Parent Party. . . the next generation

Flowers for the Parent Party

Princess Torte and Friends

I was needing pink, I guess.

Presents? For me? 

Alpha Cat

Bring on the Blizzard 

Fascinating 

The shower is the next best thing to the toilet. 

New group lesson curriculum. . . petting cats.

Mark's gonna have a FIT. Get down. . . 

Senior pictures outtakes

No stress here. 

Just a shot on my phone. 

Is that the best you can do? Playing with a metronome? Not very original, Oliver. 

Sparking the Art and Puzzle Cabinets. . or Mama reclaims her kitchen space. 

Sunday was my annual party appreciation party. I think it was the eighteenth.
It's funny how things change.

With the exception of Peter, all the studio kids are younger than Calvin and Mary.

We are officially way past early childhood. I wondered, where will I store all these precious Ravensburger puzzles? For the rest of my life? Calvin and Mary loved these puzzles and would go through puzzle phases where our whole downstairs would become a puzzle museum. Suddenly and in a single morning they let them all go, saving only 600 of the very best ones. The rest are going to studio families. The memory is enough.

When we moved here, and I got those 50 three to five-year-olds at MacPhail, I really got my early childhood chops together. And, I also got to watch fifty sets of parents in action. So many, many good parents. I idolized them. The mom of the three rough and tumble Irish boys--when the youngest got his fingers in the hinge of the big oak door to my studio, as the color drained from my face and even before the scream, she reached for a beanie baby and held it out to the child. He grasped it in his hand, bending all his fingers and she declared. . . nothing is broken, you are fine.

I idolized those parents. They knew what their priorities were. Their expectations of their children were very clear. Some were attachment parents, letting their kids sleep with them until they were eight, and some were promoting early independence. Most did not have a TV in their house, but they all seemed to have a plan. Some were home schooled and some were public schooled and some were private schooled. And here's a news flash. . . the kids all turned out just great. I can't think of one single piano kid who didn't turn out great. That should be comforting to us all.

Jackie and Grace and Stefanie and Cassy became teens and summer nannies and baby sitters for us. They changed diapers and carried the kids around like pets. Or dolls. They knew all the Kotrba secrets, like exactly how much cheese I kept in the fridge for some doomsday scenario where we couldn't get to a grocery store. Aidan shadowed Calvin at summer institutes when I had two kids to observe.

Now Mary is watching the kids during the party party. How do I know if he needs a diaper? You will know. They write her cards that say, "I love Mary."

It's all making me just a little tender today.
And now, although I did nothing to earn it, save living my life, I find myself as the older wiser parent. Maybe the newer parents see me as an example of what to do, or maybe what they don't want to do. It's all valuable. No matter who you idolize there will come a day when you say, I just couldn't do THAT. And you will find your own way.

That's really what the parent party is all about. Helping us find our way. Sharing the ups and downs of highly committed musical families.

Loving kids and loving music and always in that order.

Order Versus Chaos, Shifting Hearts, and Grace

Melody Exploring the Dishwasher

Helping Repair the Freezer

One Cool Cat

Waiting for the Piano Kids

Life Can Be So Stressful Between Naps

Yeah. I know I'm not supposed to be here. . . what are ya gonna do about it? 

I've been waiting for her all day. 

I don't know why they have to play all that piano music when they come here to pet me. 

Look Oliver! A new jungle gym for us. 

How was your week?

Mine had. . . the freezer break down with a leak, the clothes drier breakdown, my husband had nasal surgery and was home all week recovering, (he's doing well) a SAM board meeting, a Suzuki Piano Teachers's Guild meeting, an eyeglasses appointment, an orthodontist visit for more rubber bands, a middle school band concert, a teen discovering that no one from her best friends group is going to her same high school next year, another teen trying to schedule college auditions, AND we had 30 people at a Schubertiade recital at my house. My birthday was Wednesday.

Chaos.

Bill fixed the freezer by 1:00 a.m the night it broke. In Minnesota you can just put the food outside, but in any case, thank you, Bill, thank you, YouTube repair videos. I attempted to fix the clothes drier and got in over my head after I took several parts off to find one sock, and several hundred plastic B.B.s from the cabin in the cavern under the drum. Bill had to come down from his pain meds and rescue the project while not lifting more than 20 pounds, bending over or breathing in a cloud of lint.

I was grouchy. I'm trying not to be grouchy. Trying to make a U turn.

What is it that I really want? Really need?

Order.

Order in the court.
Christmas decorations put away. The pantry counter top spotted. The mountain of laundry summitted.
All things in repair. Happy hearts.

As it turned out, the only "order" I really had all week was the time between bows with the children at the piano. Between the bows that frame each lesson I'm only there. Only with that child. I don't have to tidy up or run an errand in less time than available. I don't have to answer at least a few emails. The phone is on silent and all I have to do is listen and respond. I can be there with one child and listen to one piece at a time. Address one parent.

I decided not to write about children's behavior today.

Every time I start feeling frustrated with someone, and then I find myself frustrated with someone else, and then someone else. . . the little bell starts going off far off in my mind. Pastor Lamont, our interim pastor, gave a sermon on Sunday that started a January thaw of my heart. Repent. It doesn't just mean "I'm sorry." It comes with more than that. A change of heart. A change of mind. A change of behavior. A U turn.

I'm a number one on the enneagram. The spiritual personality test. Number ones are right. They are tempted by perfection. They are tolerant and patient teachers. They are hyper-sensitive. And they are prone to anger. Anger that everybody and everything around them is not perfect.

In other words, desiring all people and things to be at their best all the time is a recipe for frustration and anger. I only turned 51 this week but I've felt a little like the grouchy old cat lady lady piano teacher. Time for a January U turn. A shift of the heart. Maybe instead of trying to fix everybody and everything all the time I could offer up a little grace. Grace. Grace for the calculus notes all over the kitchen counter. Grace for clarinet reeds all over the coffee table. Grace to tired appliances. Maybe the 3-year-olds don't have to have their feet perfectly planted before we play The Honeybee.

Perhaps if I let down my guard all my expectations and the standards that I set for the world around me won't go to hell in a hand basket in just one day. Maybe I don't have to hold on quite so tight.

I tried this. I'm trying this. I'm gonna have to keep trying this.

Really, I don't need everyone around me to be perfect all the time. I just mostly need order. And ironically, when I offered grace in my mind to my family and students this week, their were some shifting hearts. Mine and theirs.

A three year old apologized to me, unprovoked half way through a lesson. "I'm sorry I didn't come to the piano last week at my lesson." The beautiful look in her eyes again. Happy hearts.

When I suggested to a six year old that one of the secrets to practicing was to treat her mom just like she would treat me, Mrs. Kotrba, she opened her heart. I saw it open. I saw her heart shift. We have to treat the loved ones in our family even more respectfully and lovingly than we treat others. Shifting hearts.

Grace.

Dear Lord,
Help me to offer those around me grace. Moment by moment. Hour by hour. Day by day. Week by week. Renew and shift my heart. Help me to offer myself that same grace. Remind me that these times of chaos don't last long, I will see the pantry counter again. There will be dry clothes again. The 3-year-olds can play beautifully even without their feet still. I know that perfectionism is the antagonist of joy, help shift my heart toward cheerful tranquility and gratitude.
Amen.

And Now let Us Believe. . . Reading and Writing in 2019

When you give the book you want to read. . . 

The cats re-gifted themselves. . . 

Oh Yeah. 

Enough with the Sinatra thing. . . 

Was this on my wish list? Girls gotta know modern electronics. 

Another coveted book. 

But these ones have illustrations. . . 

Uncle Rick sent something for the cats too! 

Who is this Sam, that gave us such a fine toy?

"And now let us believe in a long year that is given to us, new, untouched, full of work that has never been done, full of tasks, claims, and demands; and let us see that we learn to take it without letting fall too much of what it has to bestow upon those who demand of it necessary, serious and great things." Rainer Maria Rilke.

That's a lot of pressure.
Last Fall I set a goal to block my time and fit in two hours of piano practice every day. (Remember the "One Thing" book?) I did pretty good. I re-memorized all of book five, even those pieces I usually don't teach (shhhh.) I kept up with student repertoire and was able to prepare a piece to play on the Christmas recital and the Handel for Ben for church. I'm going to try to keep that up.

What else demands our time? Everything of course. So what can go? Facebook? Pinterest? Spam emails?

My kids are pretty good about screen time limits. Like most kids, they are pretty busy doing real things. Calvin tracks his screen time so I asked him to help me put some limits on my phone. Long story short, I couldn't limit Facebook without limiting my email, which I need to check for the studio and as the chief secretary administrative assistant of the Kotrba family. Of course this took him 30 seconds and now I have a 15 daily minute limit on my Facebook app.

Yesterday I had to override it because my Aunt Kathy is missing. My dad's 80 year old sister from Arizona has been missing since Monday. Like all of us, she's quirky--but not irresponsible. My mom talked to her on New Years Eve and everything was good. Then she was gone from her home. In her car. The good news is they put out a silver alert. Friends in AZ saw it on the news. She has been seen and cousin Scott flew in from Hawaii and is chasing her across the map. Texas. Louisiana. Now that enough reports have come in that she is alone and safe--I'm picturing the roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote and I'm singing "Oh, how fast can I go, gotta catch that little red rodeo, she drove off with my heart I gotta let her know. . . need the girl in that little red rodeo, Texas plates. . . candy apple red rodeo."  Maybe you don't know that song. Well, God speed Scott. Get her home. Get her to the doctor.

What is this work for 2019?

How can our baby be graduating? Five more months of Eastview High School. Eight more months of waking up to the Walstein sonata and the G Minor Ballade. I'm hanging on for dear life. And thinking about having the downstairs floor refinished and the walls painted. Cause that's how I cope. Keep the ball moving down the field.

There are two big trips planned. . . Hawaii for sunshine in March and France for Calvin's graduation in June.

My real goals for 2019 however, are to read more and write more. I'm going to carry a book with me. Instead of checking Facebook waiting at the dentist I'm going to read my book. I have about 30 books in the queue. Books about healthy food, books about Madeleine L'Engle, books about Chopin's piano, two books by Seymour Bernstein and Jordan B. Peterson's "12 Rules for Life." Calvin is half way through  it and tells me I must read it. Chapter five? Don't let your children do anything that makes you dislike them.

That brings me to writing more. I have so much to say. About kids. About the behavior of kids. It's hard though. I don't want to come across like a know-it-all or that I'm trying to fix other people. I love all the kids in my life.

My own kids are no saints but they are mostly amazing, at least to me. Now that I'm coming out the other side of the early childhood of Calvin and Mary, and I've seen a couple dozen amazing kids come through the studio, I'm feeling a little more confident about my gut instincts. I've been a citizen scientist and I've seen what makes raising children easier, more fun and more successful--success being evaluated as how ready for real life are these grown up toddlers. How have they met their potential? How are they contributing to society?

I'm gonna raise up my courage and start to write about my ideas, knowing that everyone will not agree and that there is more than one way to do things right. And, there are enough topics that are non-controversial to fill a book. And I have a lot of books to recommend as well.

Here are a couple teasers for you. . .

• Love is given. . . trust and affection are earned
• Give more attention for the desirable behavior than for the undesirable  
• Don't be a victim of your child. . . as the great Maggie (our retired nanny) once said to me. . . (I was I tears over Calvin's lack of nap schedule) "You're the mom, buck up." There is a time and a place for that. 

Happy 2019 and please say a little prayer for Aunt Kathy. We want to see her smoking a cigarette out on the screen porch of the cabin again next August. 

Maximalist Christmas 2018

Thanks to everyone who contributed to this meaningful project. 

Oliver Loves Christmas

Oliver and Melody Love Their New Cat Cave

Photographer in his natural habitat

Gabriella. . . the newest friend of the doll community 

Brunch! 

Christmas in Iowa with New Friends 

This gift sucks. Ha ha. . . it's a shop vac. 

Best photo bomb of the year at Zachary and Anna's wedding

Family Wedding Times 

Reception Selfie

Souhrada Girl Cousins

Dropping Off the Donation

Extending Goodbye for a couple hours.

We Christmas hard.
I fought it for years and years. . . reflecting on how to cut back, how to do less, spend less, eat less.
I finally let that go. Embrace the maximalist Christmas.

We don't do twelve days of Christmas. . . it's more like 40 days and 40 nights.
It's starts the Friday after Thanksgiving with Santa in Nisswa and well. . . we are pretty much still going. My birthday in January will wrap up the season.

I'm a sucker for traditions. And giving gifts is one of my great joys and one of my love languages. It's also fun to receive now and then. I tell you, when I opened a framed poem, a belated 50th birthday gift from Bill's sister and her husband, extolling my contributions to family and society at large, I FELT LOVED. Loved to tears.

Thinking about other people and what would bring them joy is an amazing thing, and it passes from generation to generation. The stockings from Bill's mom over the years, I can't imagine the hours she spent needle pointing them. I know my mom is looking out for pieces to my antique and cooking collections all year. And when Bill gives me pieces of my retired Christmas china, I know he's been watching eBay for a while.

It's not about the stuff or the price tag. It's about thinking about someone besides ourselves.
The time we spend in anticipation--my mom cooking for weeks before we arrive--every meal carefully thought out--another of her love languages.

Short of Texas folks. . . we got to see almost all our people, and every step of the way was filled with joy. We are so blessed with family and friends and studio folks. The house is a wreck, the floor is a wreck. Glitter, punch, pine needles, cookie crumbs. Ribbons.

Happy New Year to All. I hope your season was blessed!

P.S. Sorry I never finished my 25 Christmas Music Entries.  To be continued next year. But since you asked. . . New Year's Day is for Oleta Adams. Specifically the "Circle of One" CD. These sentiments left over from years away in Texas when the end of Christmas meant goodbye for a while. I'm sure next year I'll be hanging on to every day of Christmas more than ever.  I'm not going there too much today. Just a little.

Link to Everything Must Change
Link to Get Here
Link to I've Got to Sing My Song