Mommies, Mittens, and Music

Sometimes, getting a six-year-old ready for school is like a cruel joke. This morning was one of those (too many) times for me. I guess I've been conditioned to prefer singing to a class of squirmy eighth-graders at 8 in the morning to getting my own kid out the door. Or, perhaps, being in a boxing bullfighting ring. For starters, he hadn't even completed his weekly homework packet, and this, after having received the assignment exactly one week earlier (last Friday, not this past Monday), upon my request. I thought we might have more time over the weekend to get started. Wrong again. Here he was, on Friday morning, with seven pages left to go.

We slogged through this process for over an hour. accompanied by intermittent requests to turn on the television or get the crayons so he could draw in his sketchbook. Why don't sketchbooks count toward homework? When I was that age, my thing was playing the piano. I would "practice" in order to procrastinate not only on homework, but chores, annual physicals, tooth extractions -- you name it.

It's 8:50 and we're finally ready to leave!! He's actually wearing his coat and shoes. "Yipee," I thought, "This is going to be smoother than I thought." He even ate all of his oatmeal.

So we're late. So he still had three sentences left to compose that he didn't finish. At least this was better than last week. A short-lived, contented silence...

"MOMEEEEEE!! I want some MITTENS!"

Mittens. A taller order than anyone knows. My husband is The Attic Keeper. Only HE knows where the various and sundry unmatched mittens, hats and gloves are. I think he prefers it that way. As soon as Tax Day arrives, or when he is in town, whichever comes first, Attic Keeper will remove all the storm windows, gather up the various and sundry unmatched mittens, hats, and gloves, throw in a few pairs of boots, coats and sweaters, and gleefully head up to said attic where he finds the most mysterious-colored UNLABELED Rubbermaid bins, plunks the stuff in, and seals them shut, never to be heard from again -- until, perhaps, sometime in the neighborhood of October 25. The storm windows he puts God-knows-where. They might even be in plain sight, but because they are transparent and I have a rare eye disorder, they might as well be somewhere in China.

And here's the rub. Attic Keeper is currently ensconced in a tony basement somewhere in Chicago, where he spends his days at Internet Cafes and his nights awaiting the Next Big Break as Iago when he will be whisked up out of Seat W10 at Lyric Opera of Chicago and have approximately 6:49 (minutes!) to get his adorable butt onstage and into boots and armor and warble away for real. Anyway, that's where he is. Not in my attic at 8:55 am on this day, anyway. I rarely need this stuff. I hate coats, mittens, and the like. We should really live somewhere in the tropics, because none of us really believes in outerwear.

But here I am. I'm sure my son was the only one without mittens or a coat at the zoo field trip yesterday. I wasn't being BadMom this time. I did ask him three times if he wanted to wear his coat, and he said no. It was probably a good choice, because around noontime I'm sure none of the kids needed theirs either and tried to wad them up in their backpacks or throw them at the teacher. But GoodMoms are supposed to mummify their children, and I had fallen short. I'm sure at least one or two of his smarty-pants classmates (and I know exactly who they are) chirped at him, "NOOOOOAH! Where are your mittens?" (subtext: "Doesn't your Mommy love you?") Mittens. Overrated. But here I am. Once again, it's time to play Hide N' Seek in the attic with no time to spare. Then Attic Keeper wonders why things look like a cyclone just hit up there. I never know what I need from one minute to the next, let alone where to find it. Bingo! Two bins and I got it. A pair of little black shrunken-looking Michael Jackson gloves. He loved 'em. BIN - GO. Off we go.

At school, we were greeted by Miss Shelley, the... I don't know what her title is, but she is like the Jewish mother I never had. She writes out the late slips for all the deril--I mean delinqu-- I mean latecomers at Noah's school. She knows me very well from the other two children that went before him. I have jokingly told her many times that she should just make about two dozen copies of late slips with Noah's name already written on them. Especially for Fridays, which are my "day off." Funny thing, isn't it, that this is when he is late most often?

I mutter something under my breath..."It's like pulling teeth...mumble, grumble.."

"WHY??" intones Miss Shelley with The $10,000,000 Question.

"I have to tell him 25 times to do his homework. He refuses."

"Well, what DOES he do?"

"He loves to draw. It's compulsive, relentless. He does it all the time. I suppose it's like how I was as a kid. I'd always play piano instead of doing my homework."

Miss Shelley smiled. "So did I!! No matter what my mother did, I had to practice. We're all like that, all the same. They need to know that the people who went before them all have been there, done that. My daughter teaches 7th and 8th grade..."

"Bless her heart!!" I blurted, with a pontifical gesture.

"One day, she caught a student cheating, and he wasn't very good at it. She let him go at it for awhile then summoned him over, 'Pssst. I know you've been cheating. If you're going to cheat, at least do it well. Let me show you how it's done.' The kid was flabbergasted."

"I don't think he'll ever forget that day for the rest of his life."

"You can bet not! What they need to realize is that we've ALL been exactly where they've been at one time or another."

God bless Miss Shelley. Her words sure blessed me this morning.

"Who is my Neighbor?" - with a twist

I am swamped with school and choir work, but I just needed to write this down before I forgot the entire thing, so bear with me.

This past Monday happened to be a gorgeous fall Columbus Day with just enough warmth and a crispy breeze in the air, so after a wonderful night away with my husband, we decided to pick up the kids and head down to Linvilla Orchards, about an hour southwest of here.  For those of you who might not be familiar with this place, it's a wonderful farmer's market that offers fun activities for the entire family.  You can pick your own apples, pumpkins, roast marshmallows, get your face painted, play games, pet the animals, go on hayrides, drink fresh apple cider and eat these amazing cinnamon doughnuts.  Quintessential Fall.

No sooner had we found a parking spot and ambled down the hill to the general store that we found ourselves in a slight traffic jam with all the other folks who had the same idea.  I noticed a group of teenage girls in front of us who weren't moving all too expeditiously, followed by an older Liza Minelli lookalike in shades trailed by a heavyset man.  I am a bit of klutz so I was jostling to keep up with the rest of my own family.

"Excuse me!  Excuse me!"  called the Liza with a Z impersonator.  I glanced her way and swore I looked her right in the eye.  No response.  I continued to move on.  I heard her mumble under her breath, "We say excuse me when we have something to say."  Puzzled, I looked again, and couldn't see her right away, until  I spotted her near the teenagers, figuring she was trying to address them.

Just as we neared the pumpkin displays, "Liza" stops me, saying, "Excuse me.  You trampled my husband, who just had double-knee surgery."

Aghast, I found myself with my hand on my heart, blurting out the first thing that came to me. "Oh, Ma'am, I am so, so very VERY sorry!"

Now, mind you, I don't recall making bodily contact with a living soul since we left the car.  It was cramped, yes, but I am acutely aware of my personal space.  They moved on (without a word from said husband, who didn't look the slightest bit fazed either way), we moved on, and the woulda-coulda-shoulda comeback machine-wheels in my head started turning.

Gee, I could have been extra snarky, saying:

"THAT's funny, what a coincidence! I just had knee surgery, too!"

OR

"I am so sorry, but I just had eye surgery and I couldn't for the life of me see him at all. Please excuse me."

OR

"I am so sorry, how can I help you?"

Really.  It took every bit of moral fortitude to move on from this moment and into my lovely family day off.

How would you have handled this?  What causes people to act this way and what is it they need to hear or have done in such situations?  Do you think I handled this properly?
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Out of curiosity, I'd love to hear from you.  Have a great day!

Two hats to wear at St. John's

After diving into the school year and becoming relatively used to the water, I feel ready to (re-)introduce myself in a slightly newer context -- that of Music Director/ ("slash") Seminarian at St. John's!  This is a very exciting time for me, and I thought I'd share this year's experiences with you as we journey together.

Some of my posts, such as this one, strictly pertain to St. John's, and you will see them published in the monthly church newsletter, The Messenger.  Other times I am sure I will go off on tangents concerning personal observations and experiences, and these will be confined to the blog itself, which you are more than welcome to read as well.

As many of you know, this is my second year as a part-time student at The Lutheran Theological Seminary at Philadelphia (LTSP).  In terms of time, the usual full-time M.Div. program (Masters of Divinity) takes an average of three years to complete.  In my case -- being tri-vocational, I expect this process to take at least five or six years.  I took lots of evening classes last year, and found this to be very stressful while trying to  help my kids with homework, attending games, church meetings, or opera rehearsals, so I'm trying something new this semester.  All my classes now take place in the morning, Monday through Thursday.  This is not without its own challenges, however, since I still need to get the kids off to school by 8:30 -- and some of my classes, out in Germantown, begin as early as 8:15.  Thank God for older siblings in college!  With my husband Todd away -- he's been in Chicago for the past six weeks -- this life is not for the faint of heart and we live in a very crazy house!  I am not only learning a lot about theology and Church history, but time management, an important pastoral skill.  My classes this semester are Introduction to Biblical Hebrew, History of Christianity, and Old Testament (Genesis - Esther).  Each one involves intense amounts of reading, and Hebrew poses special challenges in memorization, a constant reminder that my brain is now a half-century old.  You will be hearing plenty of stories coming up about my Hebrew classes, I'm sure! As hard as it is, it's probably my favorite class this time around.

My fourth "class" this semester is Field Education.  This is the fun part.  For the next 2-3 months, I get to observe every Sunday School class, from Preschool to Adult, visit each Bible Study, attend meetings such as Church Council, preach two sermons, visit two selected shut-ins regularly, and meet with Pastor Tricia every week or two to reflect on each experience.  I will also be writing about what I encounter, hoping to use this blog as the basis for the written reflections that I must submit by the end of this semester.  Next semester will include more actual class teaching and more preaching and worship leading.

I am excited about this process and that, after over 25 years of God's prodding, can actually get the ball rolling in the journey toward becoming a pastor.  No, I wasn't struck by lightning, but that still, small voice kept getting louder and louder and would not stop coaxing me.  I always knew I had to hone my craft as a musician first, because that was to become my most effective tool for ministry for most of my life.  But even as a music teacher, God led me to people in need and called me above and beyond teaching singing toward becoming a listener, and in some cases, a counselor for others who wanted to minister in music or those who were just going through rough times in their lives.  Thus, a large part of me is stepping out in response to a call toward work in Pastoral Care.

So that's a little bit about me.  It's often difficult to put into written words, but I am always happy to share my journey thus far on an informal basis, so if you're curious, please don't ever hesitate to strike up a conversation.  I probably just won't shut up too easily , that's all :-)

A brief switch to the Music Hat:  How blessed we are to have guitarist Joe Frunzi joining us at 11:00 worship!!  About ten minutes before service, he will help prepare our hearts for worship by leading us in 2-3 favorite praise songs each week.  We are now starting up our Praise Team and looking for new members of ALL AGES, so please consider joining us for practice each Thursday at 6:30.  You don't have to know how to read music, play an instrument or sing.  If you have a willing heart and that still small voice is on YOUR case, too, just show up.  You'll be glad you did.  

More later... God bless!

~ Lisa