…and so is my house.
The three big kids came back from music camp today. Just like last time we picked them up from a camp bus, they talked the entire way home about how great it was. Then K said,
“Eema, I think I’d like to take viola lessons from a teacher again and maybe also join an orchestra. I think I’ll practice more if I actually have to keep up with the rest of the viola section or else sit there not playing and feel like an idiot.”
You could have knocked me over with a feather.
(Okay, I mean, you couldn’t—I was sitting in the driver’s seat and I’m sure I couldn’t have been knocked out of it, as I was wearing my seatbelt. Why is “knock me over with a feather” even a saying?)
K’s announcement surprised and delighted me. I also know full well how important it is to keep that momentum going, strike while the iron is hot, and so on; so I’ve started my search for a viola teacher. I want one who will take the time to learn how K learns best, and who will come to our house to teach. That’s not too much to ask, is it?
That’s only the half of it, dear readers.
R and N did Musical Theatre at camp, which this year consisted of a “Broadway revue”-style show. They learned songs and choreography for thirteen numbers—and both had a fabulous time doing it. Tonight we were in the car on our way home and they started singing some of the numbers they’d learned. K joined in. When they finished the number, someone asked, “what’s next?” and I jumped in:
“Do you hear the people sing?”
Everyone joined in: “Singing the song of angry men…” and as all six of us were sitting in the minivan singing Broadway musicals together, I took Mr. December’s hand in mine and thought, This is it. I’m living the dream.
Best of all, the kids are already planning to go back to music camp next summer.