Week 17

Week 17

 

12-6-06

 

After such a disappointing week last week, Riley and I were both determined to help The Maestro have an enjoyable and productive lesson today. During a fit of insomnia a few nights ago I came up with a game idea ("I'm silly" to fit with the 4 ^th Twinkle Variation rhythm) and a song (A-D ostinato pattern to accompany me playing "Go Tell Aunt Rhody"). The Maestro was especially fidgety today, but we managed through Love & Logic and a lot of incentives to keep him on task and on his chair. Licking things is still an issue. Riley clarified for him that the lesson rule meant no licking wooden things or people. I agreed. So, The Maestro very "obediently" avoided licking people, cellos, and anything else wooden, and instead repeatedly licked his vinyl chair and the carpet floor. We'll have to specify that more in the future. We were both quite devastated last week when he abruptly gave the closing bow in the middle of the lesson, demonstrating that he was finished for the day. For that reason, I think both Riley and I were so concerned about having him enjoy the lesson today that we gave in to a few more discipline issues than we would have really liked.

 

I told The Maestro I had a game to teach him if he could show me five things he had learned in his past lessons. This took some doing to keep him motivated, but he did it. I gave him a strip of paper for each thing he showed me. Not the greatest incentive, but I was desperate and grabbed whatever I could see. After receiving [three?] pieces of paper he said, "I don't like pieces of paper." As I started to get discouraged, Riley said, "Oh, but you like games. And this is how you get to play a game." That worked.

 

The "I'm silly" game went considerably well. We moved the slider on his rhythm stick (a.k.a. the "tucka bow" and now the "silly stick") in rhythm while saying "I'm silly," then stopped and did something silly. This included me making chicken noises, Riley balancing the rhythm stick on her nose, and The Maestro falling on the floor. The plan was to get him to move the rhythm stick 3 times and then stop. The silly activity was enough motivation to get him to stop. Hooray!

 

Typically I will show The Maestro something new in a lesson and he will do it once only, until Riley comes up with various practice strategies at home to get him to make it routine. We managed a few rounds of "I'm silly," so I felt good about it. I asked him a couple of times if he wanted to keep playing or learn a new song. Finally he expressed a desire to learn the song. I had hoped that he would pluck along, but he didn't. However, thinking this might be the case, I had asked Riley to bring her cello along and play with The Maestro. She and I played a duet of "Go Tell Aunt Rhody" with her plucking the ostinato pattern, while The Maestro "jammed" with random pizzicato using both hands. I could be wrong, but I think out of the corner of my eye I saw Riley get slightly weepy during the song. I'll have to ask her about that.

 

12-8-06

 

Today I went over to the Elwood's for a while. The Maestro and Riley had just finished their cello practice, which went "OK," according to Riley. They had practiced the Silly rhythm with Toobers & Zots & Oobles. Riley demonstrated what they had done, and I suggested that they add a "What?" to the "I'm silly," in antiphonal dialogue between child and mother.

 

While The Maestro played I went over to ask him how to do the rhythm with his Toober, and I actually did one rhythm myself. He said to me, "I would like you to go away." I told him I wouldn't play with him then, and went into the kitchen to talk to Riley. I should have told him, "It hurts my feelings when you say…" but it didn't come to mind. He has never expressed that sentiment before – in fact, being able to play with me has been a good incentive for him in the past. I have a feeling that this expression came because I had pushed him too much by trying to get him to do the rhythm again.

 

About an hour later we got back together and played. After I had done something on the silly side, he said, "You're so silly!" I immediately grabbed his rhythm stick and performed "I'm silly!" Riley was there and suggested that, if The Maestro could do the rhythm 3 times [right?], she and I would swing him. The antiphonal dialogue of The Maestro's "I'm silly" and Riley's "What?" went without a hitch, and I watched with elation as The Maestro performed rhythm 4 of 4. Finally!!!!!! The moment just happened so naturally, but in my heart I reflected on the past 17 weeks of lessons, hoping and praying and working so hard to get him to this point. Riley and I shared a quick smile as we took The Maestro up to swing him, she holding his hands and I holding his feet, swinging him to the "I'm silly" rhythm and stopping his body with Riley's body on "what." He performed the rhythm again when Eric arrived home from work. Tomorrow morning he'll come for a mini lesson, and maybe… just maybe… he will go home with a bow.

 

12-09-06

 

One major milestone accomplished! The Maestro went home with his real bow today. I don't know which of the three of us was the most excited about it, but I'll say for myself that it was better than Christmas.

 

Last night, after The Maestro performed his final rhythm, Riley and I made dinner in the kitchen and chatted about our "game plan" for today. It was important for me to have The Maestro connect his receipt of the bow with his performance of rhythms. I wanted to give him some sort of visual representation for each rhythm, such as a card with pictures, but Riley suggested that I play each rhythm on the CD for him. That made sense to me but seemed a little labor-intensive and potentially distracting to The Maestro. After some brainstorming, we decided to have me play each rhythm for him on my cello. Of course.

 

Things went almost completely without a hitch. The Maestro was squirmy at first, but was happy to play the "I'm silly" game. He did the rhythm 6 times (2 separate plus 4 in a row) and got swung 6 times (quite by chance, 4 in a row plus 2 in a row). Afterward, I told him that I would give him 4 guesses to see what I had for him, and I would play my cello to give him hints. I asked him what the first rhythm was that he learned, and he said clearly, "Tucka tucka stop-stop." I played the opening to Twinkle for him, using this rhythm. Afterward I asked him what the next rhythm was. He got squirmy, so I mentioned that he was guessing what his present was. That immediately got him back in his seat. He mentioned next that he had learned "Peanuts," which I pointed out to him was also "I'm silly," and added while I played Twinkle for him that the variation started, " Silly, I'm silly." He guessed "Run doggie" next, and I played it for him. He couldn't think of the remaining rhythm, so I gave him a hint, after which he said, "Riding on my motorcycle."

 

Note: The Maestro learned to perform these rhythms in a different order than is presented in the books and on the CDs, but when he was asked to recall them he did so in the proper order. That speaks to the difference in brain processing and motor skills, but it also reminds me that these activities and songs are sequenced so that often more challenging skills are followed by easier skills in order to push the child a little and then allow the child to celebrate and feel confident by learning something easier. We went out of order from the book but went in the order that seemed to work best for The Maestro as well as his mom.

 

After performing this final rhythm for him, I got out a wrapped present and we unwrapped it together. He opened it up, and held the bow in his hand for a minute without saying anything. I asked him what it was. He beamed, carefully ran his fingers along the stick, and said, "My real bow." We all took in the moment. Then, Riley rubbed his back and said, "You earned it!" at the same second that I patted his shoulders and said, "You did all your rhythms and got your bow." He was one smiling boy.

 

As he stood up to get his cello, he said, "Now I know how to play vibrato with my real bow!" He remembered to tighten the bow without a reminder from us. He has certainly been taking in what we have shown him with my and Riley's bows.

 

The remainder of the lesson was a delight. Every ounce of squirmy energy went right into playing his cello. What a sight – even Carter Brey doesn't emote as much as The Maestro does. I used the Elwood's red timer to keep track of amounts that he could "jam" versus amounts of time that he would receive instruction on how to hold the bow. Two minutes of each was the plan, but The Maestro was actually quite cooperative in learning how to hold the bow and we didn't have to spend much time watching the clock. I think the red timer will come in handy after the honeymoon period has again worn off (dare I even bring that up right now?). As I write this I realize that I've resorted to the clock watching paradigm, something teachers should try and avoid because they should keep the pedagogical strategies interesting and motivational in their own right. However, the question is not about motivating him to play the cello; it is about motivating him to sit and follow instruction before he can play the cello again. Nevertheless, I need to keep those instructions interesting and fun as well.

 

After a particular bouncy bow in his "jam session" I mentioned that he was doing sautillé bowing. He immediately bounced the bow and said, "This is my spidiccato!" He had apparently learned about spiccato from a violin show at the library. As he bounced high and started to whap the strings, I reached for the bow to stop him while Riley calmly asked "the teacher" what such bouncing might do to the cello. I explained that it could hurt the cello, and this was all the motivation The Maestro needed to bounce gently.

 

The Maestro favored the C string because, as I note later, that's how his arm angle was set up. I don't know if Riley noted my attention to spinning strings or a beautiful tone, something that will later become crucial in his instruction. In our particular method of instruction, nothing is more important than creating a beautiful tone, since a performer's tone expresses the character of the player himself, both in a musical and a spiritual way.

 

I played "Go Tell Aunt Rhody" with him while he jammed (he wasn't quite ready to let go of the bow to do the ostinato pizzicato A and D; using the bow will be a good "carrot" for practicing the pizzicato activities and learning to finger).

 

The Maestro's preparatory 100 bow holds on the pretend bow did wonders; he had a soft, bent thumb and placed his fingers quite well. The 2^nd finger goes half on the metal, half on the hair; the first finger on the green treble clef (he chose the sticker); the "moon" (mother of pearl dot) goes between his 3 ^rd and 4^th fingers. Riley suggested that we cut a corn pad in half so he would know how to place his thumb (it has to be cut in half, of course, because the thumb spot narrows and widens with respective loosening and tightening of the bow).

 

Next I taught The Maestro to play jiggle sirens. He really liked this, but struggled to find the D string with his bow and finger. We showed him "Rock and Roll" on the bridge, and I showed Riley how his elbow angle (NOT shoulder) will raise and lower as he changes strings. They will practice both of these things at home.

 

At one point today The Maestro said, "I wanted to wait longer for my bow, but now I got my real bow." I'm not sure what he meant by this... (inside joke to Riley), although I can imagine a lot of different scenarios.

 

I'm so glad for this video camera so I can watch everything again. While I was watching his bow hand, setting it up, and talking to him about his practice routine, I absolutely missed the fact that his first finger was on the first finger sticker, doing a relaxed arm vibrato better than most of my Book 3 students can do. I've had a few students pick up vibrato on their own without any instruction from me, but never before they had played their first song! I'll have to look at that sometime in real life – although I'll have to tread carefully on the subject. Maybe that can be his little secret for a while until he can play Twinkle. We'll see how it goes.

 

At one point in the lesson The Maestro said, "If you stop this I'll be angry." I asked him how he might say that a little more nicely, and helped him to say, "I'm really having fun." Since he was obviously behaviorally ready for more, and since I'll be gone for Christmas and won't be able to teach him for three weeks, I didn't give it a second thought when The Maestro asked for a corn pad to be put on his cello neck so he would know where to put his fingers (he has seen the corn pad on Riley's cello). In addition to the thumb corn pad, I put stickers (of his choice, of course) on each spot for his fingers. The second most exciting moment of the lesson for me was when I looked up and saw all of the fingers on his left hand nicely and strongly curved, placed on each of the stickers.

 

As the lesson came to a close, I asked The Maestro to consider naming his bow. He named it "Gor Gur" (or something like that). The Maestro began to loosen his bow without anyone reminding him to do so. Riley asked if they could borrow a recording of Beethoven's 5 ^th Symphony, which The Maestro wanted to hear. I made the mistake of saying that I didn't like my recording. The Maestro said in a defensive voice, "I like it!" I had to explain that the recording itself was kind of funny because they used gut strings and old instruments, and the sound didn't ring out quite as much.

 

The Maestro and I gave a final bow with our cellos and bows, with the bow tip pointing to the ground. After the lesson he brought in his pretend trombone that he had made last night.

 

 

Holiday Round-up

We are on our second week without Hildegard.  After the semester ended, she flew home for Christmas, leaving us bereft of both her company and organized cello lessons.   The kids miss her terribly.  For the first few days after she left, I would come home from work and Hildr would give me her usual grinning "Daddy Home!"   She would then follow with "'Dard Home?"  No, Honey.  Hildegard isn't coming over today.

 

She had a video that she lent to us to use in lieu of lessons -- Zen and the Art of Cello Teaching, or something like that.   I suppose I should go look it up for the exact title, but my feet are warm where I am.  I would say it's a series of video-taped cello lessons a lady is giving a young girl.   Rather than having his own lesson, The Maestro gets to watch someone else's.  The Maestro has enjoyed it.  The first time he watched some of it, he was amazed that the ski jumps and knuckle knocks (two exercises designed to train his cello hand to move up and down the fingerboard) were legitimate exercises.   From his incredulous reaction, it seems he thought Hildegard had made them up to distract him while he waited for his real bow.  If they are on a video, however, they must be really real.   Funny boy.

 

Riley has gotten organized with a chart to check of what he works on everyday.  She has had vestigial versions of this before, but now that he has his real bow, she needs to keep track of his 500 demonstrated bow holds before Hildegard can check it off.   With keeping track of the 100 holds on the practice bow, she tried several versions of motivating sticker charts, including 100 glow-in-the-dark stars he could put up in his room.   All this was despite his consistent lack of motivation by sticker charts.  Since he has to show 500 this time, there is no way he can keep track of the stickers or stars or coloured-in saxophone cutouts.   She marks them down in her book, and also keeps track of whether he did knuckle knocks, or ski jumps, or slap bass, or whatever.  I think he is somewhere above 50 bow holds this week.

 

Friday we went to a friend's annual Christmas party/Concert.  Everyone invited is supposed to demonstrate a talent.   The first year I did a chemical demonstration (a clock reaction), Riley read a story and the Maestro did an impromptu demonstration of his conducting skills.   A number of people there were taking violin lessons and Riley has always credited their violin performances with starting the Maestro on his musical quest.  I disagree, but that is another post, I suppose.   Last year, I was sick, so I didn't do my own talent, but Riley gave a slide show of portraits she had taken.  I did do a brief trumpet duet with the Maestro so he could show off his "High" and "Low" notes.   A coworker of mine gave the Maestro his trumpet, and he played High notes with the bell up in the air, and low notes with the trumpet pointing down to the floor.   Then he borrowed a toy M-16 assault rifle and turned it into a bassoon for a number of months.  We finally returned it, in time for this year's party.

 

This year I was sick again (my annual holiday tradition, it seems) so I passed off my Gluten-free brownies as my talent.   Hildr skipped around the room while people performed, saying "Dancing… Dancing… Dancing…" and showed off her dress.  I think her talent is acting cute.   The Maestro and Riley played their cellos.  The Maestro showed rest position, some knuckle knocks, and "Rock and Roll", wherein he lifts his elbow to roll his bow to the higher strings.   Then, while Riley played Twinkle, he jammed.  At the conclusion, they both stood with their cellos and bowed together to thunderous applause.

At this point, Hildr had stopped dancing and wanted to explore upstairs.  She turned 18 months last week, and it was past her bedtime, so I was impressed that she had lasted that long.   Besides, she wanted some "Pink! Juice!" from the kitchen.  Apparently, after we left, the youngest performer there did "Tuck-a Tuck-a Stop Stop" on her violin.   This will become relevant momentarily.  The violin performance, I mean, not the juice.  The juice was "Licious!" though.

 

Sunday, Riley tried to get the Maestro excited for a cello practice by having him show me what he had learned.   This has never gone well.  I rarely see him have a cello practice at all, and even then, it is never one the Riley considers a good one.  So I was sitting, waiting for him to get out his cello, then to settle into his chair.  Then he didn't want to get a good bow hold.  Then he was rolling of the floor showing me one of his "tricks".   It occurred to me that he was actually working very hard to avoid showing me anything that he could do, so I went to the bathroom instead.

 

As soon as I left, I started to hear cello sounds from the other room.  From in the bathroom, it's hard to tell who is doing what.   Sometimes Riley plucks or bows on Carolyn and has the Maestro tell her what she is doing.  When it sounded like the practice was over, I came out and Riley told me the he had done "Tuck-a Tuck-a Stop Stop" on Carolyn!   So far, he had only done random sawing, or an occasional long, drawn out note.  He asked me if I had heard him play "Tuck-a Tuck-a Stop Stop", and I had heard someone play it, so I told him I had.  Then I put my hand on his shoulder and told him that I was very happy with his playing, and was really proud of him.   It was just like something out of the last five minutes of a sitcom.  You should have seen his face light up when I told him I was proud of him.

 

Riley thinks that The Maestro was motivated to do a genuine Twinkle Variation rhythm because he saw another kid did one as a performance.   I think it was sort of like a group lesson for him.  There are so many advantages to having Hildegard as the teacher; the fact that he is her only student this year and doesn't have group lessons to go to IS a disadvantage, it seems.

 

I guess it was in the book "Helping Parents Practice" that Edmund Sprunger talks about how kids so really, really don't want to disappoint their parents that it sometimes paralyzes them.   The doi9ssaz9azaa9aaAAZZXZS XSDCSS SQQsAaaqsqqwq q qqhb Maestro has some of that going on, I think, because he never wants to show me anything, but is clearly interested in my opinion of what he does.   (Hildr helped me with that last sentence)  Today, I found a way to kind of short circuit his fear of disappointing me, I think.   What I ended up seeing was the best practice I think I have ever witnessed.

 

The Maestro has been sick since Christmas Eve, and has taken a nap nearly everyday.  This is quite rare for a boy who is usually so driven to do whatever he is doing that he can't stop for meals or bathroom breaks.   You know he is tired when he says things like "I'm tired.  I want to take a nap."  Yesterday I had to wake him up from his nap, and it wasn't going well.   He and Hildr got into an argument about a puppet that they had been playing with earlier, so I got out another puppet, Dog.  In an earlier attempt to get the Maestro's brain waves straightened out, I had turned on his Cello music listening CD, and he started telling Dog about the Cello and the songs that he knew.   Dog asked him if he knew "Run Doggie", which is one of the Twinkle variations, and coincidently Dog's favourite song.  The Maestro said that he did know it, and he knew lots of other songs.

 

After dinner, The Maestro had a Cello practice, and I got Dog out again to be his audience.  I may be somewhat intimidating for him, but he had a great time showing Dog everything on his list, including a rough version of "Run Doggie".  In addition to "Run Doggie" and "Tuck-a Tuck-a Stop Stop", he did knuckle knocks, ski jumps, slap bass, sirens and rock and roll.   For the most part, he kept his feet on the carpet where they were supposed to be, and he did the "Up Like a Rocket…" song with his bow.  I haven't seen that in at least a month.   It was easily the best practice I have ever seen him do, without question. 

 

It will be interesting to see how many times giving a concert to a puppet works for him.  Will he be willing to demonstrate things to other puppets once he decides the Dog knows everything?   We have a whole drawer of puppets…

 

After he was done, he and Dog had a wrestling match.

Bow Day!

After last night’s success, the Maestro went in for a cello lesson this morning. Hildr and I stayed home, ostensibly so she could take a nap, which of course she didn’t. About an hour later, the Maestro walked into the kitchen wearing Carolyn (the cello) as a backpack. He took it off, faced it towards me and said “Guess what is in my cello case, Dad!” I could just see the tip of the bow sticking out of the holder, and he was very excited to show me.

He immediately got out his cello, set up his stool, and sat down to play. He wanted more Rosin, so Riley found some for him, and he carefully slid it up and down the bow-hair. He reminded me a little of a warrior sharpening a sword. It was all concentration and care.

Apparently, the rule is that he gets to play free-form for two minutes after having his bow-hold checked. He learned the hold pretty well on the practice bow, but the real bow is shaped differently, it is heavier, and he is exerting pressure on it. All of that is going to make it quite a different matter to maintain a proper hold.

So, he was sitting there, sawing away with a look of absolute concentration, like he was performing for the world. I asked him if he would play “Tuck-a Tuck-a Stop Stop” for me. He stopped, looked at me and said, “Don’t say that. You don’t like ‘Tuck-a Tuck-a Stop Stop’. It isn’t fun anymore.” Then he went back to Carnegie Hall in his mind. Oh. Right. I forgot.

Aside from the short quick bowing (Tremolo), he was showing good gentle Spiccato, bouncing the bow off the strings, and occasionally he would get the string to spin, pulling on it with a long draw. He did most of his play on the C-string, the one closest to his bow hand, but a few times he lifted his elbow beautifully to play one of the other strings.

One thing that is difficult for me is that I don’t know how to guide him. I found myself wanting to correct him, like telling him to hold Carolyn tighter between his knees when she starts to slip. I am not home most of the time he will play, so this is more of a problem for Riley, and I think she will have a better idea of when to intervene that I do. A couple of times this morning he stopped, looked at me as if to say “Dad, you are cramping my style” and went back to what he was doing.

He needed to stop for a snack briefly; then I went to work. I will be interested in finding out how much time they spend with Carolyn and Pablo out today. I expect he will be interested in giving me a concert when I get home later.

No More Peanuts, That's Just Silly!

Last Friday, we spent some time talking with Hildegard about the bow and the final rhythm the Maestro needs to show. She has some ideas of things to try, and also when to try them. The final rhythm, which we call “Peanuts and Popcorn” is Pea-nuts, and Pop-corn, are stuck in, my f-holes, etc. So, 1,2- rest -1,2,3- rest -1,2,3- rest etc. I guess that should start with 2,3, not 1,2. Anyway, he hasn’t been getting it.

The crew had a lesson on Wednesday, and I think it must have gone better, but no one wanted to tell me about it. Riley took the kids to Nearby Competing University (NCU) to visit some friends for the week-end. They got home Tuesday afternoon, and were pretty tired from the trip and the lesson by the time I got home from work Wednesday.

One interesting thing about the Maestro is that his best ground-breaking work comes when he isn’t at a lesson. He bowed to Hildegard for the first time in a drop-by visit at her apartment, and sang for her for the first time at her office on campus. Yesterday, she came to play in the afternoon. She also brought a new song:

“I’m Sil-ly.” “What?” “I’m Sil-ly.” “What?” This is in conversation-form, with the Maestro being silly, and her asking “What?” It follows the same 1,2,3 pattern as Peanuts and Popcorn, and the place of the rest is taken by the “What?”, so the person singing does rest, while the other person says their part.

Once they could sing it, he could show it on his Tuck-a bow. As a reward, Riley and Hildegard could grab him by the hands and feet and swing him in rhythm. Presto, the fourth rhythm was done.

The Cat Came Back, It Just Wouldn't Stay Away...

I have been worrying lately about the Maestro’s progress. I was home for Thanksgiving this past week, and was there to see him practice. Actually, I was there to see him not practice. He was all set to play other manufactured instruments in a duet while Riley played Pablo, but he wouldn’t show any of the rhythms he needs to demonstrate for Hildegard, and he wouldn’t ever get Carolyn out to play.

I emailed Hildegard this morning about whether he needs his bow to make any more progress. Something needs to change. This is how I put it in my email:

“It is open for debate whether that change needs to come from us having new ideas of ways to help him practice without pushing him, or if he would want to practice new things if he had his bow. I feel like Riley and I are out of ideas, and am leaning toward giving the bow a try. He does know two of the rhythms, and I imagine that he feels like he knows riding on my motorcycle, even if he hasn't demonstrated it yet.”

Hildegard emailed me back, saying that he has demonstrated 3 of the 4 rhythms, and that she is sure he will get the last one by the time she goes home for Christmas. She had more to say about it than that, but the gist of it was that he is super close, and we shouldn’t worry.

He had his lesson today, and I don’t know exactly what happened. I know that it didn’t go well. I gathered that he reverted to his cat persona, and licked her. There was a Sharpie marker that made someone feel sick from the fumes, and no one was happy by the time it was over.

Riley feels like the Maestro is back to testing the limits of what is acceptable. A couple of months ago, he had to come home early from a lesson because he wouldn’t stop meowing, and cats don’t get cello lessons. He was much better after that. Last week’s lesson didn’t finish well, and this week was further down-hill. I guess it is time to get tough on something. I guess this makes it REALLY not the week to just give him his bow.

Pablo?

Riley has a cello now. Hildegard checked it out from the school “for her research”. A friend of hers at work fixed some broken parts, and she replaced a couple strings, I think. It looks a little beat-up, like a cello you check out of the music department commissary might, but has a great sound.

Riley is thinking of calling it either Gregory, or Pablo. She thinks she should call it Gregory, but wants to call it Pablo. I’m not sure I understand where the dilemma comes from, but there you go.

They are going to have lessons Saturday mornings.

Week 14

Lesson Day: 11/15/06

Riley and The Maestro had an excellent practice week. Although the “Death and the Maiden” didn’t seem to go over in his last lesson, it was a hit at home. I think it helped for him to listen to the CD a lot and get it in his head. I need to make sure that Riley and The Maestro are practicing their Twinkle rhythms along with the CD as well. I’m pretty sure they are, but this should really work for The Maestro.

When he gets his bow, the first step should be for Riley to keep it separate from the cello, so it can act as a “carrot” for other practice steps. Then Riley can bow on his cello with his hand on hers, and then eventually switch to put his hand on the bow – but we’ll have to make sure that he has a lot of supervision at first and sticks to official rhythms (Twinkle rhythms or names), plus the “wiggly sirens” he has yet to learn. I’m hoping to get to this point before I leave in 3 weeks.

We started the lesson with The Maestro showing me some things he practiced at home. Ski jumps and knuckle knocks are looking great, especially with the bow hand. Riley pumped the air out of her cheeks with each of his knocks, which brought out a delightful smile and increased motivation from The Maestro.

There was some squirminess and silliness at the beginning of the lesson, and it appeared that The Maestro was testing his limits. I think I could have used a little more Love and Logic with him myself, but decided to let Riley do the disciplining and I could do the cello teaching (this is a controversial topic between different Suzuki teachers). After he called me a “bummer,” Riley’s comment “We’d have to leave our cello lesson if you talk that way” worked quite well today. I think it worked because that “threat” has been reality before. He knows she’s serious about leaving a lesson.

My instinct as a teacher was to have The Maestro first pluck the “Death and the Maiden” (hereafter called DATM) pattern without listening to the music, but I trusted Riley’s suggestion to go with the music first. This was a good choice – he wouldn’t even bring up his cello into playing position until the music started.

Riley got down on her knees and lovingly helped The Maestro figure out strings for the copy game. She provided several pats on the back and affirmative words. That seemed to really help him stay focused.

With a lot of encouragement from both of us, he showed me each of his cello fingers by number. At first, as he struggled a little bit and talked off-topic about my cello endpin. Each time I would try to bring him back to focus on his fingers he would again get off topic. I thought about my DSI readings and how children can escape into language when the motor task is too difficult. In order to help him sense each finger a little more easily, I gently rubbed the base knuckle of the finger I was asking him to show me. That seemed to help a little. I’ll have to remember to help him with that a little bit next time rather than simply sticking my hand out and waiting for a response. Smaller steps.

As promised, I showed The Maestro my endpin after he showed me each of his cello fingers. Then I asked him to show me a rhythm, which didn’t go over so well. He tried to lick my practice bow and Riley responded by asking him again if he was ready for the end bow. He got serious and then showed me a Tucka rhythm (with an extra note at the beginning and about 3 extra notes at the end). The Rocket chant went the best ever, most likely with thanks to the fact that my college students performed it for him last Friday.

The Maestro showed me an excellent bow hold, so I showed him the “The Maestro Elwood” rhythm. His face showed delight at the same time his hand went up to cover his right ear. He asked for faster and faster, so I showed him the “The Maestro K. Elwood” rhythm, as well as the “Matthias” rhythm (one of his friends). Mom tapped out the rhythm on his lap along with me as I played.

Wow, what an attention span today. After the rhythms we brought out the cello again. Some more testing of limits by putting the feet up on his cello. As I was thinking about how to get him on task, Riley found the answer by pointing to a picture of Pablo Casals in my studio. The three of us studied how his feet were flat on the floor. The lesson ended with The Maestro making a wonderful C shape (with the bow hand first and then with the cello hand), and then touched his 4th finger on his treble clef sticker.

At the end of the lesson [33:00] The Maestro played with Mini-Chester. It’s interesting to watch how this little toy gradually loses its excitement as The Maestro becomes more proficient on the real cello.

Riley Joins Up Too

Hildegard and Riley have been doing a lot of talking this week about the possibility of Riley taking Cello lessons also. They have become best-friends-forever, and Hildegard wants to give her lessons "just for fun". Riley had a lot of deep thinking, analyzing, worrying over it, and decided finally to go ahead. She has never had musical training of any sort before, and is a little nervous.

Here is what Hildegard had to say about it.


This past Sunday (11/12/06) I discovered that Riley had a sincere interest in learning the cello. Although I haven’t ever required a mother to learn the cello as well, I have taught a couple of adults and was excited by the thought of doing this. I wonder how Riley’s playing the cello will motivate The Maestro. Will it increase, or decrease? Or not make any difference? The two mothers I taught before experienced increased motivation in their children, but both cases had teenage daughters who were already quite far along. We’ll have to think about how to go about this, but I think for sure Riley’s lessons should be her own experience, distinctly separate from his. The rest will fall into place.

Heading to Class

Week 14

On Friday, Nov. 10, The Maestro, his mom, and his little sister came to observe my string methods class at school. The college students were as delighted by The Maestro as he was by them. They had been prepared beforehand with practice bows, and performed all the steps that The Maestro has been learning, including the Rocket Chant. Getting trumpet players to wave their arms and chant “round and round like the great big sun” is really something, but they were more than willing to do it for The Maestro’s sake. After they performed all of the rhythms on their practice bows, they were allowed to get out their real bows and play the same rhythms. Riley and I had hoped that this would help The Maestro see where he was headed in his cello progression. At the end of the class, I had them perform “Ode to Joy” and all the Twinkle variations for The Maestro. He hid away, which surprised me, but Riley explained later that it was too loud for him. At the end each of the students told The Maestro what their major instrument was. He nodded with understanding as they named the trumpet, bassoon, clarinet, trombone, and tuba. I asked him which was bigger, a euphonium or a tuba. He responded, “A sousaphone.”

That night the Elwoods invited me over for dinner. As I played with The Maestro and his little sister, I took opportunities here and there to talk about “first finger” or to tap out various Twinkle rhythms. After dinner I read The Maestro two bedtime stories. He chose the books. One was about a marching band, and the other about a Suzuki violin student. As I read the Suzuki book I changed the words to talk more about his own lessons, and what he would be doing in the future if he kept practicing.

Week 13

Week 13
11-9-06

The Maestro had a tricky time focusing at the beginning of his lesson. He didn’t look me in the eyes much, and needed help getting his cello out. I asked Riley to bring a visual timer they use at home, with the intention to motivate him to sit for 15 minutes by teaching him a song after that point.

The Maestro was very interested as I tuned his cello with the tuning pegs. I taught him “bird wings” but he wasn’t willing to demonstrate. Perhaps he couldn’t see how this would help him with his cello playing. Ski jumps and knuckle knocks went very well with the bow hand, but he wasn’t ready to show me the cello hand. I asked him if his cello hand was shy, and he said, “Yeah, it’s always shy.”

The copy game still works marginally for The Maestro. I haven’t determined if it is hard for him or if he’s just not interested. Sometimes he’ll do it right on except to add a note, while other times he’s quite off with all the strings. I do remember him delightfully saying, “I did it!” a couple of times in early lessons, which makes me think there is some tricky element to it for him, which might encourage the goofiness.

As soon as we switched to the practice bow, The Maestro started to squirm. Is it the motor skill requirement, or the fact that it’s not a real bow, or both? Riley sang “Curious George,” which I think they sang at home while his fingers climbed up the practice bow. After she finished, The Maestro immediately ran out of the room. I couldn’t detect any reason for this except perhaps that he would next be asked to perform. Riley encouraged him to come back in by reminding him that I had a song to teach him at the end of the lesson. I pointed to the timer and showed him how long it was until then.

After a little more squirming on the floor, Riley suggested that they show me “Stucka Stucka help-help,” where Riley pretends to get stuck in the door, pulled out by The Maestro in the first Twinkle rhythm. His whole body leaned back and forward with the beat. Riley had turned a fine motor skill into a gross motor skill in order to help him internalize and then perform the rhythm in what is most likely an easier way for him. As a reward for this rhythm “performance,” I had him help me bow that rhythm with my cello and my bow. Riley first modeled the activity for him by placing her hand on mine and “going for a ride,” but he actually imitated along with us. Then he placed his hand on mine. I could sense his excitement at this activity, feeling his grip get tighter on my hand and his arm try to take over the control of the bow. I kept physical control while providing him choices about which string we should play and at which sticker we should start each time.

The lesson ended with the song I had promised to teach him. I played a “Death and the Maiden” CD for him (Emerson SQ). He was in the process of pointing to something before the music started, and when the music played his index finger jerked back a little but stayed suspended in air as his jaw dropped and his eyes doubled in size. He listened intently, swaying his head at one point. After we listened to a short excerpt twice through, I showed him 4 notes to pluck along with the CD, landing on the first beat of each of the first four measures. As he was asked to copy along, his attention shifted dramatically and he got squirmy. Riley took the cello and demonstrated for him, imitating me. It seemed to me beforehand that this would be an easy task for The Maestro, but Riley and I decided that she would have to break it down for him at home.

He listened to the music as it continued, and as I started to talk over the music Riley immediately reached for the CD player to shut out what was most likely sensory overload not only for The Maestro but for her as well. She had allowed me to get up and turn it off every time before, but was quick to jump in this time. Orchestra teachers learn to tune out a lot of extra noise – this is not necessarily a good thing.

A couple of big motivators today. We’ll see how things progress.

Look, I'm a lead balloon!

As some of you know, I have three blogs: a work blog, a food blog, and a cello lesson blog.  I usually keep these three separate, because foodies don't usually care so much about the problems of academia, academics tend to eat what they want, and my three-year-old's music has little to do with what I am baking or working on at school.  This post is going on both my work blog and my food blog because it deals with both, plus some of my academic friends might have this problem.  What the heck, I guess I'll put it on the cello blog too, just for kicks.

 

I feel like crap.

 

I don't have celiac disease.  I don't have celiac disease, officially.  I don't have celiac disease the way so many of you have it.  I thought.  Perhaps I am wrong.

 

My son, the Maestro, has sensory-integration disfunction, sensory-processing disorder, or a bunch of other names for something that means he is really touchy about a number of things.  Sound is an easy example to explain.  He can't handle noise, but he loves music.  He would be the kid upstairs drumming and singing into the karaoke machine.  Anyone else's noise drives him up the wall, or at least makes him want to slam himself against the wall.  I think music is an ordered form of controlled noise like auditory methadone.  He doesn't like dissonance, perhaps because it feels disordered to him, and "hurts his feelings".

 

Earlier this year, we found some literature on the link between autism and certain proteins, including gluten.  Sensory Integration Disfunction is present it a lot of autism cases, so after consultation with SciFinder, we decided to give it a try.  We took the Maestro off gluten and casein, and it has made a huge difference in his ability to control his reactions to sensory input.

 

I live pretty far from the rest of my family, and have missed most of them going off wheat.  My Mom doesn't eat wheat, and all of my siblings either don't eat it, or have kids who don't or shouldn't.  My Mom had told me several times that I should give it a try, but how do you "try" going off wheat?  It is everywhere, in everything.

 

So, suddenly I have a kid who needs to eat something else.  Sorghum, or Jowar, flour is a good substitute, if you can learn how to handle it, hence the Gluten-free blog.  So I gave it a try myself, and felt a lot better.  I hadn't really felt sick, but I was tired a lot.  I fell asleep in a lot of group meetings and seminars.  I went off wheat, and I stopped being tired all the time.  That was good enough for me, I was going wheat-free for good.

 

We're pretty strict with the Maestro's diet.  We watch out for modified food starch and barley malt and dextrose for him.  I have always had a problem with oats, and now wheat.  I haven't been concerned about traces of gluten in what I ate, however.  The rest of my family claims that they feel OK eating spelt, oats and rye, so it must just be a wheat issue with us.

 

I have always had an iron stomach.  I throw up every 10 years or so.  If Riley or the kids get the stomach flu and are turning themselves inside out all over the house, I tend to feel a little queasy, but no more than that.  I can't be a celiac.  The Maestro and my little sister Rai both had the blood tests, which came out negative.  It's not celiac disease in my family.

 

Yesterday, I didn't bring enough lunch to work, and got hungry in the afternoon.  So I went to the store on the corner and bought a snack.  Hmmm.  Nestle's Crunch (with Caramel).  Tasty.

 

About ten minutes later, I was sitting at my computer when my brain did a little flip-flop in my skull.  My head hurts.  My back hurts.  I feel weak and trembly.  My head, where it doesn't hurt, feels kind of like a lead balloon --heavy and hollow at the same time.

 

Crunch contains crisped rice (rice flour, sugar, barley malt, traces of wheat gluten).  All the celiac bloggers are saying "Why did you eat that?!!  That's so stupid!  Of course you are going to feel like crap!"  Um, I don't have celiac disease, I am just wheat sensitive?  Um, I guess not.  If I don't have celiac disease, officially, I guess I need to eat like I do.  And no, I am not about to start eating in order to do the gluten challenge sufficient for an endoscopy, so don't even suggest it.  The blood test would come out negative, just like for the rest of my family, so that isn't likely to be any more helpful.

 

I had hoped I would feel better when I woke up this morning, but I don't.  Oh, and my iron stomach feels a little queasy this morning.

 

Did you know that one in between 100 and 133 people have celiac disease, depending on where you get your statistics.  This ranks it up with hyper-tension with numbers.  That is the statistic for people who don't know they have it.   You may be that one person who has celiac disease and doesn't know it.  Head-aches?  Tired or sick a lot?  Digestive problems that no one can explain?  Weird persistent rashes?  Joint problems?  Some subset of those?  It's worth looking into.  A whole generation of doctors didn't study anything about it in medical school, so you basically have to tell them about it.  If you think you have it, you should get tested for it before going off gluten, if you care about an official diagnosis.  Gee, this would have been a good post for celiac awareness month, wouldn't it?

 

It may be you.  Because it sure isn't me.  I don't have celiac disease.  I'm just wheat sensitive, right?

 

Oh, I feel like crap.

Hold it there!

Hildegard was over for dinner the other night, as I mentioned. Riley had had a tough day, and ended up confessing some of her darkest cello-related fears. The problem, these days, is that the Maestro doesn't sit with his cello. Why does he need to sit with his cello, you ask? Well, right now, he doesn't.

He has been practicing his bow holds with the practice bow. He has been doing some singing and note matching. He has been practicing his Twinkle rhythms. There are a lot of things that he needs to practice, without his cello.

The problem is really one of planning for the future. When he gets his real bow, it'll be time to sit with his cello for practices again. He is going to get his bow, and there will be a natural upswing in his interest, relative to playing viola with sticks. Unfortunately, everytime he has been more excited about practicing, it has eventually regressed to the mean.

Riley, with her gifted perfectionism, tends to think that if she handles it right this time, the Maestro will stay excited about practicing. Because, of course, the Maestro's interest is directly related to what Riley does. Actually, there is enough to that that I can't be completely sarcastic about it. If you push him, he pushes back. But really, it is in the end up to the boy, and there is only so much credit or blame we can take.

Hildegard's question on the topic was, "What do you hope to get out of cello lessons?" Suzuki philosophy is that music practice is for character development. It's very Zen, and as we all know, attachment to our expectations leads to suffering. All practice -in anything- is for character development. Chemistry practice, biking practice, meditation practice. All for the good of the boy. If he ends up playing in an orchestra someday, that's just a side-product of good practice. Peace of mind is a side-product of good practice, also, and no less important, as far as a good buddhist is concerned. In fact, peace of mind is more important.

So, if he doesn't sit with his cello as often as we want, it may be bad practice from the perspective of getting first chair. It may be valuable, if incremental, progress towards good character with peace of mind, however.

So, what is my goal? What is Riley's goal? What do we want out as a result of the investment of time and money? Riley tends to feel obligated to get a return on the investment of everyone who is helping pay for lessons. She can let go of her own attachments and expectations, sure, but she feels responsibility to hold on to the expectations she imagines that our families have.

Hildegard didn't say all of this, of course. She just asked what we would be doing with the time, if we weren't putting it into lessons. Her guess was some other character developing thing, hopefully leading to peace of mind. Because good Suzuki practice is the same as good life practice. It's all about the moment we are in, empty of both the hopes and fears of the future. It is incremental progress from where we are at.

100!! 100!! 100!!

It's been a long week. 

 

Last Saturday, we had our piano tuned.  We bought this piano for $25, which basically covered the cost of the ad and hauled it home in the back of a friend's truck.   Before we adopted it, it had lived in a coat closet for eight years,; and who knows where how often it had been played before that.  As you can imagine, it was significantly out of tune.

 

The Father of one of the Maestro's classmates at school is a piano tuner, and he was happy to take some time with it.   Parts of it were a half step off, which made for an interesting sound, you can be sure.  The pins are all in good shape, and he said it is a $500-800 piano, all told.   He tuned it twice, and it now sounds like a piano that needs to be tuned, which is actually a huge improvement.

 

The Maestro and I had to leave during the process.  The periodic banging of one note was driving him mad.   As we drove to my lab, I asked him how the noise makes him feel.  He said that it hurts his feelings.  I asked how his body felt, and he said it was good.  So, loud noises hurt his feelings.  The Maestro is three, so hurt feelings don't carry the same meaning for him of being offended that it does for me.   I think he means that his response to loud noises is emotional.  Riley says that noise makes her feel frantic.

 

We got to 100 bow-holds!  The Maestro has a pair of cousins a few years older than he is that are taking cello and violin lessons.   It took him about three minutes to figure out that he ought to learn to play the viola so they could have a good trio when we move next door to them.   He's been walking around all week with some kind of viola, usually two sticks or a piece of PVC pipe.  Riley has simply had to say "Is that your bow hand?" and he would adjust to a proper bow-hold.   We've even been able to get him to play the Tuck-a rhythm on his "viola" a few times.

 

This week his ancient violin bow lost its last three hairs.

 

The night before his lesson, Riley came down with what appears to be food poisoning, and we had to postpone the lesson until today.   Fridays are really not good days for lessons, even mini-lessons, and even lessons at Hildegard's office on campus.  He is usually tired, and likes to show-off to her friends a little too much.   Tomorrow wasn't going to work, however.  Hildegard was coming for dinner tonight, and experience has shown that lessons before a social engagement work better than lessons soon after one.

 

The report I got was that he showed her one phrase of Tuck-a rhythm, and then was more interested in showing her his home-made bass.   He's moved on from the viola…

 

Oh, and we don't have any plans to move next door to his cousins.  That's the plan he came up with, all by himself.

Lunch Time Concert

Yesterday Riley agreed to watch some of the Maestro’s friends during lunch. They were there when the Maestro got home from school. It was tough for him to deal with friends at his house when he got there, but he adjusted, and gave them a cello concert. He showed them how to hold it; he plucked for them, and explained what parts of the cello you aren’t allowed to touch.

He is up to 95 bow-holds.

Looking for Inspiration

In the Teachers post yesterday, she wondered whether I have any insight on the issue of routine vs. getting bored. This was my response.

What kind of insight are you looking for? He does like familiar routines, and familiar settings, but gets bored by repetition. This seems like a contridiction. Whenever we need to change anything in his room, we have to prepare him in advance, and then it doesn't always work. He has a "Baby is Sleeping" Sign above his bed that has always been there, and he continues to ask for whenever it is moved. Now that he has a board with Glow-in-the-dark stars in front of it, we could possibly move it out. He had Bob's Red Mill totally awesome yummy GF cereal this morning, with honey. He ate it all up. Now, he probably won't eat it for at least three days, and if he does, he will refuse it for a week after that. I'm not sure how this is related to his intellectual development.

He loves to learn things, and can put intense effort into something until he decides that he has got it. I don't know if this is accurate or not, but it almost seems like when we try to ask him about something that he knows well, or try to teach him something that he has already learned, he feels slightly insulted. Like, "I already KNOW that, D-ay-ad! Review is always going to be a challenge for us, because it won't seem like a challenge for him. This is part of getting him to show you the rythmns for the Twinkle variations. He knows them, absolutely, no question in my mind. Occasionally I hear him humming them. When you ask him to show you, though, he feels like you would if I asked you to show me that you can feed yourself. You wouldn't do it. You'd make a joke of it instead, like sticking the spoon in your nose. He adds one more knock, just to tease you.

You remember the fabric swing in his room? It used to be tied unevenly, so the entrance on one side was higher than the entrance on the other. For probably two months, everytime we used it, he would argue about which hole was the up-high hole. When you tried to help him get in, he would try to use the other hole, because "this one is the up-high hole!" It was rather frustrating, because he would never believe you when you told him it wasn't. Well, one day, he gave away his fun and told Riley that he knew the whole time which hole was which, and was just tryng to get her. Arrrgh!

Anyway, if you go far enough outside the context of "show me that you know this rythmn" he should be able to demonstrate that. The thought I had was if you built a drum set with him, and had him give you a drum concert, perhaps you could request that he play Twinkle for you.

It has to be difficult enough to maintain flow, otherwise he won't play along. It's more fun to leave you wondering whether he knows what you are asking, or not.

The problem, as Hildegard points out, is that he needs to be able to perform for people, demonstrating what he knows, without just saying "I already know that, D-ay-ad!" Any commentators who have ideas are welcome to let us know.

Week 11

Danny went right in to the studio today, but without his cello and on his hands and knees. That kitty really wanted to romp and play today. Riley gave Danny a choice of being a boy or going home. He expressed desire for a lesson but appeared to be fighting his wiggly body. The boy did win out eventually.

Riley helped him again with the greeting bow. He was very good at pulling out his endpin and plucking his strings so I could tune his cello. I had him count how many plucks I did, and then try to imitate. He accomplished one out of three or so but it was hard to tell if he was purposely adding an extra one each time. I laughed and asked him if he was being silly and he gave a big grin. I wanted to do some knuckle knocks and ski jumps, but he was ready to switch to the practice bow. We talked about how many bow holds he has done (91) and praised him for that. He doesn’t understand how many that is, but Riley reported that they had counted all the fingers and toes in the house to help him try and understand. He got kind of wiggly as I sang “Up Like A Rocket.” He loves new ideas but tires easily of repetition. I think this is one unique thing about Danny – most kids I’ve worked with love the familiar. Danny’s dad may have some insight into this. Riley is great at creative ways of saying the same thing, so I’m glad for her ability to keep him interested that way.

We did add a new activity of finger bowing with the practice bow on his first finger. He did quite well. Riley can have him go from green to red as well as green to yellow with various Twinkle rhythms. I got behind him and helped him bow on his finger. He wanted to lean backward on me, so that activity didn’t last very long. Riley got him focused again by offering her foot to bow on. Danny got wiggly again after a few more repetitions, so I showed him the rhythm handshake with bow hands and palms facing. Although I was leading the rhythm, I could feel him moving with me in the “tucka” rhythm. He even got a little dance groove going there for a bit!

With all his wiggles, Danny still lasted for a good 15 minutes. He’s so excited by music and sound, and he appears to be really trying to keep his body wiggle-free long enough to work on some fine motor skills. Perhaps we can practice some gross motor skills next week. I’ll ask Riley to practice some fun dancing games with Danny in their “practice” this week, to the tucka rhythm of course, that they can do for me at his next lesson. Maybe moving his feet on a chart to colors that correspond with his practice bow?

My original plan was to have 2 lessons a week, 15 minutes each, which is common with a 3-year-old. With crazy schedules and with Danny’s longer attention span at first, I neglected to consider that. Perhaps this is something to think about again. Maybe an extra lesson when practice has gone especially well? Or just more mini-lessons at my office again?

Tuck-a That Sticky Eyeball Somewhere Else!

Today is lesson day again. I will be interested to see what will happen. We've lost momentum again, and something different needs to happen with the Tuck-a Bow. The Maestro doesn't seem to make any connection between practicing his bowing rythmns on his Tuck-a Bow and what he is planning to do with his Cello with his real bow. No mental connection, no motivation.

We had a couple of really good days with practice bow holds. Riley came up with a game that the Maestro really liked, and they did like 20 in one day. A friend of mine gave me a sticky rubber eyeball for the Maestro. He loves it, and loves to throw it against the wall to see it stick. Whoever demonstrated a proper bow-hold got to throw it, and the Maestro would run and get it afterwards. Of course, that worked well for one day, and decently for another day, leaving us 9 bowholds short of 100.

Hildegard said that she has some ideas to try with the Tuck-a Bow. She has been working on some kind of assignment in which she interviews other Suzuki Teachers, and new plans came out of some of her interviews. Her string orchestra gave a concert last night. Riley went after the Maestro went to bed, and Hildr was SUPPOSED to go to bed.

Hildr has started having Cello practices. It's much taller than she is, and she can't keep her bow hand and her cello hand straight, but she loves pointing out the parts of the cello she knows. She has picked up the name of the scroll, and the neck. Pirfling is next, I think.

Week 10

The Maestro came on Saturday morning because his sister was sick on Wednesday. Last night was quite exciting and between that, The Maestro’s sleepiness today, and perhaps the rush around his house to get things ready for a church event, The Maestro wasn’t quite up to a lesson. He really did try, but he struggled from the beginning. A bump on his cello (he ran into the studio with the cello and it knocked against the door frame) started him out with slight correction from me. That might have made things difficult. Opening the case took a while, and so did bowing. Other distracting factors were all the new posters in the room. With some encouragement from Riley he got the cello out and eventually managed a bow. Riley bowed with him to make it easier.

I tuned the cello and he was able to tell me all the string names just from me plucking them and him hearing them.

Today several things were practiced and learned, but the less formal the approach, the better he responded. For instance, I was able to get him to show me his cello fingers by number only after we played a little with our thumbs, which we have never talked about or numbered.

He finally got on track but then I switched to the practice bow, and as soon as I asked, “Do you want to practice?” he crawled out of the room like a kitty. It has apparently taken some real creativity at home for Riley to keep him doing his exercises, and “practice” may be a bad choice of words on my part. After some meowing and a trip to the bathroom, The Maestro decided he was done for the day. He was asked to bow in order to be able to play with Mini-Chester, so the kitty became a boy long enough for a bow.

Outside of the studio he played with Mini Chester and managed a great bow hold considering the tiny size of the bow. Thumb bent and everything. He demonstrated a down bow, starting at the frog, and an up bow. The bow hold is there – he managed to get it down before the suggested 100 times. That’s fantastic. Hooray for Riley’s patience and creativity. Now we just have to have him perform rhythms before he can get his real bow. Perhaps he can demonstrate the Twinkle Variation rhythms by clapping or tapping and show me that next week.

Things to practice (play) J at home:

-Variation Rhythms – tapping, singing with words, clapping, dancing, etc.
-Finger numbering (this is very easy to do at random times throughout the day)
-Practice bow games (Rocket, monkey, windshield wipers, train)
-Tucka bow with stickers to help show down bow and up bow
-Knuckle knocks and ski jumps
-Finish up the 100 bow holds (practice makes permanent – we want to keep them good. Maybe 1-3 per day or whatever approach works best)

2:30 p.m.
I just got off the phone with my dear friend and Suzuki master teacher P. today. She was so delighted to hear about The Maestro and had a lot of great ideas for tucka-bow practice. When I told her about the small practices throughout the day rather than one big practice, she exclaimed, “That is perfect! That is the ideal! Suzuki said that 2 minutes of joy is worth much more than 15 minutes of struggle.” So we’re on the right track with practice, and we have some things we can try with the bow.

Plucking for Dinner

Right before dinner tonight The Maestro said something to Riley about doing the pizzicato song. I didn’t know what he meant, but Riley went over to the computer and turned on the 4th movement of the Elgar Cello Concerto. I had recommended this as listening, along with a few other pieces, but didn’t know they had picked it up from the library. I started air-bowing and fingering along, quite expressively (and ridiculously) as you all can imagine. The Maestro immediately ran out of the room. I worried that I had scared him, but he came back in a few seconds with his old, beaten up violin that he has had as a toy for some time. He asked for Riley to “play it again.” She started the 4th movement over again. For those of you who know the piece, you remember that there’s an ad lib cello part at the beginning, with a very noticeable one-note, forte (or is it sfz?) tutti pizzicato in the orchestra. Right on cue and right on the beat, The Maestro plucked his old violin with the rest of the orchestra. I roared with laughter, absolutely stunned that he was able to do this, and also delighted that he and I were sharing one of my favorite games with one of my favorite pieces. The Maestro’s parents got out his cello, and we spent the next 5-10 minutes playing the beginning of the movement over and over, with The Maestro saying, “Play it again!” It appeared that he was motivated both by the fun of playing with the orchestra and also by the delight on my face. He said more than once, “Look at my teacher!”
This past summer, the very first time Riley and I spoke about getting The Maestro in music lessons somewhere, Riley mentioned that The Maestro learned differently from other kids. I told her, a little arrogantly, that a good teacher would be able to teach in The Maestro’s learning style. I had only a slight (intuitive) idea that I was speaking to myself as his future teacher. Tonight’s Elgar activity was a good reminder that I do need to meet his needs and not follow a particular teaching method by rote. Riley mentioned tonight that The Maestro isn’t practicing the way that she would like him to. After some thought, I’m convinced that The Maestro isn’t practicing the way that she imagines a Suzuki student should practice, or the way she imagines I want him to practice. It’s possible she has some ideal practice image in her mind and is afraid they’re not meeting that ideal. But if The Maestro can pluck the Elgar orchestra pizzicato (and, incidentally, Riley can conduct it absentmindedly while carrying on a conversation about something else), some sort of practicing has obviously gone on at their house. Riley had an idea to study the lesson notes when he isn’t around, kind of like I study the Sunday school lesson when I’m not actually with the kids so I can “wing it” later. Then she can catch him at random moments, when he is ready for a small bit of music, and make those moments relevant to what I’ve taught in lessons. Tiny moments throughout the day can really add up – and might be more effective than one small 15-minute session each day. The most important thing is not what Suzuki or T.C. or S.P. would do, but what The Maestro needs. Now I’ve just got to think of how to manage things from my end. I’m not nearly as creative as Riley. Time for prayer.

Cresting over my shoulder

My office hour is about to start. We'll see if anyone comes today, or if I get this post finished today.

We've had a good summer and fall, puke-wise. The Maestro traditionally goes on a food-strike whenever he gets a cold, because the mucus ends up in his stomach, and anything else that goes in makes him throw up. I blame Riley's genes for this. I think that not eating wheat has helped him. He's only had one cold since the spring, that I remember, and he didn't throw up with it.

Hildr has a cold right now. Tuesday night, she wouldn't eat any dinner, and just wanted to lay with her head on my shoulder. About 1:30 in the morning, I was laying in bed, listening to her softly gagging in the other room. I wasn't worried, because she has always insisted on sleeping on her stomach, much to the horror of pediatricians everywhere. (Riley is now upset that I have shared this with the world.) Soon, however, she fully woke up and started to cry. I didn't think that she would go back to sleep without some soymilk, because she didn't eat any dinner; and low-blood sugar does that to my kids. Riley blames my genes for this. So I got up, helped her drain a sippy-cup, and she fell asleep in my arms.

As I was slowly lowering her back into her crib, it happened. Hack! Puking down into her bed understandably woke her up, and she was upset. It was dark, so I didn't know how much had come up, and how much was on her, or anything. I started down the hall to the bathroom, but only made it into the hallway before round two started. I stepped back into her bedroom, on the spot just between the hallway carpet and the area rug. Once I was over linoleum, I just stood there as the waves of sticky soymilk vomit crested over my right shoulder and cascaded down my back and onto the floor. Once, twice, three times a lady.

It turned out that Hildr was relatively clean, and Riley took her to bed while I cleaned everything up. This is not among my favorite reasons to need a shower at 1:30 in the morning.

I made it back to bed to find that Hildr had developed Twitchy-leg syndrome, and wouldn't stop kicking me. This will not do. I started to take her back to her bed and made it almost to the door when I discovered that her stomach wasn't empty yet. Oops. Luckily, the dirty laundry basket was handy and she was pointed mostly away from me.

I decided that I could sleep better on the couch.

Wednesday is the Maestro's usual day for his cello lesson. It didn't happen this week. He is still 15 bow holds away from his real bow, and I think he has to be able to show Hildegard that he can do a whole variation of Twinkle on his Tucka Bow. Riley thinks he needs to be able to do all the variations, but I don't remember Hildegard saying that. That's not an issue until he does 15 more bow holds and can show Hildegard one variation, so not today, at least. I think we've rescheduled for Saturday/

Week 9 ski-jumps

Bright, gifted boy inside a wiggly body. How must it feel to be the one inside?

The Maestro continues to make progress. He’s no longer motivated by the practice bow, figuring that he “got it” a while back. I see where he’s coming from, and that’s why we’re adding lots of other games and tricks to keep him going in the meantime. It’s of course human to tire of repetition, but since repetition is one of the pillars of the Suzuki method, well, that’s how things need to be. Riley has been very creative in making those repetitions interesting, but it has been tricky when The Maestro has been sick. I forgot to do the practice bow games today (windshield wipers, stirring, train, monkey). I need to teach the rocket chant to Riley so she can chant to him.

I love the video camera because I notice many things when I watch as an outsider. I wonder if I were to graph the amount of praise and love he received from both Riley and myself in the last three lessons, if it would correlate with his ability to sit on the chair. There are many factors of course, but the love and praise certainly don’t hurt. I noted in his most productive lesson (the first on tape) that his mom’s hand continually reached over to help him sit in cello position, followed by a small back rub. I was a little more positive than last week (the least productive of the three taped lessons), and Riley was a little more touchy than last week. She gave The Maestro a hug after the concluding bow.

The Maestro learned lots of new games today in order to keep him motivated to practice. He learned knuckle knocks, ski jumps, finger numbers, and two spots on the fingerboard (harmonic, with 3rd finger; and shoulder, with 1st finger). This should help motivate him to pull out the cello each day this week.
Bow directions are coming along nicely with the practice bow. He will need to practice starting “down bow” on the tucka bow (he started “up” today). His rhythm is excellent, however. It is time to teach him a strong thumb vs. springy thumb. He loves the springy thumb so much that his springing action might be impeding the bow hold progress – it’s too wiggly for “real life.”

For only nine lessons, The Maestro is doing delightfully. We are now taking for granted that today he unpacked the cello, bowed, sat in his chair, did the flower dance, held a practice bow, did the Twinkle rhythm on a tucka bow, showed me his right/bow hand and his left/cello hand, imitated the sounds I plucked, and even recognized a picture of Bach. He is sitting so well with the cello now that I often forget I need to remind him how to hold it. I taught him a couple of ski jumps with him holding the cello neck on the opposite side

Ski Jumps!

I was a little late getting home today, and everyone had eaten dinner without me. I came in the front door, and had barely set my backpack down when the Maestro was yelling something about ski jumps and opening his cello case.

He wanted to show me the new things he learned at his lesson today. I gathered from what he said that he used his left hand, or cello hand, to slide down the strings to the end of the finger board, and then PLUCK! he jumps off the end. He also learned to knock, with a fist, down the length of the finger board. These excercises are apparently designed to help prepare him for fingering notes later.

He didn't get his real bow, but was so happy about the new way to pluck that he didn't even seem to notice.

While the Maestro was showing me his new tricks, Hildr decided to play cello too. She lies down in the cello case and pulls it closed over her. I refrained from zipping her inside this time. Riley says that we shouldn't play that game anymore...

Tuck-a Bow and Songgs

This is one of those posts that feel like I need to just put things down without analyzing them too much, other wise, nothing will get written. I like to be eloquent, but it's either an eloquent post that never gets written, or a rough update that does…

My last post was right after a lesson that wasn't the best the Maestro has ever had. It seems like everyone it treating it like part of the cyclical nature of a three-year-old's temperament, rather than a problem that needs addressing. I guess I'm used to being in panic mode around here, and was pleasantly surprised to find that no one was worried about it.

We continue to work on the practice bow-holds, colouring in instruments on a plastic coated card-stock when he does some. Originally, we had planned to have all one hundred finished by this Wednesday, but I'm not sure now that that is going to happen. Both the Maestro and Hildr have had colds all weekend, and haven't been the best at co-operating. Hildr likes to fall asleep best with me holding her hand, or her head, and the Maestro has had a very short fuse in regards to a lot of things.

I realized this morning that this is the first time I can think of that the Maestro has gotten sick and was still willing to eat food. Knock on wood. Usually he gets a runny nose and immediately goes on a soy-milk only diet. Sometimes he even swears off that, refusing to consume anything at all. He's a little skinny, in case you wondered. I think his nervous system is starting to catch up with where it needs to be. He isn't totally worn out by the sensory demands of school, and he can feel sick and keep eating. This is progress, even if it interrupts the bow hold routine.

The Teacher stopped by last night to put some stickers on the finger board of Carolyn, the Cello. She didn't explain why she did this, I think so he will be curious about them at his lesson. She promised to tell him about them then.

She also helped us build a "Tucka Bow." The fist variation of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" that he will learn is a variation on the rhythm. Tuck-a Tuck-a Stop, Stop. Tuck-a Tuck-a Stop, Stop. The Tucka Bow is a large dowel, about ¾ of an inch diameter, with a thick paper cylinder around it, about 10 cm wide. There are two elastic bands that keep the paper from sliding too far in either direction. The Practice Bow is to work on holding the bow. The Tuck-a Bow is to work on the bowing motion. He holds it near the end in his left hand while his right hand slides the paper up and down in the rhythm of the first variation, Tuck-a Tuck-a Stop, Stop.

We went to the part tonight to burn off energy from napping. All the way home we sang "Tuck-a Tuck-a Stop, Stop." Of course there was lots of "Pop, Pop," and "Tuck-a Tuck-a Wop, Nop," going on as well. That's just the way we roll in this family. We live on the edge.

So I don't know what will happen at his lesson this week. We have built up this next lesson as the one at which he gets his real bow back, after doing all his bow-holds. He gets to learn about the stickers on Carolyn, and he gets to see what's inside that poster-tube that the Teacher was carrying. I'm not sure he can handle having all the anticipation and then being told that he was a dozen bow-holds short. What a mess that would be…

We seem to be going full-steam ahead though. His bow-holds look good when he does them, so hopefully that isn't going to be a problem. Whether he is allowed to put his real bow on his strings, when he gets it, that could be a bigger issue for him. I will let Riley and the Teacher get that figured out, though.

On a non-Maestro note, Hildr has decided that she loves music too. She keeps asking for "Songg!" so she can dance around the living room. The Maestro always responded well to music; sometimes it was the only thing that would get him to calm down. I don't remember him requesting it the way she does, though. And, she loves to dance while he never would. He, at three and a half, has only recently begun doing the actions for kid's songs when asked. Even so, it depends on who is doing the asking. Hildr calls for the Songg! and prances up and down the room regularly.