First Piano Lesson

So today I had a medical appointment, and was off school. The appointment wasn't till late in the morning, so Spills and I spent some time together doing this and that.

I said to her at one point, "Hey, do you want to see how people write music?"

"Yeah!"

"They don't do it with letters and words. They do it with lines and circles instead."

So I drew her a staff and showed her "Mommy Treble Clef," who looks after the little note children. We met C, D, E, F and G. Then we met "Daddy Bass Clef" and got to know the kids he's looking after - C, B, A, G and F.

Then, on a roll, we took it all to the piano and we learned how to find C, D and E anywhere and everywhere on the keyboard. Spills was mightily pleased with herself. Our "lesson" concluded with Spilly singing "Are You Sleeping" while playing C and E at the same time, on the beat.

We were then SO pleased with ourselves that we called Grandma and Grandpa, so that Spills could play "Are You Sleeping" for each of them in turn. I could hear Grandpa emoting proudly on the other end of the line. Spills waited patiently till he was done. Then she said, "Yes, but Grandpa, didn't you think it was awesome or something like that?"

Spilly and the Fish

So tonight we had a little time before bath time, and I said, "How about a story?"

"Great!"

"What do you want?"

"Buddha."

We have a book called Kindness, which is a collection of stories about Buddha. So I chose the one about the blind men and the elephant, the one in which each man feels one part of the elephant and thinks that he knows about the whole animal. Then, of course, everyone argues about what an elephant is like, because their experiences are all limited and none of them recognizes the full picture.

"Why are they all mad at each other?" Spilly asked.

"Well, they can only see their little piece of the elephant. They think it's the whole elephant. They can't understand each other's point of view. Really, they are all touching the very same animal, but they don't know that. If they knew that, they wouldn't be fighting."

Spilly was silent for awhile. Then she hopped off the couch. She said, "Be RIGHT BACK."

A few moments later she returned, wearing her enormous fuzzy blue fish hat, the one with luscious lips and a tail that swishes when you shake your head.

She hopped up on the couch beside me, and said, "Feel my head. What do you think it is?"

I felt the tail. "This is definitely a fan."

Spilly felt one of the bulging eyeballs. "No, it's a ball for playing."

I felt the lips. "No, it's a rainbow."

She took it off her head, and waved it in front of me. "MOM!!! IT'S A FIIIISSSSHHHHH!!!!!"

The best laid plans of mice and men....

So Spilly hurled herself on the bed this morning, armed with books and questions about the words she had been deciphering by herself in her room, and that's how the day started. It progressed through oatmeal and sucanat and then turned into Biking Plans.

We are getting into biking, our little family. We all have bikes, and of course we also have the cool trail-a-bike thingy that turns an ordinary bike into a tandem bike. We now have a hitch for the van. So....we decided we would drive to the Elora Cataract Trailway (here it is: http://www.trailway.org/) and then enjoy a bike ride that would include a good look at the Elora Gorge.

With great high spirits we headed out. When we arrived at the trail, Spills and I got hats and things out and helped in our not-very-useful way to assemble the trail-a-bike. Then, while DH was putting the finishing touches on the assembly (which really means, doing most of it himself), we capered around and pretended we were on top of Mount Vesuvius. That's when Spills got the idea of taking the trail-a-bike flag (bright orange) and waving it at passing motorists, yelling, "I'm Sanjaya Malakar, and I'm going biking!" We did get a few honks. Crazy four-year-olds with bike helmets and orange flags who are shouting indecipherable things at passing cars do sometimes get attention.

So, after a lot of grunting and growling, hubby got us up and running. We headed off along the trail. We had a great time looking at the gorge. Then we started getting our speed up.

And the rain started, slowly at first, and then harder.

We ignored it for awhile, till it was actually obscuring the view up ahead. Finally hubby slowed down, stopped, and said, "Hmm."

"It's raining, I think," I said, dripping.

"Turn around," said hubby regretfully.

We turned around and began gloomily back along the trail.

The rain stopped. The sun peeked out.

"Did you notice it's not raining now?" I asked after awhile.

"I noticed."

"Turn around?"

"Turn around."

So we laboriously got the trail-a-bike turned around again, and we beamed at each other, and off we went.

And the rain started again. And the view disappeared again.

Hubby stopped again.

"It's raining," Spills said.

"Turn around," said hubby grimly.

We turned around. Off we went, back toward the car.

The rain stopped. The sun came out.

"It's sunny," I said.

"Till we turn around again," said Hubby.

"It might stay sunny."

"The question," said Hubby, "is if it will stay sunny if we go to Flapjacks for eggs?"

That, we realized, was the question that REALLY needed to be answered. So off we went for an early lunch.

Spaghetti and Chopsticks

We have been gradually building a friendship with the family of a little girl who rides the bus with Spilly. They've had her over after school several times, and often call an hour or so after she's gotten there, to ask if she can stay for dinner as well. So tonight we invited Spilly's friend (and the friend's older brother, who is a highly interesting seven-year-old Sarah Brightman and Titanic fanatic) to come over to our place after school and stay for dinner.

Hubby and I hung out in the kitchen, listening to them play in the backyard and smiling as the game got more and more elaborate. It was entitled, "Nature Trail," but we couldn't figure out exactly how that figured into people fainting and running around shouting, "Daddy, where are you?" It was a nature trail fraught with danger at any rate.

Supper was spaghetti. From the kitchen I called out, "Now, does everyone want me to cut up their spaghetti, or do they want to keep it long?"

"Long!" the friends said.

"Short!" said Spilly.

So out came the long and short spaghetti. One child began to eat. The other two looked somewhat gloomily at their plates.

At last, the older brother said, "Don't you have any chopsticks?"

Hubby jumped up and said, "Yes, we do!" Years ago, we had bought a pack of plastic chopsticks in Chinatown in Toronto. Out they came from the china cupboard.

"Can I have chopsticks too?" Spills asked.

In the end, we all had chopsticks. And let me tell you, spaghetti is very fun to eat in this way. It also allows you to make outrageous slurping noises. And it enables the new friends to laugh at our family that has never before eaten spaghetti with chopsticks.

This is clearly a friendship with great potential.

Near-Perfect Day

So the kid came to my school today and was treated like royalty. As a result, she is being a class A dunderhead at the moment.

She spent the first part of the afternoon in Mrs. S's room, where she made a lovely paper-bag robin and participated in a variety of bean-planting activities. Then it was off to the Charlotte Diamond concert which, by all accounts, was great. She was picked to go onstage to be the back part of a "walking bus" (Mrs. S was the front of it), and for that privilege received a signed thank-you card from Charlotte Diamond.

After the concert was over, she was escorted out to my portable by several of my students. Some of them ran ahead to tell me, "She doesn't want to come."

"Oh," I said, surprised. "Well, she doesn't have to. If she wants to stay with the grade ones, that's okay."

"She won't leave the doorway."

"Really? Why not?"

"She's telling everyone, 'I made a picture, and then I got to go on the stage, and....'"

"Ah," I said. "She's too busy talking. I see. I think she'll come in a minute."

Sure enough, the remainder of my student emissaries arrived shortly thereafter with Spilly in tow. She made a grand entrance and then made a beeline for one of my students, Jamal, who is her favourite (he is very funny to her, but also an enigma because he does not like chocolate ice cream and she cannot understand how anyone cannot like chocolate ice cream). She sat beside him, and he fed her sour candies.

We were in the middle of a rehearsal for our class show (we've written our own musical version of Anne of Green Gables). She sang along with gusto, despite knowing none of the words. Whenever Jamal sang or stood, she did too. And she deeply enjoyed the accolades from all sides (grade six girls are very fond of tiny people).

Then it was back to Mrs. S's room after school for a debrief about it all. We hung out doing experiments for a bit (it is cool to watch air bubbles come up through soil, when you pour water on top of it) and listening to Charlotte Diamond's latest song on the CD player. While we were busy with these activities, the classroom phone rang. Charlotte Diamond was just leaving and wanted to say good bye. So the three of us trooped down to the foyer, and I got a chance to meet Charlotte Diamond! Very cool. She embraced Mrs. S (Mrs. S has this effect on people), and we all chatted for a few moments. I got to tell her that she has been a really big part of our family. Then off she went, and off we went.

Once we were home, we were convinced that we needed a walk in the glorious sunshine. So we took ourselves off to the convenience store that's about twenty-five minutes away, and Spilly got to choose an ice-cream treat!

Now she's in the bath, warbling away. I don't expect her to stay there for long though, as she's already gotten out twice to come and see what I am doing. This is utterly against the rules, but I have a feeling she thinks this is a day on which rules are suspended. Sigh.

Big Day Coming

There's no living with Spills tonight, and she's going to be worse tomorrow. She's been invited to partake in a very special treat. My wonderful colleague Mrs. S, who teaches grade one at my school, and who is surely one of the Great Teachers, has asked if Spilly would like to be in her class tomorrow afternoon. They will do a craft, and then they will all head to a concert in our gym by none other than one of Spilly's (and Mrs. S's, and my) favourite singers, Charlotte Diamond.

When I first broached the subject with Spills, some weeks ago, she began leaping around, yelling, "Mrs. S! Charlotte Diamond! Mrs. S! Charlotte Diamond!"

Mrs. S is as great a draw for Spilly as Charlotte Diamond (who is a huge draw). Mrs. S keeps snakes in her classroom and grows avocado trees and has a passion for bugs of all sorts. She also adores every kind of music you can imagine. Her students all tend to become junior scientists, out inspecting foliage for various things at recesses. She and Spilly are kindred spirits of a rare sort. Unlike those who showered Spills with princess paraphernalia at Christmas, Mrs. S gave her a book about volcanoes.

As for me, I will be pining away in my classroom tomorrow, wishing I could be at the concert too. Alas, I teach the really "big kids," and they are not going to be attending. They are, however, going to be as insufferable as Spills in their own way, as I've let slip that Spills will be in the school and they want her to spend the afternoon with them. One of my boys said, "She HAS to come meet us, because it's my birthday tomorrow!"

Now I just have to figure out how I can rip her in two, so she can be in two places at once.

Origins of Love

"Mommy," Spilly said tonight, "Did we start loving each other the minute I was born?"

"Actually," I said, "I started loving you long before you were born."

"I did too. Could you hear me saying, 'I love you, Mommy' in your tummy?"

"No," I said. "But I could certainly feel you wriggling around in there."

"That's when I was giving you a hug."