto on the cutoffs, that she doesn't have a black gown, but will wear all black.
Stacy agrees about the cutoffs.
The Vocalist writes (again) that the nuptial blessing is refrain, verse, refrain. I guess someone was still in the dark about that.
Tuba Player tells Vocalist that he will be at the wedding rehearsal tonight. He tells LB that any colored gown will be fine. (All women want to wear gowns all the time, you know.)
Stacy responds with a music theory question. He is poking the bear.
Tuba Player is still confused about the verses and refrains on the nuptial blessing.
Vocalist emails everyone to tell LB that she'll wear a black suit too. (My phone is just incessantly buzzing with new emails at this point.)
LB is also wearing a black suit.
Tuba Player has spoken with the Vocalist. Just to confirm, only trumpets on the nuptial blessing. On the refrain.
Stacy says that is "dandy."
11/22 THE BIG DAY
So the gig actually turned out to be a lot of fun. I wore my most outrageous cummerbund with my tux, brought a thermos full of hot toddy to pass around the carpool, and generally tried to keep a straight face as Tuba Player said things like "boy, I can't imagine how you guys put together stuff like this before email."
He was the sweetest guy you could imagine once I met him in person. He said multiple times how honored he was to be playing with us (he called it a "bucket list" item) and compared it to sitting in with the orchestra side by side he played on last year. (Several of us were on that too.) He was super nervous about anything he had to start or play on his own, including the big TUBA SOLO in the recessional, and looked genuinely disappointed that we didn't get to play the entire Pachelbel Canon or go through all of our postlude music before the guests had left.
The actual wedding was fine. It was really small, but the bride and groom looked happy. The actual playing went fine. We started and stopped together, and no one got lost in between, to my knowledge. Before the gig was over, Tuba Player paid us all in cash, giving everybody a $100 and a $50. I thought about how the gig was either going to be a $100 or a $150 gig, and I figured out the math. I'm pretty sure that he didn't pay himself for this gig, and that if he paid someone to come unlock the church early for our rehearsal that he probably took a loss. I felt a little bad about being mildly snarky in the emails (and more than a little bit snarky behind his back in all the texts that flew back and forth after each email arrived) but I think that he had the time of his life. His wife was there, and she took pictures of the group in front of the altar, actions shots, and phone pictures too.
Your special day only happens once, and you have to make sure that you document it properly.
I get an email from Stacy, one of the trumpet players I teach with on Mondays. He wants to know if I am interested in a wedding gig. It's in November, and will pay $100-150, all music from the Canadian Brass books. (Easy gig music collections) My first reaction is ambivalent. $150 is okay for a wedding, but $100 is definitely too low. I scroll over to my calendar and check the date against all the orchestra schedules. Doesn't look like I have anything going on. We are in the midst of saving aggressively to make our down payment, and I think about the first mortgage payment on our house, due Dec. 1. If it's Canadian Brass arrangements I won't need to practice beforehand. I email back and say that I'm available. After all, I'll only need to show up, play for a few minutes, and collect the check, right?
That night I tell J I took a wedding gig in November. I say it will probably pay $150. She does not look impressed.
10/18
Stacy emails back and says he'll leave the music in my box and let me know when he gets more details.
10/19
I pick up a neatly organized binder of music from my box. The first page is a printed out spreadsheet and flow with highlighter markings. I puzzle over whose book this could be. I didn't think Stacy was this punctilious. I make a mental note not to lose my music between now and the gig and toss it in the back of my trunk.
10/22
I get the standard "Gig Info" email with time, date, location dress from Stacy. We're going to get $150. Stacy mentions that the contractor for the gig is the Tuba Player. There is a dress rehearsal, but we don't need to attend, because the Tuba Player is going for us. I notice that the horn and trombone players (LB&BD) are two of my carpool buddies. It will be fun to hang with them, and I feel much better about having taken the gig. This will be fun.
10/31
I am driving back to the hospital (Owen was born the day before) on Rt. 15 and pull into a Bruegger's to get a coffee. I notice that I have a new email. It is a four paragraph document from Tuba Player. It's addressed to the whole brass quintet and the organist. He has consulted his teacher about the best key for the Pachelbel Canon and he lists several reasons for his preference to play it in B-flat. He wonders if the trumpets will need transposed parts. He also mentions some details from his conversations with the bride, and writes out a detailed flow for the hymns in the service, which he would like us to play on. He writes that he would like to schedule a rehearsal for next week and suggests several times.
I am determined to put a stop to this "rehearsal" nonsense immediately. I write back and tell him that B-Flat is fine, and he doesn't need to worry about transposing parts. I tell him that getting together for a rehearsal is fine, but it will cost an extra $100 a person...is the family willing to pay for this?
I send the email, then text my carpool friends checking to make sure that they are on board with avoiding a rehearsal.
Response "OMG thank you, I couldn't do any of the times he suggested anyway."
I feel temporarily proud of myself for being taking charge.
As soon as I send the email, another email pops into my inbox. It is also from Tuba Player. It's a copy of the excel document song list which was in our folders, just in case we needed another copy.
Five minutes later, another email pops in from Tuba Player. It contains audio recordings of all the wedding music, for our listening reference. You know, in case any of us were unfamiliar with the Pachelbel Canon. (The B-flat version, of course.)
A few minutes after that, Tuba Player writes back again. The fee that he agreed to with Stacy was $100 for the ceremony and $50 for the rehearsal. If that's a problem, please let him know. I hold the new baby and think about the first mortgage payment. I figure that there could be far worse ways to spend an hour some evening in November than hanging out with my carpool for an hour.
J is not impressed.
11/1
I have a service in Syracuse and ride in with my brass quintet. I ask BD if he knows Tuba Player, and he tells me that he is a retired teacher from somewhere who takes lessons very enthusiastically and that this is probably his first professional gig. He says he is a nice guy who "kind of thinks it's all about the tuba." We compare schedules and I write back requesting to just rehearse at 2:30 the day of the gig. (The ceremony is at 4)
11/2
The Organist (a friend who I gig with regularly) writes and asks us to check in with her about rehearsal times since the church isn't always open.
LB responds to my email and also wants to rehearse at 2:30 the day of the gig.
Stacy responds. He's also down for 2:30
BD responds. He's good for 2:30 too.
Tuba Player responds. He's also good for 2:30.
11/5
Organist writes and says that the church won't be open until 3. We are welcome to rehearse then. My initial reaction is "Great, we can get it all done if we meet at 3."
Tuba Player writes back a few hours later and says that we will start at 2:30. He also asks us each to write back and confirm (in bold type) that we will be there at 2:20 to start rehearsal. He wants us to play along on the special vocal numbers during the ceremony. The email includes three paragraphs of clarifications regarding the order of music and the verse-refrain patterns for the hymns.
Organist writes back. She won't be there till 3. She says that it really won't take more than 15 minutes to play all this music. If we want to meet at 2:30, we have to talk to the parish about getting the building unlocked.
Tuba Player writes back. He writes that he would be willing to pay someone extra to come and unlock the building 40 minutes early for us. He also requests that he come pick up music for the singer's numbers so that the brass can play along on that as well.
Vocalist (who has been copied in on the last few emails) writes back and says "just organ accompaniment, please and thanks."
Organist texts me privately asking me whether I know Tuba Player, why he's sending so many emails, and why he wants so many extra rehearsals. She sends five more texts venting about how she knows the rest of the group can sight read anything, so what is the point of all this?
11/6
Organist agrees to give Tuba Player a copy of the vocal music if he wants it and tells him when she plans to meet with the Vocalist to practice it.
Tuba Player responds and confirms that he will indeed go to the organ/voice rehearsal to watch.
Organist says okay.
Tuba Player sends a scan of the Vocal Music (which we are not playing) to everyone in the brass quintet.
11/8
Vocalist responds to Tuba Player's email, confused because she already has a copy of the music.
11/9
I email BD/LB separately and suggest that we meet at 7 AM the morning of the gig to see if we can get in on any of the wedding photos.
LB responds and suggests 6:45 AM would work better for her.
11/12
Tuba Player forwards an email from Vocalist. She enjoyed meeting him at their rehearsal. She has a request that none of the brass players wear perfumes or colognes, because her allergies could cause extreme difficulty singing.
Tuba Player sends an email to the quintet and marvels at the acoustical properties of the space. He assures us we will sound very good in there. However, he is having too much trouble getting into the space for a 2:30 rehearsal and has decided we need to rehearse sometime during the week before. He suggests a time Wednesday or Thursday evening.
Stacy responds and commits a major faux pas, indicating that he is actually available and willing to do an outside rehearsal.
I write back and say that I'm not available for either time (I'm not--I have orchestra rehearsals scheduled) and perhaps we can just meet offsite somewhere on the day of the wedding.
LB writes back and offers her house as a place to rehearse on the day of.
Vocalist writes back (apparently she's been copied in on these emails) and offers to come over to LB's house, although she doesn't actually need to rehearse anything with us.
BD responds. He is down for meeting at LB's place.
At this point LB is texting me with every new email that pops in to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, since we are playing 5 MINUTES OF SIGHT-READABLE BRASS QUINTET MUSIC WE'VE ALL PLAYED DOZENS OF TIMES. She, like me, is only sticking with this gig for entertainment value.
Another email pops in from Tuba Player. It is a message with the Google Drive logo asking you to CLICK HERE to access the documents he has shared. It looks like spam.
LB: "Did you get that email too? Do you think it's spam?"
Me: "I don't know. I'm going to open it. If you don't hear back from me in 5 minutes delete the email and bury your phone."
I open it. I'm brought to the Google home page and asked to sign in. I sign in. I'm brought to a South American web page with a bunch of car advertisements. I immediately sign out, delete the email, and change all my passwords.
11/12
Tuba Player sends a depressed sounding email. Because I having the most restrictive schedule, it doesn't look like we'll be able to rehearse until the day of the wedding. He has also given up on trying to get brass on the vocal number. He suggests we all meet at LB's at 1:30 (for a 4:00 wedding) and then try to get into the church at 2:30, or at least 3:00 and rehearse some more. He asks LB to write back with her address and parking suggestions.
11/17
Tuba Player has not heard back from any of us. He writes "the offsite rehearsal as I suggested at 1:30 does not make sense." He will plan to arrive at the church at 2:15 and rehearse with us then. He also plans to attend the wedding rehearsal so he can talk to the bride and clarify any concerns she might have. He has, as an attachment to the email, sent us a copy of their Save the Date. They look very nice.
LB responds asking many important and entirely serious questions, like whether we need to print out the music ourselves? Will there be music stands? Which street should we park on? She notes that the bride and groom look like a lovely couple.
Stacy responds that he is "uber good" with 2:15
Tuba Player responds that he will have extra copies of the music printed out, there will be music stands there, we should park in the church lot, and we should wear black ties.
LB texts to make sure that I know to wear a black tie.
11/18
Vocalist wanders (accidentally?) into the emails again. She will also be present at the wedding rehearsal on Friday.
Vocalist emails again. She is confused about how many verses on the nuptial blessing.
Organist: Refrain-Verse-Refrain
BD responds. He is good for 2:15
Vocalist says thank you, that's what she thought.
Tuba Player confirms the building will be opened at 2:15. "See you brassers then."
LB texts"I didn't get this many emails for my own wedding!"
11/19
No emails from Tuba Player, but he attends LB's horn choir concert. They have a chat about the wedding gig. He is very excited
11/21
Tuba Player emails the last minute clarifications. Dress is tuxedos for the men, black gowns (?) for the women. Everyone be there at 2:15. Everyone bring a music stand. Tempos will all be just like the recordings. Who will down dowbeats and cutoffs? He has attached the revised songlist as an excel document again. There is a list of updated repertoire. In the recessional the second trumpet solo will now be a TUBA SOLO. (In all caps, bold type.)
I respond whoever is playing first trumpet will give cutoffs.
LB responds ditto on the cutoffs, that she doesn't have a black gown, but will wear all black.
Stacy agrees about the cutoffs.
The Vocalist writes (again) that the nuptial blessing is refrain, verse, refrain. I guess someone was still in the dark about that.
Tuba Player tells Vocalist that he will be at the wedding rehearsal tonight. He tells LB that any colored gown will be fine. (All women want to wear gowns all the time, you know.)
Stacy responds with a music theory question. He is poking the bear.
Tuba Player is still confused about the verses and refrains on the nuptial blessing.
Vocalist emails everyone to tell LB that she'll wear a black suit too. (My phone is just incessantly buzzing with new emails at this point.)
LB is also wearing a black suit.
Tuba Player has spoken with the Vocalist. Just to confirm, only trumpets on the nuptial blessing. On the refrain.
Stacy says that is "dandy."
11/22 THE BIG DAY
So the gig actually turned out to be a lot of fun. I wore my most outrageous cummerbund with my tux, brought a thermos full of hot toddy to pass around the carpool, and generally tried to keep a straight face as Tuba Player said things like "boy, I can't imagine how you guys put together stuff like this before email."
He was the sweetest guy you could imagine once I met him in person. He said multiple times how honored he was to be playing with us (he called it a "bucket list" item) and compared it to sitting in with the orchestra side by side he played on last year. (Several of us were on that too.) He was super nervous about anything he had to start or play on his own, including the big TUBA SOLO in the recessional, and looked genuinely disappointed that we didn't get to play the entire Pachelbel Canon or go through all of our postlude music before the guests had left.
The actual wedding was fine. It was really small, but the bride and groom looked happy. The actual playing went fine. We started and stopped together, and no one got lost in between, to my knowledge. Before the gig was over, Tuba Player paid us all in cash, giving everybody a $100 and a $50. I thought about how the gig was either going to be a $100 or a $150 gig, and I figured out the math. I'm pretty sure that he didn't pay himself for this gig, and that if he paid someone to come unlock the church early for our rehearsal that he probably took a loss. I felt a little bad about being mildly snarky in the emails (and more than a little bit snarky behind his back in all the texts that flew back and forth after each email arrived) but I think that he had the time of his life. His wife was there, and she took pictures of the group in front of the altar, actions shots, and phone pictures too.
Your special day only happens once, and you have to make sure that you document it properly.
Thursday, November 20, 2014
Snow Week
Everyone knows by now that the weather in Buffalo this week has been otherworldly. I've seen the terms "amazing," "insane," and "Hoth" tossed about by everyone in the middle of the storm. Among the many events lost over the course of the week was a performance of Rite of Spring by the BPO that I was supposed to be playing. I am a little bummed, of course. I love Rite of Spring, and the paycheck would have been great. But I'm also really relieved that I didn't have to attempt driving in that mess, or (more likely) backing out of the gig.
My Dad was the first to warn me about the storm. They stopped by on Sunday and he mentioned that a bad storm was coming. I need to start paying more attention to these things, now that I'm a homeowner. It's going to be up to me to batten down the hatches on our property. Right now, I don't even know where the hatches are. It's also up to me to shovel our driveway, keep an eye on the water level around the foundation, and all those other lovely tasks.
So, I kept an eye on the weather. And Tuesday morning, the day of the first rehearsal, I woke up assuming I might have to allow for a little extra drive time in the snow. The first thing I saw when I opened Facebook was a bunch of people posting that the Thruway was closed.
"The Thruway is closed? Isn't that a bit of an overreaction?"
Turns out, no. I dug through old emails for the emergency personnel line to the orchestra, and called in. There was no message. I texted one of the other trumpet players asking whether rehearsal was still on. No answer. I looked up alternate routes up by the lake, and put on my winter coat. I was just getting ready to leave when I finally got ahold of the personnel manager.
"Yeah, I can't see out my window," she said "There isn't going to be any rehearsal today."
It turned out to be a good day to stay home. J had a doctor's appointment for James and Owen, and neither boy was particularly happy about being measured, prodded, weighed, or (oh, the trauma) given a shot.
The next day I started calling into the personnel line at 6 in the morning. There had been reports that there might be a break in the snow early in the afternoon, but that another huge storm was coming on Thursday and that the Thruway was still closed for the forseeable future. About 7:00 I saw that the alternate rehearsal site (at a college) had been shut down because the campus was closed, and I figured I was in the clear. Around 8:00 the official word came through that rehearsal was off, and at 10 AM they cancelled the whole week's worth of services.
So I've had an unexpected week off! I took the kids to Home Depot, cleaned the downstairs, played with James outside (he got a snow shovel at Home Depot--"Daddy, I need to shovel. Is it time to shovel yet?") helped J with lunch, took a nap, listened to a mock audition, worked through a box of wine, and wore a bunch of sweaters.
If you're one of those poor people digging out of this mess, stay warm! But I've enjoyed a chance to actually live in my own house for a bit...
My Dad was the first to warn me about the storm. They stopped by on Sunday and he mentioned that a bad storm was coming. I need to start paying more attention to these things, now that I'm a homeowner. It's going to be up to me to batten down the hatches on our property. Right now, I don't even know where the hatches are. It's also up to me to shovel our driveway, keep an eye on the water level around the foundation, and all those other lovely tasks.
So, I kept an eye on the weather. And Tuesday morning, the day of the first rehearsal, I woke up assuming I might have to allow for a little extra drive time in the snow. The first thing I saw when I opened Facebook was a bunch of people posting that the Thruway was closed.
"The Thruway is closed? Isn't that a bit of an overreaction?"
Turns out, no. I dug through old emails for the emergency personnel line to the orchestra, and called in. There was no message. I texted one of the other trumpet players asking whether rehearsal was still on. No answer. I looked up alternate routes up by the lake, and put on my winter coat. I was just getting ready to leave when I finally got ahold of the personnel manager.
"Yeah, I can't see out my window," she said "There isn't going to be any rehearsal today."
It turned out to be a good day to stay home. J had a doctor's appointment for James and Owen, and neither boy was particularly happy about being measured, prodded, weighed, or (oh, the trauma) given a shot.
The next day I started calling into the personnel line at 6 in the morning. There had been reports that there might be a break in the snow early in the afternoon, but that another huge storm was coming on Thursday and that the Thruway was still closed for the forseeable future. About 7:00 I saw that the alternate rehearsal site (at a college) had been shut down because the campus was closed, and I figured I was in the clear. Around 8:00 the official word came through that rehearsal was off, and at 10 AM they cancelled the whole week's worth of services.
So I've had an unexpected week off! I took the kids to Home Depot, cleaned the downstairs, played with James outside (he got a snow shovel at Home Depot--"Daddy, I need to shovel. Is it time to shovel yet?") helped J with lunch, took a nap, listened to a mock audition, worked through a box of wine, and wore a bunch of sweaters.
If you're one of those poor people digging out of this mess, stay warm! But I've enjoyed a chance to actually live in my own house for a bit...
Saturday, November 15, 2014
House Projects
I was home all morning and afternoon today after a long week of BPO and other obligations. Here was the schedule from the week:
Monday-AM off (Veteran's Day), Houghton in the afternoon, Hochstein in the evening
Tuesday-Leave at 8 AM for BPO, stay in Buffalo all day for 7 PM concert
Wednesday-Leave at 8 AM for BPO double rehearsal, back at 5 PM, out the door at 6:30 for Choir
Thursday-Leave at 8 AM for BPO double rehearsal, back at 5 PM, out the door at 8 for Bills game
Friday-Leave at 8 AM for BPO concert, Houghton lessons in the afternoon, Houghton concert 7 PM
J said James was much better behaved all day, since I was around. Given that he stole food, threw Lincoln logs, and pitched a hurricane-force tantrum about having to wear grippy slippers, I shudder to think what he was like earlier in the week.
Today, with two parents, was a day for getting things done. First thing I loaded up a few basketfuls of laundry and took them down to the basement. Then came the long delayed project of putting away all the clothes that are upstairs in our room. They've been sitting in big rubbermaid bins, unsorted and unstowed. There comes a dangerous point in the life of any mess, when you start to fail to see it any longer. For example, J will put a few of my ties neatly folded on one of the stairs for me to put away. (My ties always end up downstairs because when I come home from a concert I kick my dress shoes off and step into my slippers, throw my coat over the desk chair, yank my half-tied tie all the way off and throw it over the armchair.) Anywhow, the ties will accumulate on the back of the chair until she notices that it's a problem, and she'll put them on the stairs. Then, I'll see them as I'm on my way to do something else. I'll notice that they need to be brought upstairs and put away, but I'll be in the middle of saying "I don't know if Woof-Woof is still outside, but we need to get you into the bathtub before the mustard dries in your hair." I have SEEN the ties, but done nothing about them. Then perhaps the next day I'll see them again, but someone we'll be saying to me "if we turn the box spring a little bit left I don't think we'll crack the drywall too badly." Again I'll SEE the ties, but do nothing. And then, before you know, I've stopped seeing them. The ties will be right there on the stairs, but they've blended into the landscape of the steps and almost become part of the wood. It will be a Friday evening and I'll be frantically dashing up and down the stairs, yelling at J "Come on, don't I have a single black tie anywhere in this house?" I could probably step right on the pile of ties, and I wouldn't even notice it.
So this was the danger of the rubbermaid bins in our bedroom. They had sat there for over a week, and they were nearly permanent furniture in our house. The fading-to-unnoticed trick has already happened with the damage to the bathroom threshold. It was the first thing that I noticed when we did our initial walk-through of the house. "Don't worry," I told J "that's a cinch to fix. I can take care of that in one trip to Home Depot and 15 minutes of work." Now I don't even remember that there's a problem, although probably every guest who's used our bathroom looks at entrance with mild revulsion and thinks "Why don't they ever take care of that?"
Not only did we empty most of the rubbermaids, we also unloaded two boxes of pictures and wall-hangings that were chameleoning into the downstairs library. I got out my stepstool, drill, and level, and we put up lots of pictures of our family. It turns out that we only have pictures of James and O&K, so all of the rest of you need to get us pictures if you want to be up on our walls.
The big project today, however, was hanging up an enormous mirror in our bedroom. J's grandparents gave us a gorgeous solid cherry dresser with a matching mirror. The dresser is possibly the nicest piece of furniture in the house, and we wanted to set up our television on top of it so that we can watch TV in bed, keep the TV out of the downstairs area, and possibly limit James' George intake. (So far, unsuccessful. George is need to watch his self on Mommy-Daddy's bed.)
The mirror we didn't know what to do with. It didn't have any hardware to be mounted vertically on the dresser, and we didn't have room to mount in horizontally. Plus, it weighs about 400 lbs, so I got tired of holding it up at different angles in a hurry.
Good thing we bought a studfinder for just such an occasion. J and I had massive problems with the very little shelf-hanging we'd tried at previous apartments. For people whose livelihoods depend on detecting minute differences in pitch and timbre, neither of us were particularly adept at using the "knocking" method of studfinding. So when we moved into the the new place, we decided to splurge on a new studfinder. And when I say "splurge," I mean we bought the cheapest one we could find and hoped it would work.
It actually does work pretty well, although we still quadruple check every mark we make on the wall. We had a long adventure finding a screw that we could actually fasten into the stud. The first long screw we found I stripped the head with my drill, and then accidentally bent it beyond salvaging when I tried to hammer it in. (True story: I actually uttered the phrase "I just got my flannel shirt caught in my drill case" a few days ago). The second screw I successfully drove into the wall and screwed in almost to the point where we wanted, and then the head broke off, leaving the body of the screw stuck in the stud for all eternity. Finally (in a new hole) we got a screw in securely, I bloodied up my finger, and we hung the mirror.
We both let go and took a ginger step back. I nudged the mirror and it stayed up. I put the level up, and said "close enough." I nudged the mirror again, and it stayed up. I think we're actually figuring out this home-ownership stuff a little bit at a time. So if you want to see any of our handiwork, come on over, and bring a picture of yourself. I'd be more than happy to hang it up. Also, keep your eyes open for my trumcor black soft mute while you're over, because that's definitely chameleoned into a couch somewhere. And step carefully, because I still feel like that mirror could come down at any moment.
Monday-AM off (Veteran's Day), Houghton in the afternoon, Hochstein in the evening
Tuesday-Leave at 8 AM for BPO, stay in Buffalo all day for 7 PM concert
Wednesday-Leave at 8 AM for BPO double rehearsal, back at 5 PM, out the door at 6:30 for Choir
Thursday-Leave at 8 AM for BPO double rehearsal, back at 5 PM, out the door at 8 for Bills game
Friday-Leave at 8 AM for BPO concert, Houghton lessons in the afternoon, Houghton concert 7 PM
J said James was much better behaved all day, since I was around. Given that he stole food, threw Lincoln logs, and pitched a hurricane-force tantrum about having to wear grippy slippers, I shudder to think what he was like earlier in the week.
Today, with two parents, was a day for getting things done. First thing I loaded up a few basketfuls of laundry and took them down to the basement. Then came the long delayed project of putting away all the clothes that are upstairs in our room. They've been sitting in big rubbermaid bins, unsorted and unstowed. There comes a dangerous point in the life of any mess, when you start to fail to see it any longer. For example, J will put a few of my ties neatly folded on one of the stairs for me to put away. (My ties always end up downstairs because when I come home from a concert I kick my dress shoes off and step into my slippers, throw my coat over the desk chair, yank my half-tied tie all the way off and throw it over the armchair.) Anywhow, the ties will accumulate on the back of the chair until she notices that it's a problem, and she'll put them on the stairs. Then, I'll see them as I'm on my way to do something else. I'll notice that they need to be brought upstairs and put away, but I'll be in the middle of saying "I don't know if Woof-Woof is still outside, but we need to get you into the bathtub before the mustard dries in your hair." I have SEEN the ties, but done nothing about them. Then perhaps the next day I'll see them again, but someone we'll be saying to me "if we turn the box spring a little bit left I don't think we'll crack the drywall too badly." Again I'll SEE the ties, but do nothing. And then, before you know, I've stopped seeing them. The ties will be right there on the stairs, but they've blended into the landscape of the steps and almost become part of the wood. It will be a Friday evening and I'll be frantically dashing up and down the stairs, yelling at J "Come on, don't I have a single black tie anywhere in this house?" I could probably step right on the pile of ties, and I wouldn't even notice it.
So this was the danger of the rubbermaid bins in our bedroom. They had sat there for over a week, and they were nearly permanent furniture in our house. The fading-to-unnoticed trick has already happened with the damage to the bathroom threshold. It was the first thing that I noticed when we did our initial walk-through of the house. "Don't worry," I told J "that's a cinch to fix. I can take care of that in one trip to Home Depot and 15 minutes of work." Now I don't even remember that there's a problem, although probably every guest who's used our bathroom looks at entrance with mild revulsion and thinks "Why don't they ever take care of that?"
Not only did we empty most of the rubbermaids, we also unloaded two boxes of pictures and wall-hangings that were chameleoning into the downstairs library. I got out my stepstool, drill, and level, and we put up lots of pictures of our family. It turns out that we only have pictures of James and O&K, so all of the rest of you need to get us pictures if you want to be up on our walls.
The big project today, however, was hanging up an enormous mirror in our bedroom. J's grandparents gave us a gorgeous solid cherry dresser with a matching mirror. The dresser is possibly the nicest piece of furniture in the house, and we wanted to set up our television on top of it so that we can watch TV in bed, keep the TV out of the downstairs area, and possibly limit James' George intake. (So far, unsuccessful. George is need to watch his self on Mommy-Daddy's bed.)
The mirror we didn't know what to do with. It didn't have any hardware to be mounted vertically on the dresser, and we didn't have room to mount in horizontally. Plus, it weighs about 400 lbs, so I got tired of holding it up at different angles in a hurry.
Good thing we bought a studfinder for just such an occasion. J and I had massive problems with the very little shelf-hanging we'd tried at previous apartments. For people whose livelihoods depend on detecting minute differences in pitch and timbre, neither of us were particularly adept at using the "knocking" method of studfinding. So when we moved into the the new place, we decided to splurge on a new studfinder. And when I say "splurge," I mean we bought the cheapest one we could find and hoped it would work.
It actually does work pretty well, although we still quadruple check every mark we make on the wall. We had a long adventure finding a screw that we could actually fasten into the stud. The first long screw we found I stripped the head with my drill, and then accidentally bent it beyond salvaging when I tried to hammer it in. (True story: I actually uttered the phrase "I just got my flannel shirt caught in my drill case" a few days ago). The second screw I successfully drove into the wall and screwed in almost to the point where we wanted, and then the head broke off, leaving the body of the screw stuck in the stud for all eternity. Finally (in a new hole) we got a screw in securely, I bloodied up my finger, and we hung the mirror.
We both let go and took a ginger step back. I nudged the mirror and it stayed up. I put the level up, and said "close enough." I nudged the mirror again, and it stayed up. I think we're actually figuring out this home-ownership stuff a little bit at a time. So if you want to see any of our handiwork, come on over, and bring a picture of yourself. I'd be more than happy to hang it up. Also, keep your eyes open for my trumcor black soft mute while you're over, because that's definitely chameleoned into a couch somewhere. And step carefully, because I still feel like that mirror could come down at any moment.
Friday, November 14, 2014
J's Morning (or, reasons why J needs a hug)
7:15 AM
Husband: Asleep, completely passed out after staying out till midnight watching the Bills game and consuming chicken wings and beer. Making noises/movements associated with upset stomach/mild hangover. Did not get up with alarm clock.
Toddler Son: Holding animated conversation in his bedroom with several stuffed animal friends.
Infant Son: Has just begun to whimper and cry in bassinet
To Husband: "I'm going to get the boys up. Are you feeling okay?"
Husband: "unnhh."
"I'd really like to take a shower this morning, and I can only do it while you're here. Can I leave Owen with you."
"I feel like I'm gonna die."
"You kind of look like it too. How many wings did you eat?"
"I only had two. I had two wings and two beers. Why do I feel this terrible?"
"There's something about that combination. How was the game?"
"It was awful. The Bills suck."
J gets up, gets Infant Son out of bassinet, changes diaper, brings Infant Son in to sleeping Husband.
"Okay, can I leave him with you? Roy? Roy? Are you awake?"
"What?"
"I need to take a shower. I'm going to get James up and leave Owen with you, okay?"
Opens door to Toddler's room.
Toddler Son "Hi, Mommy. We have some Cinnamon Cereal?"
"We're out of Cinnamon Cereal, honey. Let's change your diaper, okay?"
"No, no fanks."
Toddler Son makes his way downstairs, cannot be pursued because J is still holding Infant Son
"James, can we put some grippy slippers on your feet for going down the stairs?"
Toddler Son ignores her.
"Roy, are you awake?"
No answer
J nurses Infant Son downstairs. Husband is heard getting out of bed and getting into shower. Toddler Son makes his way back upstairs to collect armful of Friends. Toddler Son slips halfway down the stairs because he isn't wearing grippy slippers and falls down the rest of the stairs, getting bloody mouth in the process.
Toddler Son: "WAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"I'm coming Sweetie, what happened?"
Puts Infant Son down in living room, he just finished nursing and hasn't been burped
Toddler Son "I NEED MAH GINKYYY!!!!!"
Husband "What's going on? Did you fall down the stairs?"
"Honey, you're completely soaked! You're getting water all over the stairs."
Husband has come down the stairs half covered in a towel, not having dried off at all, dripping water everywhere.
Toddler Son "I NEED GEORGE AND STEEEBEN!!!"
"Come here sweetie, let's fix your mouth."
Toddler Son "I NEEED THEM!!!!"
J gets damp paper towel and cleans up Toddler Son while Infant Son fusses beside the couch. Husband comes downstairs in black suit with shirt untucked and belt unbuckled, puts on water for coffee, lies on living room floor in fetal position.
Toddler Son: "I need my friends."
"Okay, first we need to change your diaper."
Toddler Son, beginning to cry: "No, I no wanna diaper change. I need...I need to play iPad."
"We aren't going to play iPad, we need to change your diaper."
Infant Son: "waah...waah...waahh!!"
"Roy, can you get him?"
Husband: "Yeah, I've got him. Sheesh, I swear I only ate two wings. I feel awful."
Toddler Son: "Mommy, where the iPad be? George needs it."
Husband picks up Infant Son, lies back down on floor with Infant Son lying on his chest.
"Honey, he hasn't been burped yet, he's going to spit up all over your suit."
Husband: "Okay."
J changes diaper of Toddler Son, brings him back downstairs. Husband and Infant Son are both passed out on the floor.
Husband: "Do you want me to watch the kids so you can take a shower?"
"No, I think I'll just skip the shower this morning. Is this your water boiling."
Husband: "....yeah."
"Should I pour your coffee for you?"
Husband: "Yes. Thank you."
Toddler Son: "Now we do some iPad?"
Husband gets up and hands Infant Son to J. Infant Son immediately spits up all over J.
Husband: "Okay, I gotta go to my concert. See you tonight!"
Husband: Asleep, completely passed out after staying out till midnight watching the Bills game and consuming chicken wings and beer. Making noises/movements associated with upset stomach/mild hangover. Did not get up with alarm clock.
Toddler Son: Holding animated conversation in his bedroom with several stuffed animal friends.
Infant Son: Has just begun to whimper and cry in bassinet
To Husband: "I'm going to get the boys up. Are you feeling okay?"
Husband: "unnhh."
"I'd really like to take a shower this morning, and I can only do it while you're here. Can I leave Owen with you."
"I feel like I'm gonna die."
"You kind of look like it too. How many wings did you eat?"
"I only had two. I had two wings and two beers. Why do I feel this terrible?"
"There's something about that combination. How was the game?"
"It was awful. The Bills suck."
J gets up, gets Infant Son out of bassinet, changes diaper, brings Infant Son in to sleeping Husband.
"Okay, can I leave him with you? Roy? Roy? Are you awake?"
"What?"
"I need to take a shower. I'm going to get James up and leave Owen with you, okay?"
Opens door to Toddler's room.
Toddler Son "Hi, Mommy. We have some Cinnamon Cereal?"
"We're out of Cinnamon Cereal, honey. Let's change your diaper, okay?"
"No, no fanks."
Toddler Son makes his way downstairs, cannot be pursued because J is still holding Infant Son
"James, can we put some grippy slippers on your feet for going down the stairs?"
Toddler Son ignores her.
"Roy, are you awake?"
No answer
J nurses Infant Son downstairs. Husband is heard getting out of bed and getting into shower. Toddler Son makes his way back upstairs to collect armful of Friends. Toddler Son slips halfway down the stairs because he isn't wearing grippy slippers and falls down the rest of the stairs, getting bloody mouth in the process.
Toddler Son: "WAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"I'm coming Sweetie, what happened?"
Puts Infant Son down in living room, he just finished nursing and hasn't been burped
Toddler Son "I NEED MAH GINKYYY!!!!!"
Husband "What's going on? Did you fall down the stairs?"
"Honey, you're completely soaked! You're getting water all over the stairs."
Husband has come down the stairs half covered in a towel, not having dried off at all, dripping water everywhere.
Toddler Son "I NEED GEORGE AND STEEEBEN!!!"
"Come here sweetie, let's fix your mouth."
Toddler Son "I NEEED THEM!!!!"
J gets damp paper towel and cleans up Toddler Son while Infant Son fusses beside the couch. Husband comes downstairs in black suit with shirt untucked and belt unbuckled, puts on water for coffee, lies on living room floor in fetal position.
Toddler Son: "I need my friends."
"Okay, first we need to change your diaper."
Toddler Son, beginning to cry: "No, I no wanna diaper change. I need...I need to play iPad."
"We aren't going to play iPad, we need to change your diaper."
Infant Son: "waah...waah...waahh!!"
"Roy, can you get him?"
Husband: "Yeah, I've got him. Sheesh, I swear I only ate two wings. I feel awful."
Toddler Son: "Mommy, where the iPad be? George needs it."
Husband picks up Infant Son, lies back down on floor with Infant Son lying on his chest.
"Honey, he hasn't been burped yet, he's going to spit up all over your suit."
Husband: "Okay."
J changes diaper of Toddler Son, brings him back downstairs. Husband and Infant Son are both passed out on the floor.
Husband: "Do you want me to watch the kids so you can take a shower?"
"No, I think I'll just skip the shower this morning. Is this your water boiling."
Husband: "....yeah."
"Should I pour your coffee for you?"
Husband: "Yes. Thank you."
Toddler Son: "Now we do some iPad?"
Husband gets up and hands Infant Son to J. Infant Son immediately spits up all over J.
Husband: "Okay, I gotta go to my concert. See you tonight!"
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Episodes
I.
I brought James his bowl of cereal. Cinnamon Cereal. It's the Aldi version of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and he thinks it's spectacular. J bought a box of it for me over the summer on a vacation week, and I turned my nose up at it. "Why would I eat that? That's kid's cereal!" (This was dishonest of me. I love sugary cereals. I always eat the worst-for-you cereal I can find when we're visiting her parents.) I didn't get into it then, so James got the box, and James loved it. He loves it so much that he insists on sipping out all the milk with a straw once he's finished the actual cereal part. And he hardly ever finishes all of the actual cereal part with anything else.
Buying Cinnamon Cereal is a once a month treat for him. When he knows it's in the house I usually hear him making noise in his bedroom earlier than usual. At about 7:30 or so I'll go up to his room and open the door. This morning he was sitting on the edge looking at the door, and as soon as he saw my face he said "Hi Daddy, we have some Cinnamon Cereal?" He asks for it when he gets up from his afternoon nap too, and then when we tell him he can't have cereal at 4 in the afternoon, would he care for cucumbers and hummus, he starts to sob that he needs it and he wants it to be morning so he can have cereal again. His deep disappointment is worsened by the fact that he's in the midst of a horrible sugar crash at that point after a morning of being out-of-control wired.
So this morning, I poked my head in his door and he said "Hi Daddy! We have some Cinnamon Cereal?"
I brought him downstairs, and went into the kitchen as he scrambled into his booster seat.
"I wanna big bowl."
"I'll pour you a big bowl."
"Make sure my bowl is big."
"Okay, it's a big bowl of cereal."
"I want lots."
"Yup."
I'd eaten already, but I needed to leave in 20 minutes, so I repacked my gig bag while I sat at the table with him and chatted.
"Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"You will not go anywhere today."
"What's that?"
"You will not go anywhere today."
"Hmm...well, I do need to go to rehearsal today."
"Why you need to go to rehearsal?"
"Why it's your job?"
"Because hat's what I do to get money."
"Why you need to get money?"
"We use money to buy Cinnamon Cereal. So I'm going to go to rehearsal today to get some more money to buy more Cinnamon Cereal. That's how we pay for it."
"You be back by suppertime?"
"Um, I don't think I'll be back by suppertime today."
"When you be back?"
"I'll be back a little after bedtime. Should I come say good night to you?"
"Yup."
J padded down the stairs holding Owen a few minutes later.
"Good morning, James! How's your Cinnamon Cereal?"
"Mommy, I'm havin' lots in my big bowl. Daddy is gonna go to rehearsal to buy me more."
II.
My carpool sat around a table at Wegmans with empty lunchplates stacked in the middle of the table and half-full cups of tea (really hot toddies, thanks to a surreptitious bottle in a handbag) steaming in front of us.
"How's the outlet table?"
I craned my neck to check.
"Still taken."
There's only one table with access to a power outlet in the Dewitt Wegmans. It's almost always taken when we arrive, usually by an old person who isn't even plugging anything in. We wait until they leave, and then we descent to power our devices as we kill the four or five hours until concert time.
"Okay guys, I need an idea for a date with J on Sunday night."
"Dinner and a movie."
"It needs to be something we can do in the house, because we won't have childcare. And it needs to be cheap. On the free side of cheap, actually."
"Hmm...so no dinner out?"
"Nope."
"You should...play a game. Bananagrams is fun."
"We don't have Bananagrams, but that could work."
"You should make dessert together."
"You can spend a little bit of money, right?"
"Yeah, a little."
"Okay, if you to a Joann's Fabric--"
"I'm curious to see where this is going to go."
"Yeah, what does a bass trombone player do at Joann's Fabric?"
"Shut up. So, if you go to Joann's Fabric, and you buy some spare fabric you could make a blanket together."
"That could be really nice, actually."
"Just to confirm, this is something you've done before?"
"Shut up."
"Can you make dinner together?"
"I'd like to give her a break from making dinner together."
"Can you keep her out of the kitchen and make dinner for her?"
"Possibly...but I'd kind of like to hang out with her, and I have trouble in the kitchen sometimes. Like with pizza, I've had no luck at all."
"Maybe you should have her make dinner while you practice Clarke Studies. That sounds like a great date all around."
"That's how it usually seems to go."
"Hey, I think they're getting up from the corner table!"
"Nope, just stretching. False alarm."
III.
"Thank you all very much for your patience. The committee would like to thank you all for your playing this afternoon, they said they heard some really, really fine playing and that the level was phenomenal across the board. They are going to hold one more round, a final round, and they'd like to hear four out of the ten of you. Okay, 4 out of 10 chance, those are good odds. So, for the last round, the committee would like to hear numbers 102, say 109, number 104, say 109, number 108, please let the last number be 109, and number 110. $*&# it. The rest of you, good job, sorry it didn't work out this time, thanks for coming down.
"Hey congrats, play well in the final round."
"Thanks, good to see you again."
"Congrats, good luck!"
"Safe travels back."
"See you at the next one."
"Hi, my name is Roy Smith, I have a reservation to fly from Charlotte to Rochester tomorrow morning? Yes, that's the one. Yes. Yes, I was wondering if there was any chance that I could get out on an earlier flight this evening. At 7:00? Yeah, that'd be great. Now, what what sort of fees would there be to get on the earlier flight? Oh, really? Wait, I'd get $10 back? That's fantastic? There's no fee, and I can go home tonight?"
And that is the story of how Southwest, even though they advertise too much during football games, is a wonderful organization. The orange juice was good too.
I brought James his bowl of cereal. Cinnamon Cereal. It's the Aldi version of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and he thinks it's spectacular. J bought a box of it for me over the summer on a vacation week, and I turned my nose up at it. "Why would I eat that? That's kid's cereal!" (This was dishonest of me. I love sugary cereals. I always eat the worst-for-you cereal I can find when we're visiting her parents.) I didn't get into it then, so James got the box, and James loved it. He loves it so much that he insists on sipping out all the milk with a straw once he's finished the actual cereal part. And he hardly ever finishes all of the actual cereal part with anything else.
Buying Cinnamon Cereal is a once a month treat for him. When he knows it's in the house I usually hear him making noise in his bedroom earlier than usual. At about 7:30 or so I'll go up to his room and open the door. This morning he was sitting on the edge looking at the door, and as soon as he saw my face he said "Hi Daddy, we have some Cinnamon Cereal?" He asks for it when he gets up from his afternoon nap too, and then when we tell him he can't have cereal at 4 in the afternoon, would he care for cucumbers and hummus, he starts to sob that he needs it and he wants it to be morning so he can have cereal again. His deep disappointment is worsened by the fact that he's in the midst of a horrible sugar crash at that point after a morning of being out-of-control wired.
So this morning, I poked my head in his door and he said "Hi Daddy! We have some Cinnamon Cereal?"
I brought him downstairs, and went into the kitchen as he scrambled into his booster seat.
"I wanna big bowl."
"I'll pour you a big bowl."
"Make sure my bowl is big."
"Okay, it's a big bowl of cereal."
"I want lots."
"Yup."
I'd eaten already, but I needed to leave in 20 minutes, so I repacked my gig bag while I sat at the table with him and chatted.
"Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"You will not go anywhere today."
"What's that?"
"You will not go anywhere today."
"Hmm...well, I do need to go to rehearsal today."
"Why you need to go to rehearsal?"
"Why it's your job?"
"Because hat's what I do to get money."
"Why you need to get money?"
"We use money to buy Cinnamon Cereal. So I'm going to go to rehearsal today to get some more money to buy more Cinnamon Cereal. That's how we pay for it."
"You be back by suppertime?"
"Um, I don't think I'll be back by suppertime today."
"When you be back?"
"I'll be back a little after bedtime. Should I come say good night to you?"
"Yup."
J padded down the stairs holding Owen a few minutes later.
"Good morning, James! How's your Cinnamon Cereal?"
"Mommy, I'm havin' lots in my big bowl. Daddy is gonna go to rehearsal to buy me more."
II.
My carpool sat around a table at Wegmans with empty lunchplates stacked in the middle of the table and half-full cups of tea (really hot toddies, thanks to a surreptitious bottle in a handbag) steaming in front of us.
"How's the outlet table?"
I craned my neck to check.
"Still taken."
There's only one table with access to a power outlet in the Dewitt Wegmans. It's almost always taken when we arrive, usually by an old person who isn't even plugging anything in. We wait until they leave, and then we descent to power our devices as we kill the four or five hours until concert time.
"Okay guys, I need an idea for a date with J on Sunday night."
"Dinner and a movie."
"It needs to be something we can do in the house, because we won't have childcare. And it needs to be cheap. On the free side of cheap, actually."
"Hmm...so no dinner out?"
"Nope."
"You should...play a game. Bananagrams is fun."
"We don't have Bananagrams, but that could work."
"You should make dessert together."
"You can spend a little bit of money, right?"
"Yeah, a little."
"Okay, if you to a Joann's Fabric--"
"I'm curious to see where this is going to go."
"Yeah, what does a bass trombone player do at Joann's Fabric?"
"Shut up. So, if you go to Joann's Fabric, and you buy some spare fabric you could make a blanket together."
"That could be really nice, actually."
"Just to confirm, this is something you've done before?"
"Shut up."
"Can you make dinner together?"
"I'd like to give her a break from making dinner together."
"Can you keep her out of the kitchen and make dinner for her?"
"Possibly...but I'd kind of like to hang out with her, and I have trouble in the kitchen sometimes. Like with pizza, I've had no luck at all."
"Maybe you should have her make dinner while you practice Clarke Studies. That sounds like a great date all around."
"That's how it usually seems to go."
"Hey, I think they're getting up from the corner table!"
"Nope, just stretching. False alarm."
III.
"Thank you all very much for your patience. The committee would like to thank you all for your playing this afternoon, they said they heard some really, really fine playing and that the level was phenomenal across the board. They are going to hold one more round, a final round, and they'd like to hear four out of the ten of you. Okay, 4 out of 10 chance, those are good odds. So, for the last round, the committee would like to hear numbers 102, say 109, number 104, say 109, number 108, please let the last number be 109, and number 110. $*&# it. The rest of you, good job, sorry it didn't work out this time, thanks for coming down.
"Hey congrats, play well in the final round."
"Thanks, good to see you again."
"Congrats, good luck!"
"Safe travels back."
"See you at the next one."
"Hi, my name is Roy Smith, I have a reservation to fly from Charlotte to Rochester tomorrow morning? Yes, that's the one. Yes. Yes, I was wondering if there was any chance that I could get out on an earlier flight this evening. At 7:00? Yeah, that'd be great. Now, what what sort of fees would there be to get on the earlier flight? Oh, really? Wait, I'd get $10 back? That's fantastic? There's no fee, and I can go home tonight?"
And that is the story of how Southwest, even though they advertise too much during football games, is a wonderful organization. The orange juice was good too.
Friday, November 7, 2014
Brothers
"James Bear, would you like to meet your baby brother?"
"Nope."
"Okay...well, here he is. James, this is your baby brother Owen."
"George, are you scared." <Curious George nods his head> "George is scared of Owen."
"Okay James, let's go to the store. Now listen, you know that Mommy and I love you very much, right? And your baby brother doesn't change that?"
"When is Owen gonna go back to HIS house?"
"Why we need to buy some ginkies?"
"We need to by some ginks for your baby brother. He would like to go to bed with a ginky just like you do."
"This ginky is not for him. This ginky is for me."
"No, these are tiny ginks. These are for little babies."
"Owen is not want this ginky. He is want me to have it."
"Daddy, my baby brother wants that Thomas piggy-bank."
"Hmm...are you sure that maybe it isn't James who wants a new piggy-bank."
"He needs it."
"Well, we can get you a piggy-bank, but it can just be for you. Do you want to have it all to yourself and not share it with your baby brother?"
"Yup."
<Owen sneezes>
"Hey, what he do?"
"Baby Owen sneezed! Bless you, baby Owen."
"He made a bless-you."
"Heavenly Father, tonight we pray for Mommy and Daddy, for James Bear and for Owen Bear."
"No, no, he is not Owen Bear."
"For James Bear and for Owen Bear."
"Nope."
"Do you want to watch me change Owen's diaper?"
"Yup."
<climbs up on the side of the changing table>
"See how little Owen's diapers are? You'll have to show him how big boys go on the potty once he gets a little bigger."
"Nope."
<Owen starts to cry>
"He is need is George."
<Scoots down and finds Baby George from Owen's bassinet>
"James, do you like having a baby brother?"
"No, no fanks."
"Do you know all of your uncles? Like Uncle Sam and Uncle Oliver and Uncle Calvin and Uncle Lucas?"
"Wanna watch a George?"
"All of your uncles are my brothers, and we used to be little boys just like Owen."
"Wanna watch a George?"
"And my favorite part of growing up was having lots and lots of brothers."
"Wanna watch a George?"
"And Aunt Martha."
"George is want to watch hisself."
"I need to practice for a bit. Do you think that baby Owen will like the trumpet?"
"No, it is too loud. He will cry."
"You need to finish your pizza."
"I don't wanna eat pizza, I wanna get down."
"Do you think that your baby brother should finish your pizza?"
"No, he would not eat that. He is TOO little."
"Nope."
"Okay...well, here he is. James, this is your baby brother Owen."
"George, are you scared." <Curious George nods his head> "George is scared of Owen."
"Okay James, let's go to the store. Now listen, you know that Mommy and I love you very much, right? And your baby brother doesn't change that?"
"When is Owen gonna go back to HIS house?"
"Why we need to buy some ginkies?"
"We need to by some ginks for your baby brother. He would like to go to bed with a ginky just like you do."
"This ginky is not for him. This ginky is for me."
"No, these are tiny ginks. These are for little babies."
"Owen is not want this ginky. He is want me to have it."
"Daddy, my baby brother wants that Thomas piggy-bank."
"Hmm...are you sure that maybe it isn't James who wants a new piggy-bank."
"He needs it."
"Well, we can get you a piggy-bank, but it can just be for you. Do you want to have it all to yourself and not share it with your baby brother?"
"Yup."
<Owen sneezes>
"Hey, what he do?"
"Baby Owen sneezed! Bless you, baby Owen."
"He made a bless-you."
"Heavenly Father, tonight we pray for Mommy and Daddy, for James Bear and for Owen Bear."
"No, no, he is not Owen Bear."
"For James Bear and for Owen Bear."
"Nope."
"Do you want to watch me change Owen's diaper?"
"Yup."
<climbs up on the side of the changing table>
"See how little Owen's diapers are? You'll have to show him how big boys go on the potty once he gets a little bigger."
"Nope."
<Owen starts to cry>
"He is need is George."
<Scoots down and finds Baby George from Owen's bassinet>
"James, do you like having a baby brother?"
"No, no fanks."
"Do you know all of your uncles? Like Uncle Sam and Uncle Oliver and Uncle Calvin and Uncle Lucas?"
"Wanna watch a George?"
"All of your uncles are my brothers, and we used to be little boys just like Owen."
"Wanna watch a George?"
"And my favorite part of growing up was having lots and lots of brothers."
"Wanna watch a George?"
"And Aunt Martha."
"George is want to watch hisself."
"I need to practice for a bit. Do you think that baby Owen will like the trumpet?"
"No, it is too loud. He will cry."
"You need to finish your pizza."
"I don't wanna eat pizza, I wanna get down."
"Do you think that your baby brother should finish your pizza?"
"No, he would not eat that. He is TOO little."
Thursday, November 6, 2014
The Story of the Birth of Owen
I was walking into an RPO rehearsal, buzzing my burnt-out lips and hoping the conductor didn't spend too much time on Alexander Nevsky today. I'd already played two kiddie shows full of Jurassic Park and Star Wars earlier that morning, and now I had two back to back rehearsals of film music in Rochester. I was going to need an ice pack by the time the day was over.
I circled up to the fourth or fifth level of the parking garage and parked the car. As I was pulling my trumpets out of the backseat I felt my phone buzzing. Pulling it out of my pocket, I saw that it was J.
"Hi, what's up?"
"My water just broke."
I stood still in the garage for a second. The baby wasn't due for almost another two WEEKS. And that was just the due date...James didn't come for another ten days after that.
"I'm not in labor yet, but I think this baby is coming in the next twenty four hours."
"Do we need to go into the hospital?"
"I'm not sure yet, I'll call in."
"Okay, I'm going to let somebody know I won't be at rehearsal."
I flagged down the personnel manager, got myself excused, and drove home. J met me at the door looking fairly calm, all things considered, and we were shortly joined by our sister in law K. When James was born--and I'm going to try to treat Owen as his own person as much as I can throughout his growing up years, and avoid constantly comparing him to James--when James was born, we were almost panicky with nervous energy and anticipation. It didn't help that we had an extra week and a half to get up-tight about the whole thing.
This time, J met me at the door and told me that there were still some boxes to be unpacked in the upstairs bedroom, and she was going to work with K on setting up the baby's room some more. About to have a baby, ho hum.
I went out for some hospital supplies that evening--we remembered what the food was like from last time--and J finished packing the hospital bag that we were going to get around to once we'd finished moving in. The contractions started coming, and I'm afraid to say that she didn't get much sleep that night. I slept like a rock. She woke me up at 6 AM, and said it was time to go.
That was about the lowest point for her, I think. The contractions were still pretty irregular, but they were lasting a long time and she was in considerable "discomfort." I told her repeatedly that she could swear if she needed to, but she didn't bite. She did throw up, though. I threw on some jeans, made a pot of coffee downstairs, and rang the on-call doctor a few times. He never called back.
At 7 AM we gave up on waiting for the on-call doctor and drove to the hospital. We drove to the wrong hospital, actually. What exactly led us to Highland Hospital instead of Strong varies depending on who you ask. My version of events (the true version) is only available by private request, because J just did me a pretty significant favor by birthing me a son. The other version (which is kind of like a tall tale or a fable) involves me not looking up directions carefully enough.
Anyway, we arrived at Strong a few minutes later and J was wheeled up to triage while I parked the car. When we did this with James we were completely lost in the hospital maze before we found our way up to where we were going. This time I knew exactly which back staircase would take me where I wanted to go, and I asked the coffee shop what varieties they had out, since I'd be back down in a bit.
Perhaps the biggest scare of the morning was when we found out that J might be too far along already to receive an epidural. Fortunately, the anesthesiologist (everyone's favorite person) squeezed us in, and then J felt a lot better. It was about 9:00 when J turned over comfortably onto her side and I collapsed in the big armchair beside her.
"You know, I'd be on the road to rehearsal right now if this was a normal day."
"I'd be getting James ready to go to a sitter, because I'd have work this afternoon."
"We'd probably be making lists of things that need to be unpacked and projects around the house."
"You'd have lessons?"
"Probably. And I'd need to practice too."
"This is much more relaxing."
"And we can say his name now. Owen, Owen, Owen."
"Have you decided on a middle name yet?"
"I want to get a look at him before I decide for sure."
And that was how we had the most relaxing morning we'd shared together in many weeks. We had no mortgage paperwork to fill out, no boxes to pack, no three-year old to look after, and no rehearsals to attend. We talked about the World Series and some folks from church. It was really pretty nice.
The actual birth part went pretty smoothly too. Unlike James (not that I'll be comparing Owen to James throughout their childhoods) there was no perceived risk of meconium (which I pronounced "merconium" several times before I heard the correct pronunciation) for this delivery, so there were fewer doctors and attendants in the room. The pushing lasted less than fifteen minutes, and I didn't pass out this time.
At 12:06 on October 30th, much earlier than expected but very welcome nonetheless, Owen came into the world. He mewed a little bit, and the doctor asked me whether we had a name. I was tearing up, and had to take a minute. "Owen Nicholas!" I said.
They laid him on J's chest and cleaned him off--he was rather cheesy--and we gazed at our new son. He looks just like his big brother in so many ways, but now we have a baby again. We have a baby that stays still for photos and wants to be held, and doesn't talk, and is helpless in nearly every way. It's hard to believe that James was ever so tiny...and I suppose the lesson is that baby Owen won't be tiny for too long.
J was great. I'd like to think that we both did a lot better this time around, but she was definitely a champ about the whole process. She's convalescing nicely with the help of her Mom, and we're trying to acclimate the brothers to each other. (More on that to come later, of course.)
I think that when I remember back on that week years from now and think about how we moved into our first house and had a baby within a single week, I'll think about how nuts we were and how crazy it all must have felt. But actually, baby Owen, when you came into the world, it was a pretty peaceful, beautiful morning.
I circled up to the fourth or fifth level of the parking garage and parked the car. As I was pulling my trumpets out of the backseat I felt my phone buzzing. Pulling it out of my pocket, I saw that it was J.
"Hi, what's up?"
"My water just broke."
I stood still in the garage for a second. The baby wasn't due for almost another two WEEKS. And that was just the due date...James didn't come for another ten days after that.
"I'm not in labor yet, but I think this baby is coming in the next twenty four hours."
"Do we need to go into the hospital?"
"I'm not sure yet, I'll call in."
"Okay, I'm going to let somebody know I won't be at rehearsal."
I flagged down the personnel manager, got myself excused, and drove home. J met me at the door looking fairly calm, all things considered, and we were shortly joined by our sister in law K. When James was born--and I'm going to try to treat Owen as his own person as much as I can throughout his growing up years, and avoid constantly comparing him to James--when James was born, we were almost panicky with nervous energy and anticipation. It didn't help that we had an extra week and a half to get up-tight about the whole thing.
This time, J met me at the door and told me that there were still some boxes to be unpacked in the upstairs bedroom, and she was going to work with K on setting up the baby's room some more. About to have a baby, ho hum.
I went out for some hospital supplies that evening--we remembered what the food was like from last time--and J finished packing the hospital bag that we were going to get around to once we'd finished moving in. The contractions started coming, and I'm afraid to say that she didn't get much sleep that night. I slept like a rock. She woke me up at 6 AM, and said it was time to go.
That was about the lowest point for her, I think. The contractions were still pretty irregular, but they were lasting a long time and she was in considerable "discomfort." I told her repeatedly that she could swear if she needed to, but she didn't bite. She did throw up, though. I threw on some jeans, made a pot of coffee downstairs, and rang the on-call doctor a few times. He never called back.
At 7 AM we gave up on waiting for the on-call doctor and drove to the hospital. We drove to the wrong hospital, actually. What exactly led us to Highland Hospital instead of Strong varies depending on who you ask. My version of events (the true version) is only available by private request, because J just did me a pretty significant favor by birthing me a son. The other version (which is kind of like a tall tale or a fable) involves me not looking up directions carefully enough.
Anyway, we arrived at Strong a few minutes later and J was wheeled up to triage while I parked the car. When we did this with James we were completely lost in the hospital maze before we found our way up to where we were going. This time I knew exactly which back staircase would take me where I wanted to go, and I asked the coffee shop what varieties they had out, since I'd be back down in a bit.
Perhaps the biggest scare of the morning was when we found out that J might be too far along already to receive an epidural. Fortunately, the anesthesiologist (everyone's favorite person) squeezed us in, and then J felt a lot better. It was about 9:00 when J turned over comfortably onto her side and I collapsed in the big armchair beside her.
"You know, I'd be on the road to rehearsal right now if this was a normal day."
"I'd be getting James ready to go to a sitter, because I'd have work this afternoon."
"We'd probably be making lists of things that need to be unpacked and projects around the house."
"You'd have lessons?"
"Probably. And I'd need to practice too."
"This is much more relaxing."
"And we can say his name now. Owen, Owen, Owen."
"Have you decided on a middle name yet?"
"I want to get a look at him before I decide for sure."
And that was how we had the most relaxing morning we'd shared together in many weeks. We had no mortgage paperwork to fill out, no boxes to pack, no three-year old to look after, and no rehearsals to attend. We talked about the World Series and some folks from church. It was really pretty nice.
The actual birth part went pretty smoothly too. Unlike James (not that I'll be comparing Owen to James throughout their childhoods) there was no perceived risk of meconium (which I pronounced "merconium" several times before I heard the correct pronunciation) for this delivery, so there were fewer doctors and attendants in the room. The pushing lasted less than fifteen minutes, and I didn't pass out this time.
At 12:06 on October 30th, much earlier than expected but very welcome nonetheless, Owen came into the world. He mewed a little bit, and the doctor asked me whether we had a name. I was tearing up, and had to take a minute. "Owen Nicholas!" I said.
They laid him on J's chest and cleaned him off--he was rather cheesy--and we gazed at our new son. He looks just like his big brother in so many ways, but now we have a baby again. We have a baby that stays still for photos and wants to be held, and doesn't talk, and is helpless in nearly every way. It's hard to believe that James was ever so tiny...and I suppose the lesson is that baby Owen won't be tiny for too long.
J was great. I'd like to think that we both did a lot better this time around, but she was definitely a champ about the whole process. She's convalescing nicely with the help of her Mom, and we're trying to acclimate the brothers to each other. (More on that to come later, of course.)
I think that when I remember back on that week years from now and think about how we moved into our first house and had a baby within a single week, I'll think about how nuts we were and how crazy it all must have felt. But actually, baby Owen, when you came into the world, it was a pretty peaceful, beautiful morning.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)