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.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Thursday, October 26, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
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?
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.
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.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, October 20, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
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/
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
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
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...
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...
Sunday, October 08, 2006
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.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Speculative Speculations
Apparently the lesson today didn't go terribly well. When I get home, the Maestro probably won't want to talk about it, and Riley will want to talk about it a lot.
Some speculative speculations on my part have to do with something that happened on Sunday. We stopped by Hildegard's apartment for something non-lesson related, and he didn't realize that he wasn't getting a lesson. It was late, he'd had a long day, and he didn't handle the disappointment very well. As we drove home, he talked about not getting to have cello lessons anymore. I think he associated it with the time he was told that the Teacher didn't want to teach kitties anymore, and he had to go home without getting a lesson. We talked to him about how much Hildegard likes being the Teacher, and how she tells all of her friends about him. He seemed to agree, but perhaps he wasn't convinced. The last time he felt threatened with not having lessons anymore, he got a mini-lesson a couple of days later where he successfully demonstrated his bows for the first time. It was all positive, and didn't threaten his competance at all, because they stopped there. Maybe a short lesson to build his confidence in himself, and in his relationship with the Teacher would have gone better today? I'm not sure that any of us needed to have predicted that.
The other theory I have to consider is that he hates being pushed. One time recently I wanted him to use the toilet before we went somewhere, and he didn't want to. After "encouraging" him, he looked at me and said "Dad, don't push me. You remember the last time you were pushing me, and I said 'Don't push me!'?" Trying to get him to do 10 bowholds a day, which of course he isn't going to want to do, may have made him feel pushed. His natural response to that is passive; he simply stops doing what you want. Hopping like a frog is new, however.
He's really making good progress, and could have his real bow by next week, as I understand it, if we can get this figured out.
Some speculative speculations on my part have to do with something that happened on Sunday. We stopped by Hildegard's apartment for something non-lesson related, and he didn't realize that he wasn't getting a lesson. It was late, he'd had a long day, and he didn't handle the disappointment very well. As we drove home, he talked about not getting to have cello lessons anymore. I think he associated it with the time he was told that the Teacher didn't want to teach kitties anymore, and he had to go home without getting a lesson. We talked to him about how much Hildegard likes being the Teacher, and how she tells all of her friends about him. He seemed to agree, but perhaps he wasn't convinced. The last time he felt threatened with not having lessons anymore, he got a mini-lesson a couple of days later where he successfully demonstrated his bows for the first time. It was all positive, and didn't threaten his competance at all, because they stopped there. Maybe a short lesson to build his confidence in himself, and in his relationship with the Teacher would have gone better today? I'm not sure that any of us needed to have predicted that.
The other theory I have to consider is that he hates being pushed. One time recently I wanted him to use the toilet before we went somewhere, and he didn't want to. After "encouraging" him, he looked at me and said "Dad, don't push me. You remember the last time you were pushing me, and I said 'Don't push me!'?" Trying to get him to do 10 bowholds a day, which of course he isn't going to want to do, may have made him feel pushed. His natural response to that is passive; he simply stops doing what you want. Hopping like a frog is new, however.
He's really making good progress, and could have his real bow by next week, as I understand it, if we can get this figured out.
Week Eight Mummary
Last week was so spectacular that it didn’t surprise me to have a less than productive lesson today. Riley emailed me yesterday to tell me that things hadn’t gone quite so well in practice. She wrote:
The Maestro had really stalled out on his bow hold enthusiasm, so I'm getting creative. Last night for [family time] I put together 3 more practice bows, so we all did the bow exercises (lined up side to side, we were a sight!!), today if The Maestro does 10 bow holds (2 down, 8 to go), I told him we could come see your orchestra practice. We'll see how it goes...
They did show up for the practice, and watched about 15 minutes. The Maestro’s favorite part, at least from what I could tell, was when I asked him to listen to how soft the instruments could play.
From the beginning of the lesson it was obvious that The Maestro wasn’t as motivated today. Last week he charged right in the apartment and went straight to the studio. Today, he stayed outside the apartment to play with the leaves. He came in the studio but twirled on the chair, in no rush to get out his cello. He pulled his tongue out at me in a playful way. He did bow, play cello gymnastics, and a little of the copy game (he’s really improving). I suggested that Riley help practice this with him by plucking his cello. He was thrilled to discover the ring of the C peg in his ear.
His practice bow was falling apart, and I made the mistake of trying to fix it during the lesson. [19:20] I asked him to sing Twinkle with Riley, and (in order to test his ear) asked him to sing a D. He sang “Deeeee” dead on, while spinning on his chair restlessly. I restrained my excitement (probably a mistake – I don’t know if he realized he had done it right and probably could have used the positive reinforcement). Riley then came over and tried to sing a D with him. This time he sang “Twinkle” but was too high. I asked him to help Riley sing the right note by asking if she was too high or too low. His patience was gone and he jumped out of the room like a frog. I’m always curious as to why he suddenly is ready to stop the lesson. What lost his motivation? I wonder: (a) was it a coincidence that he sang the D the first time? (b) Does he know what a D sounds like, but doesn’t realize that Twinkle should always start on a D? (c) Did he lose excitement and give up on the lesson because he thought he had sung the right note, but then got confused when Riley said, “The Maestro, should we try to sing that note?” (d) was he confused when Riley sang a perfect Bb, exactly 2 notes under pitch?
Even the mini cello seemed more like routine and less like fun today. I’m not ready to get discouraged – all three of us had stuffy noses, sore throats, and were plenty tired. Things will look up once we get our energy back.
In the meantime, Riley should continue to practice rhythms with him, both clapping or tapping (i.e., the copy game with rhythms) at any time during the day. The Twinkle CD should be a daily part of listening life. Finally, Riley and I should do some singing exercises without The Maestro, to focus her own pitch center. She has a beautiful, beautiful voice (much nicer than mine) when she sings with piano accompaniment, but since she hasn’t had vocal training the tonal center can waver when she sings a capella. I wonder if she would trust me enough to do some singing practice together.
I’d like to try another mini lesson later in the week to see how his air-bowing rhythms are coming. I might steal a bow frame from S.P. or make one myself.
The Maestro had really stalled out on his bow hold enthusiasm, so I'm getting creative. Last night for [family time] I put together 3 more practice bows, so we all did the bow exercises (lined up side to side, we were a sight!!), today if The Maestro does 10 bow holds (2 down, 8 to go), I told him we could come see your orchestra practice. We'll see how it goes...
They did show up for the practice, and watched about 15 minutes. The Maestro’s favorite part, at least from what I could tell, was when I asked him to listen to how soft the instruments could play.
From the beginning of the lesson it was obvious that The Maestro wasn’t as motivated today. Last week he charged right in the apartment and went straight to the studio. Today, he stayed outside the apartment to play with the leaves. He came in the studio but twirled on the chair, in no rush to get out his cello. He pulled his tongue out at me in a playful way. He did bow, play cello gymnastics, and a little of the copy game (he’s really improving). I suggested that Riley help practice this with him by plucking his cello. He was thrilled to discover the ring of the C peg in his ear.
His practice bow was falling apart, and I made the mistake of trying to fix it during the lesson. [19:20] I asked him to sing Twinkle with Riley, and (in order to test his ear) asked him to sing a D. He sang “Deeeee” dead on, while spinning on his chair restlessly. I restrained my excitement (probably a mistake – I don’t know if he realized he had done it right and probably could have used the positive reinforcement). Riley then came over and tried to sing a D with him. This time he sang “Twinkle” but was too high. I asked him to help Riley sing the right note by asking if she was too high or too low. His patience was gone and he jumped out of the room like a frog. I’m always curious as to why he suddenly is ready to stop the lesson. What lost his motivation? I wonder: (a) was it a coincidence that he sang the D the first time? (b) Does he know what a D sounds like, but doesn’t realize that Twinkle should always start on a D? (c) Did he lose excitement and give up on the lesson because he thought he had sung the right note, but then got confused when Riley said, “The Maestro, should we try to sing that note?” (d) was he confused when Riley sang a perfect Bb, exactly 2 notes under pitch?
Even the mini cello seemed more like routine and less like fun today. I’m not ready to get discouraged – all three of us had stuffy noses, sore throats, and were plenty tired. Things will look up once we get our energy back.
In the meantime, Riley should continue to practice rhythms with him, both clapping or tapping (i.e., the copy game with rhythms) at any time during the day. The Twinkle CD should be a daily part of listening life. Finally, Riley and I should do some singing exercises without The Maestro, to focus her own pitch center. She has a beautiful, beautiful voice (much nicer than mine) when she sings with piano accompaniment, but since she hasn’t had vocal training the tonal center can waver when she sings a capella. I wonder if she would trust me enough to do some singing practice together.
I’d like to try another mini lesson later in the week to see how his air-bowing rhythms are coming. I might steal a bow frame from S.P. or make one myself.
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