Teaching piano lessons to your own child: The Name Game

~ Christie ~ 13 Comments
Hope's first and only piano lesson from Daddy
Hope’s first and only piano lesson from Daddy

For a few years I’ve put off teaching my oldest daughter piano lessons because I didn’t want to do a bad job. The stereotype seems to be that most piano teachers do not have success with their own children. It’s challenging to play the role of parent and teacher simultaneously.

However, I also dearly love teaching children and am extremely picky passionate about how they are taught. I haven’t really run in the piano teacher circles since our move, so I didn’t have any good choices that I knew of for Hope. Besides that, right now, it would be best to have a teacher that was free.

A few months before Hopey turned five, I knew it was time to stop stalling. People had been asking for years when I was going to start teaching her and she had begun asking to play constantly. We decided that this would be one of her birthday presents; I ordered the books online before I could change my mind.

My piano pedagogy professor in college went through all the reasons why it’s not wise to teach your own children the piano. I do remember him saying something like, “The only person I ever knew it worked for would make her girls go out the door, walk around the block, and come back in for their lesson. They were required to call her Mrs. Swaim.”

This idea stuck with me, and I decided to try it. Since I had everything else going against me, I figured this was my only chance.

I told Hope that she would have to go out the door, and then knock to come in for her lesson. She would have to call her teacher Mrs. Mylastname and that she was to be very well-behaved. Her eyes lit up as she caught on.

Not quite knowing what to expect, imagine my pleasure when she walked in the door with the most adorable smile on her face and twinkle in her eye, “Hello, Mrs. ________.”

This little game has actually helped me a lot. I’ve been able to look at her like any other student. It’s been so fun to realize, Wow, she’s just like other kids; doing cute things, annoying things, childish things… she’s just my piano student for that hour.

After her lesson, I send her out the door again. When she comes back in, I ask her how her lesson was and she tells me all about it and shows me what she has to do for that week.

We’ve been going for at least two months now, and it’s been great. The name game has really helped.

Obviously, there’s still a long road ahead filled with many challenges. But since we’re on the way, I figured why not blog about it.

Hope you enjoy! Next time I’ll talk about why teachers really have it better.

Don’t want to miss this series? Follow my blog if you’re on WordPress, or sign up to receive posts through email. Do you have any experiences teaching your own children music lessons? I’d love to hear your experiences in the comments! Thanks so much for reading and have a lovely day.

Every home should have a two-year old

~ Christie ~ 4 Comments

January-June 2011 189Okay, maybe that’s stretching it a little too far, but I have decided (after three of them), that two is by far my favorite age.

I wouldn’t characterize any of our girls’ years as “terrible,” but I personally found three much more challenging than two.

So.

Bear with me while I tell you why I love two-year olds so much.

For starters, they are fun, cute, silly, amazing, ridiculous, endearing, and playful. (to use a few adjectives that came to mind) And if that doesn’t make my opinion clear, here are a few other thoughts.

A year of exploration.

All of my girls could all walk by the time they were two, but other physical abilities seemed to snowball. Jumping and running, turning things on and off… I know that these can cause hazards and stress, but it’s also so heart-melting to see the excitement on their little faces and hear them proudly proclaim, “I run!!!”

A year of awareness.

Let’s just say, the conversations start picking up. As they begin to observe the world around them and ask questions, you have the awesome opportunity to fill their little head with knowledge, ideas, and enthusiasm. If you tell them lightbulbs are amazing, they’ll think they’re amazing, too; if you tell them bugs are gross, they’ll think they’re gross, too; if you tell them that storms are exciting and interesting, they’ll probably believe you; if you tell them that the road is dangerous, they’ll probably adhere. What better time than then to start shaping the way they view their body, other people, history, education, science, art, music… it goes on.

Wow! I didn’t actually intend for this to be inspirational, but as I’m writing, it’s like… yeah! Two-year olds are amazing! What an opportunity!

And for my very favorite thing about two-year olds, it would definitely have to be…

The way they talk.

Oh my goodness. They start to learn more words and put them together coherently, and then they get so excited that they begin talking faster and faster, and before you know it, it’s back to babble. After they catch up with themselves and you can understand again, it’s amazing. I love watching their faces darken or light up following the path of their topic; many times the girls have gotten to nap time way later than scheduled because they were carrying on while going potty and I just couldn’t help but listen and listen and listen. (and maybe egg them on a little bit, too = ) Then, there’s those conversations that take a serious turn and you’re feeling Wow, this is so cool; that was a great question they just asked. This is so meaningful; they’re going to remember this forever! and then… they say, “Does Daddy have a belly button?”

Okay, I thought of one more super fun aspect of two-year olds (or at least ours):

A year of stages.

Not developmental stages, but the they’re-doing-this-one-really-funny-thing-over-and-over stages. I think those have brought us more laughter than anything. The repetition of little jokes and games that they learn is so hilarious, maybe even more so than than the individual events or outbursts.

****

Well, this is all very opinionated indeed, but I just have to say that as I’ve watched Gracie during these past months (after I realized that my favorite age is two), I’ve tried super hard to cherish this time with her more than ever.

The thought has often crossed my mind, “Every house should have a two-year old.” They’re just so fun and entertaining and precious… but maybe that’s just me.

Do you have a favorite age/stage for babies and children? Has your two-year old experience been totally different from mine?   Thank you so much to all my readers and followers for your looking, liking, and commenting; I love it! Because you all are so kind, I wish you a house full of two-year olds. = ) 

For the families

~ Christie ~ Leave a comment

This begins a new venture here on the blog. I have been ridiculously bad at keeping our families up to date with pictures and stories of the girls; so… I’m going to try… once a week to post pictures and small happenings from the week.

(You do realize this means I have to take pictures, put them on my computer… I guess that’s all.)

Here goes!

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I had to take a picture of this because I remember Hope and Sophia doing the exact same thing
I had to take a picture of this because I remember Hope and Sophia doing the exact same thing
Could this be sweeter?
Could this be sweeter?
Gracie's interpretation of Sophia's pose
Gracie’s interpretation of Sophia’s pose
Hope is always asking to take pictures. She was very particular about how we all posed.
Hope is always asking to take pictures. She was very particular about how we all posed.
Best friends
Best friends

Quote of the week: “Scrambled eggs make me happy.” (Gracie)

Why you really should eat a good breakfast while you’re pregnant, part 3

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My poor third child: where are all my newborn pictures of you?
My poor third child: where are all my newborn pictures of you?

So there you have it, my sob story. I blacked out at a funeral and had to be carried off stage from the piano because I hadn’t eaten enough that morning, or any of the previous mornings.

People began to ask me what I had for breakfast that morning. My reply of “cheerios and grape juice” was unsatisfactory.

Now before I say what I’m about to say, know this: the people in that church loved me dearly and everything they said to me was out of genuine care and concern. However, I was descended upon with advice, rebuke, and exhortation; and it stung. I clearly remember one lady telling me, “You shouldn’t go two hours without eating! Even if it’s a handful of peanuts, you’ve got to eat.” Her advice was spot on, but the way it was said still hurt.

It all was completely overwhelming and discouraging. I felt like they thought I was purposely neglecting the care of the baby; if only they could realize, I really didn’t know. I was the baby of the family, had no relatives that I lived near while they were expecting, grew up in a church where there weren’t too many people having babies, and basically had no idea about anything related to having a child develop inside of you.

I remember crying in the car next to my husband, trying to explain how I felt. He was so loving and patient.

****

This story will probably not relate to a large percentage of young mothers. But maybe, just maybe, someone who needs this will find their way to this post.

If you’re discouraged, confused, overwhelmed, I can totally relate.

You’ve got to change how you think about eating. A sweet friend told me (sweetly!) after “le deluge” that when she became pregnant she started eating three full meals a day.

This was helpful! I knew what three full meals were; hadn’t been in the practice of eating them for awhile… but it was a goal I could work towards. Think enough food to fill a dinner plate with the major food groups represented.

Also, I figured out that you really do have to snack between meals. Peanuts, trail mix, and granola bars were my go to.

****

It was awhile ago now, that this all happened. But I can still remember the fear and the embarrassment. Would I be able to care for this precious little thing inside me?

Little by little, I learned. But it all started here…

…when you are pregnant, you have to eat.

Why you really should eat a good breakfast when you’re pregnant, part 2

~ Christie ~ 3 Comments
My sweet and wild second child
My sweet and wild second child

This morning (the morning of the day that I would be totally humiliated) had to be different.

There was a funeral scheduled for late morning and I was to play the piano. That meant I had to be up, showered, dressed, made-up, beautified, practiced, and fed. Yes, fed. I was so proud of myself when I sat down to eat my breakfast of Cheerios and grape juice. Wow, I was really taking care of myself. This morning I knew I had to have all of my energy and strength at top-notch.

Little did I know that in less than twenty-four hours people would be chastising me for eating this  meager breakfast that at the time I was so proud of.

Everything was going completely fine with the funeral. Maybe, maybe, I felt a little tired, hot, and thirsty; but seriously, I don’t think I thought of any of this until it was too late.

A soloist got up to sing “The Old Rugged Cross” before the message. Somewhere during the second or third verse, the darkness and stars started to invade my vision. That’s weird. I had passed out before in high school so at least I was familiar with that sensation. Oh well, I’ll be fine; I know how to play this song without looking. 

By this time all I could see was complete black, but I could still hear the man singing and my playing sounded okay… until it stopped sounding okay. Wait, that’s not right. I’m supposed to play a B flat chord here. I remember still not being worried; I know where that chord is; but I kept searching for it and couldn’t find it. Wow, this sounds bad; this sounds weird. 

At that point, I stopped having thoughts. I just knew that whatever I was playing was not right.

People in the crowded auditorium started to wonder what was wrong. The soloist began to wonder if he had made a mistake; he kept coming back in, trying to find where he was supposed to be. My mom, who was in attendance, told me later that she was thinking, “Someone better get up there and do something.”

Thankfully, my knight in shining armor realized I needed help. Paul came up to the piano and put his arms around me (which was good, first because I always love his arms around me, and second, because this particular time it kept me from collapsing on the ground)

“Hey Bud, are you okay?”

“No.”

“I’m going to help you walk off.”

“No, you don’t understand; I can’t see you. Everything’s black. You’re going to have to carry me.”

So there I went, off the stage, carried in my husband’s arms.

There went the little girl everyone had watched grow up. There went the girl who had played the piano for everything that had happened in that church for the last who knows how long. There went the person who had never needed anything. There went all that pride. Wait, actually, I think it stayed on the piano bench.

This would begin my realization that pregnancy is different from normal. Something wacko is happening with my body, and I better figure out what to do about it.

Seriously, Christie, why did it take blacking out at a FUNERAL?????

Hello February

~ Christie ~ Leave a comment

2007-2009 334Hello February… a week and a half late.

Hello shortest month of the year.

Hello my husband’s birthday month.

Hello busy month.

Hello month that I’ve decided to not read blogs.

What? Screeeeeech!!! Slow down, and say that again.

Hello month that I’ve decided to not read blogs.

This was a hard and easy decision for me. I began reading blogs about two years ago; it’s been a constant source of inspiration, entertainment and relaxation ever since. But the truth is, I’m not that purposeful with it anymore. One leads to another, to another, to another; before I know it, it’s way past my bedtime. And what do I have to show for it? Not much. The thought crossed my mind that for a month I should not read any, and right away I knew it would be a good thing to do.

I’ve been feeling a definite pull in my heart away from devotion to Jesus, a disconnectedness to my children, and an apathy toward my marriage.

Are blogs causing this? No! My heart is the cause of this. I love myself so much that I’m willing to sacrifice what’s best for me (sleep, preparation, prayer) for the temporal pleasure of reading interesting posts or looking at pretty pictures of decor.

So, in honor of the month of love, I’m casting something away with the hopes of learning again to love Jesus supremely.

So far, honestly, it’s been a little rough. I find myself during the day thinking about it or looking for an excuse to check my email or something. It’s amazing how quickly we can set ourselves on mommy-autopilot without even realizing it.

I was sort of on the fence about whether to cut out Pinterest or not, but am pretty sure that at least for now it needs to go, too.

There’s no official plan of action besides just cutting out my nighttime pastime for right now. I’m not expecting instant results or trying to go about it in a A.B.C. no-fail manner. Just saying no to my desire for “down time” which inevitably leads to “wasted time.”

So… we’ll see what happens.

Hello February.

Sophia called the kettle black

~ Christie ~ Leave a comment

January-June 2011 258Do you ever look at your children around the table and think “Were these kids raised in a barn?”

And then think, “Wait; they’re only 5,3,2, and 1, maybe this is normal.”

And then think, “I don’t care! We have got to learn table manners!”

Maybe that’s only me. I think these things often. One of the biggest areas I don’t understand is the little skill of silverware usage. Currently, my one year old wants to use her fork for everything because she just figured it out and is so excited. I spent months working with the other ones to master this skill at the appropriate ages. So why do they want to eat with their fingers now?

We were sitting at dinner tonight; Paul was actually with us. Everything had been fine and we were almost done. Gracie, who was done, held her fork up high above the table and let it drop… clatter, clatter, clatter. Paul looked over at her and gave her some serious instruction regarding what a fork should and should not do at the table.

“Gracie, you don’t ever bang your fork on the table. You don’t ever scratch the table with your fork. Your fork shouldn’t even be on the table unless Mommy put it there before we ate.”

“Yessur,” she replied.

Paul began to turn away from her and then with tongue-in-cheek added something like, “You don’t even use your fork to eat your food…”

“I do!”  Sophia exlaimed as she grabbed her last piece of pork with her FINGERS and popped it in her mouth.

Laughter poured out of me so suddenly that I had to cover my mouth to keep my food from, um… coming out. Paul looked at me to see what was so funny; all I could do was point to Sophia. He glanced over just as she pulled her fingers from her mouth.

He began laughing, putting his head down and shaking it.

Hope was already laughing hysterically as she had caught the moment with me.

Sophia began laughing because she thought she knew why we were laughing. (which made us laugh harder)

Mckayla laughed because that’s what she does.

We laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

It was so funny; so Sophia; and so forgettable.

That’s why I wrote it down here.

Why you really should eat a good breakfast while you’re pregnant, part 1

~ Christie ~ Leave a comment
My first little monkey
My first little monkey

When I got married I knew how to part-write pretty well; I could analyze preludes and fugues; I could sightread about any piece of music that you could put in front of me. I could wash and wax a car until it gleamed; and that’s about all. (Notice I didn’t say anything about cooking, preparing food, knowing what a well-balanced meal was, etc.)

When I found out I was pregnant, I knew I would need some help. So I drove my husband’s little white truck to our little local library. There I checked out as many books as I could regarding pregnancy, went home, read them, and became extremely grossed out at the pictures.

At our first doctor’s appointment, the nurse went through a very specific list of foods and drugs that I could not eat and also a few items that I could take, just in moderation, or after so many weeks, and whatever.

Everyone I knew expressed their deep happiness over our coming baby. I got oohs and ahs and hugs and pats and well-wishes ’til I could not contain anymore.

But in all of this, I missed out on something very important. Either I failed to read it in the library books, or didn’t hear it in the doctor’s appointment. I definitely did not receive any advice from friends or family regarding it; perhaps they just didn’t understand how ignorant I was about it all.

But I learned. Oh, did I learn.

When you are pregnant, you have to eat. 

There’s another little person in there, and they’re hungry, too. Even if you’re as sick as a dying goldfish, you have to eat.

Because if you don’t, your body will take whatever sustenance it has stored and give it to that new, sweet, deserving little person.

And that will leave you with nothing. And when your body has to run on nothing, it isn’t pretty.

Case and point:

With my first pregnancy, I was sick at night. About seven o’clock I would begin to feel just awful. The thought of eating would make me groan. Even lying down felt awful, and it would be late before I could get to sleep.

For this reason, it was very hard to wake up in the morning. I would stay in bed ’til the last possible minute and then rush to get ready to go teach piano lessons. Most mornings, I went without eating. (Remember the whole not knowing anything about food part? Well, I didn’t know at all how to stock a pantry, or even buy groceries; so most of the time there wasn’t even anything to eat in the house.) If I grabbed a granola bar or an apple, I thought I was doing good.

But then it came. The morning of the day that I would be humiliated…