A Monday Well Spent

The Girl and I traversed to our beautiful state capitol this weekend so she could compete in the Texas State Solo and Ensemble Competition today. Per the rules, she played the third movement, the Rondo (Allegro) from Stamitz' Flute Concerto in G (scroll down to Stamitz and click on 3. Rondo (Allegro) for a pretty crappy MIDI file that will at least give you the general idea of what she did). This is same solo she played at the Regional competition back in February but this time she nailed that tricky run that's bedeviled her since she started working on it last summer. The adjudicator wrote glowing happy gushy things on the feedback sheet and for her near flawless performance, The Girl earned herself a Division 1, which entails a gold medal and another entry on her already kick ass high school resume. Oh yeah, then there's the bonus: she just wrote her own ticket for a full-ride scholarship to any university in the state. Funny thing is that although she's excited and proud of her rating, she's even more pleased that she nailed that run.

To ice that cake, she received a phone call from a potential employer 5 minutes later asking that she come in for a job interview tomorrow. All's right with the world.

No Kidding...

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She Got It!

Okay so (Queso? I love queso!) for the next two years, if you ever come to our little town of Fundietonfieldvilleview, Texas or any of a number of other tiny Texas towns on a Friday night during football season, the girl on the podium - you know - the cute blonde one wearing the cape and directing the band? That will be my very own Girl. That's right. The Girl got drum major and when the announcement was made, she received a standing ovation from the band she'll be leading for the next 2 years. She's worked very hard to earn it, but while she was learning the music she was to conduct for tryouts, she was also helping the other kids who would be competing against her with their conducting skills. She's so amazing. I want to be like her when I grow up.

A Beatbox Flute - Who Knew?!

We had the joy of watching Greg Pattillo and PROJECT at the Texas Flute Society's annual festival today. What a talented group of musicians! They were just as much fun to watch as they were fun to listen to. We liked them so much that we bought their new CD online at CDBaby.com. I recommend it highly.

Speaking of the flute festival, The Girl performed her solo for a clinician in preparation for next week's All State Solo & Ensemble competition. The clinician was impressed with The Girl's style and playing ability - especially for her age. I tell ya' the kid's a rock star!

Hat Trick Plus 2

We just returned home from the annual Fundietonfieldvilleview High School academic awards ceremony. The Girl came home with the Outstanding Band Student award for the 5th straight year. She sooooo rocks. Hardcore. Drum major tryouts are Thursday. Keep your fingers crossed.

They Can't Be Serious

There are 13 days left in the school year. The Girl had to be at school 30 minutes early today to attend a mandatory assembly regarding the proper debarkation of school buses in the event of an emergency. The Girl only rides the bus ten to fifteen times a year - mostly to and from band events since she transfers into Fundietonfieldvilleview ISD and their buses no longer run past our house (they stopped 2 weeks after The Girl transferred in, despite over 30 years of prior daily drive-bys, but that's another story). However, there are plenty of other kids who ride the bus to and from school every day plus to and from band or other extracurricular activities and have been doing so since school started back in August. Please feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, but shouldn't this morning's festivities have been presented at the beginning of the school year - or am I the stupid one here?

For All the Moms

I got this in an email today and just wanted to share it with you in honor of Mother's Day.

This is for the mothers who have sat up
all night with sick toddlers in their arms,
wiping up barf laced with Oscar Mayer
wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying,
'It's okay honey, Mommy's here.'

Who have sat in rocking chairs for hours on end soothing crying babies who can't be comforted.

This is for all the mothers who show up at
work with spit-up in their hair and milk stains
on their blouses and diapers in their purse.

For all the mothers who run carpools and
make cookies and sew Halloween costumes.
And all the mothers who don't.

This is for the mothers who gave birth to
babies they'll never see. And the mothers
who took those babies and gave them homes.

This is for the mothers whose priceless art
collections are hanging on their refrigerator doors.

And for all the mothers who froze their buns on metal bleachers at football or soccer games instead of watching from the warmth of their cars.
And that when their kids asked, 'Did you see me, Mom?' they could say, 'Of course, I wouldn't have missed it for the world,' and mean it.

This is for all the mothers who yell at their kids in the grocery store and swat them in despair when they stomp their feet and scream for ice cream before dinner. And for all the mothers who count to ten instead, but understand how child abuse happens.

This is for all the mothers who sat down with
their children and explained all about making
babies. And for all the (grand)mothers who
wanted to, but just couldn't find the words.

This is for all the mothers who go
hungry, so their children can eat.

For all the mothers who read 'Goodnight,
Moon' twice a night for a year. And then
read it again, 'Just one more time.'

This is for all the mothers who taught
their children to tie their shoelaces before
they started school. And for all the mothers
who opted for Velcro instead.

This is for all the mothers who teach their sons
to cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot.

This is for every mother whose head turns automatically when a little voice calls 'Mom?' in a crowd, even though they know their
own offspring are at home -- or even away
at college -- or have their own families.

This is for all the mothers who sent their kids
to school with stomach aches, assuring them
they'd be just FINE once they got there, only
to get calls from the school nurse an hour later
asking them to please pick them up. Right away.

This is for mothers whose children have gone
astray, who can't find the words to reach them.
For all the mothers who bite their lips until they
bleed when their 14 year olds dye their hair green.

For all the mothers of the victims of school shootings, and the mothers
of those who did the shooting.

For the mothers of the survivors,
and the mothers who sat in front of their TVs in horror,
hugging their child who just came home from school, safely.

This is for all the mothers who taught their
children to be peaceful, and now pray
they come home safely from a war.

What makes a good mother anyway?
Is it patience? Compassion? Broad hips?
The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, balance the checkbook and
sew a button on a shirt, all at the same time?

Or is it in her heart?
Is it the ache she feels when she
watches her son or daughter disappear
down the street, walking to school alone
for the very first time?

The jolt that takes her from sleep to
dread, from bed to crib at 2 A.M. to put
her hand on the back of a sleeping baby?

The panic, years later, that comes again
at 2 A.M. when she just wants to hear
their key in the door and know they
are safe again in her home?

Or the need to flee from wherever she is
and hug her child when she hears news
of a fire, a car accident, a child dying?

The emotions of motherhood are
universal and so our thoughts are for
young mothers stumbling through diaper
changes and sleep deprivation...
And for mature mothers learning to let go.

For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers.

Single mothers and married mothers.

Mothers with money, mothers without.

This is for you all. For all of us...

Hang in there. In the end we can
only do the best we can. Tell them
every day that we love them. And pray
and never stop being a mother...

Dear Receptionist Person

The fact that you only make $6 an hour is no excuse for your glaring lack of professionalism. The office in which we work is staffed with no less than three people who hold doctoral degrees, not just the one whose name is on the door. When you speak to one of us directly, please feel free to call us by our first names - we all have to work together and we prefer to keep things collegial. However, when speaking to patients or agencies about us, please refer to us by our correct professional title: DOCTOR Insertlastnamehere. We all worked very hard to earn those degrees while you were off smoking hashish in the woods somewhere frying your brain cells to the point where they no longer function adequately. To refer to us by our first names undermines our professional credibility with both the patients and the agencies that refer business to us. Between the paper thin walls, shabby worn-out 1980's furniture and the appearance that it is a public health clinic rather than a private psychology practice, this office has enough professional credibility problems as it is without you adding to them.

When I make a request in a polite fashion (speaking slowly because your brain is fried like your overbleached hair that's far too long for a woman of your years), don't take it as a personal affront and go whining to the boss, "Do we really have to do that?" Yes, you do because that is what a professional office worker does. If it's necessary to tell you again, I can't promise to be so nice. Then again, you probably won't understand a word I have to say because of your limited vocabulary and insistence upon behaving like some cutesy little 7-year-old girl - even though you're 52.

Oh yeah, and it's a PSYCHOLOGIST'S office. Why the hell do you and the office manager wear nurse's scrubs? It's not like you ever even touch the patients.

Every day I come up with a new rule about what my practice is going to be like. It's shaping up to be the opposite of whatever you are.