The Angry Pianist

I've wanted to learn how to play the piano for years now. So when a beginner's piano class was offered in a listing of community programs that came in the mail, I signed up. No keyboard required, and the class is within walking distance of our house OR a two-minute drive (because it's cold).

The program listing said the class was open to ages 10 to adult, so I figured I'd be among youngsters. In the first class, it was me, two tweenagers, Carla, a woman who is probably my age but seems older because in my head I'm still 25, and Sasha, a boy who showed up halfway through the first class because his mom got the location wrong. The teacher brought keyboards for everyone. But the two goody-two-youngsters had their own keyboards. We learned to play scales. With both hands. We learned a few chords. It was hard. And enough for week one.

Week two. Unfortunate Sasha must have been frustrated because he was already behind the curve, so he became a piano school dropout. The remaining youngsters brought their keyboards, and I jumped on the keyboard the teacher brought. Carla shows up, also sans keyboard, and learns that Teacher hasn't brought enough keyboards.

Ok: If the class literature says "no keyboards required" AND two people show up to the first class without keyboards, you would think that the teacher would have spare keyboards in his car. And you would think wrong.

Cue really uncomfortable Carla-Teacher confrontation.

Cue me trying to diffuse the tension. Cue Carla and I sharing a keyboard.

Naturally, after the scales and chords of week one, we jump into learning Let It Be by a little-known band called The Beatles. Our teacher explains how to play it, poorly, and when I ask for more detailed instructions, am told that "you just need to feel it."

That's like telling a student driver he just needs to "feel" how to drive a car. Or a 3-year-old to just "feel" how to read a book. Point is, I need a little more fundamental musical skill before I can start "feeling" how to play Beatles songs.

I left class determined to figure it out. So I went home and felt the hell out of Let It Be. And Googled it. And I put together a decent rendition of the intro. So proud.

Class three. Now it's just me and the two young'uns. Pissed-off Carla must have quit after the keyboard-sharing fiasco of 2011. And I play my version of Let It Be. And Teacher tells me I'm forgetting a part. This part: Cue quick playing of Let It Be so student can't figure it out. And then he says, "Honestly, you just have to feel it."

Honestly, I just want you to feel me punching you in your face.

So for the rest of class three, I channeled my anger into playing D scales or some such nonsense. And then about 15 minutes before class is supposed to be over, he says that he thinks that's enough for tonight, like we're so good he can teach us no more this session, and we can leave, unless of course we want to stay.

Honestly, I just feel that someone wanted to get home to see this week's Modern Family.

Good teachers are supposed to inspire you to push yourself and do great things. Apparently, terrible-awful teachers can do the same.

Buried

Something about being buried under several feet of snow has left me blog-ally uninspired. I've only seen this much snow while skiing, and trust me, it's way more fun when you're flying* down the mountain and enjoying hot toddies afterward, as opposed to digging out a place for your dog to poop and watching her do her business on the porch anyway. With no hot toddies to follow.


The trusty Saturn has been buried since the massive snowstorm in December, and only over the weekend did I finally clear a path so that I'd have any hope of getting it out before spring. Luckily, today practically feels like summer, and the wind reminds me of Kansas in March, so maybe that damn groundhog knew what he was talking about this year.

It's a good thing Avery and I are good at entertaining ourselves, otherwise I'd be going more stir-crazy than I already am. She is really taking in the world around her these days, and with the whole sitting-on-her-own accomplishment, she's pretty hot to trot. And has serious opinions.


"Boppy? I don't need no stinking Boppy."



"Mom. You got a little something on your pants. I know you just changed into them. But for reals, they're a mess."



"Do you think this look will work when I want to borrow $20 from Dad?"




"Get in my buh-lly."



"You want me to stop making out with this ball to SMILE??"


Tune in next time for more drool and possibly higher quality images not taken on my phone.

*I feel like I'm flying. Alan might say otherwise.

Beware of Sudden Movement

Being home with Avery all day, every day, I get to see every step on the way to the big milestones. I can tell you in detail the many steps it takes to get to something as monumental as "Grabs for Objects." (Step One: Fists accidentally unclench about once a week. It's a 5-month-long process.) Something as simple as a laugh starts with those first accidental sleeping smiles. Rolling over starts with those first screaming sessions during tummy time when baby can barely lift the head, and it finally culminates with mom holding her breath waiting for that final push that sends the baby from stomach to back. (Complete with mom shifting and jerking her body to one side to help with the momentum, much as you do in bowling.)

But then there are skills that show up with no warning whatsoever. And then all of a sudden, your "safe place to put the baby" is "baby prison that must be escaped." Here I've compiled a series of pictures from my phone showing Avery making the decision to jailbreak.



Had I not intervened, I'm convinced she would have made it to the kitchen. I'm going to be in so much trouble very soon.

A Whole Hand's Worth of Months Old

The baby girl is 5 months old today! I can't even believe it; where does the time go; blah blah blah.

When she can read and go online in a few months, she'll be pissed about some of the unflattering blooper shots I've posted. And the vomit pictures. But this adorable picture has to make up for that, right?

Highlights at the moment? Babbling. Grabbing things and putting them in her mouth. Spitting up a ton less but drooling a ton more. We need fewer burp cloths at the ready, but now she's never without a drool-catching bib.

My favorite thing? Her little laugh. Without fail, she'll laugh when I sing "(Shake, Shake, Shake) Shake Your Booty." And when Alan says "Ho Ho Ho." I have no shame in what I'll do to get her to laugh. Wouldn't you do anything for this?

We're still getting the sleep thing figured out. Sometimes she'll sleep in her crib with no problem. Other times she gets all screamy as soon as she senses she's being laid down horizontally and OH MY GOD, WHERE DID MOM GO? I can only let her cry so long before I give up and climb into her crib with her. JUST KIDDING. But compared to those first months of getting up every two hours? I'm sleeping well, thank you.

At 5 months, she's wearing anything from 6- to 12-month clothing sizes. And while she is in the heavyweight division for her age, she's not exactly tall. Yet if it's anything footed, she grows out of it lengthwise well before she fills it out anywhere else. But if it's pants, they have to be ridunkulously long to fit her in the waist.

I do love how the pant length makes her look footless. May just put her in dresses from now on to avoid the problem. Also, check out how she's sitting on her own (for two seconds until she tumbles over)!

Hands: So Much Better Than Sliced Bread It's Ridiculous

Ever since Miss Aves discovered her hands, they've been her favorite playthings. Rattles and teethers are fine and dandy, but why play with those when hands are always there for you? She doesn't really suck her thumb. Instead, she jams her thumb into her mouth and gums it. Then when she's bored of her thumb, she'll go for several fingers at a time. Sometimes a fist. Sometimes a fist and her other thumb. Sometimes her fist and several other fingers. Sometimes both fists.

So I have a million pictures of her doing this:


And this:



And this:


And sometimes those little fingers would get jammed just a touch too far down the throat. And she'd gag a little. And I'd try to reason with her. I'd say, "Look. One of these days you're going to make yourself throw up."

But did she listen?


You just cannot reason with a 4-month-old.

The Canine Burrow of Infiltration

Marti has always liked to be in the middle of the action. Pre-Avery, when I was working full-time from home, there were days she would drive me to my wit's end because she would sit next to me and scratch me any time she was not the center of my attention. Which was often, because I was working. So, we're talking entire workdays of scratching.

I was never worried about how Marti would react to the baby. But I did wonder how she would do when she wasn't the center of attention any more. Because the scratching? I couldn't deal with every time my attention was diverted to the baby.

The only problem we've had since Avery was born, really, has been that she so desperately wants to be with her humans that it borders on ridiculous. And being close isn't enough. Must be ontopofyoualwaysandforever.

For instance, I was in the kitchen recently, and Avery was in her bouncer in the living room. I heard an "Eeep! Eeep!" from Avery. So I sprinted to the living room. Lo and behold, Marti is IN THE BOUNCER with Avery. Marti was sitting there like, "What's up? Why is she 'eeping'?" And Little Miss Aves is like, "Something is amiss! A dog is on my legs! A dog is on my legs!"

Did a sharp scolding keep her out of the bouncer for good? No. But at least there is no baby this time.



Marti has this amazing talent of finding the most comfortable spot in the house. We come home to find her on the back of couch cushions or in our bed. Never on the floor. No way. Here she used the Boppy to build a Fort of Cozy.



If there are humans to snuggle with though? Even better. Baby pits? Best.



And if I'm wearing a robe? Well, Marti considers it a custom, closer-to-mom blanket for herself.



As much as Marti loves me, I think Aves is her new favorite person. She babysits. For free.



She tries to sneak in smooches.



She brings offerings. This ball was brand-new and she was willing to share.



Nothing will deter Marti from getting involved. There's no room? She'll squeeze in. Breastfeeding? Avery makes a perfect chair!



For Marti, adding Avery to the family just means one more person to love.

Just Add Milk

Now with more pounds and a lot more attitude!


Miss Avery Anne is four months old today. Looking at her today, I barely recognize her as the tiny little girl we met in August. I'm pretty sure she's close to tripling her birth weight at this point, so I'm interested to see what her measurements are at the doctor next week. She is large and oh so in charge.

Those luxurious locks have grown thinner, even though she still has quite a bit of hair. Just look at what she was born with!

Today, her hair may be thinner, but she's filled out everywhere else! She's got the cutest chubby little cheeks and thighs you just want to munch on. I can't believe how much she's grown. The kid on her package of diapers is walking, for crying out loud.

Speaking of crying out loud, she has found her attitude. She is usually a very happy baby, but she knows that a loud holler gets results in a hurry. And that loud holler is more of a horror-movie scream. I have visions of that scream happening in grocery stores. In which case I'm pretty sure I'd do anything to make it stop. Want a live lobster? It's yours! She'll go from zero to 60 in a few seconds flat. Here is one of her fits during our photo session:

But she's also found her smile and her laughter, so we have a lot of fun getting her to grin and giggle.


She still hates the pacifier (Marti still loves them. Six destroyed now.), but she's learned that she's got these hands, and hands have thumbs. She doesn't suck, she just noms on them and drools like crazy. Yum yum!

She also rolled over during tummy time the other day. She did it in September when she was super pissed, but this time it wasn't a fluke. Here she enjoys some tummy time with daddy!

Other milestones include lifting her legs up into the air and slamming them down with ferocity, and bringing her rattles and teething rings straight to the mouth. Or I should say, bringing them in the general direction of her mouth. It's a source of endless entertainment for me.



And if I see you at Christmas, don't even ask if she's sleeping through the night. She's not. Not even close. I will volunteer that information when we at least step in the right direction. Until then, I will share pictures like this where you can't quite see the dark circles under my eyes.