Well, the day home with the boy yesterday was mostly terrific. The morning was lovely; he watched TV while I slept, because three hours of sleep = Very Bad. The boys had a talk about how Mama needed some more sleep before she could get up and have a good day. The boy was mostly on board with this but decided to Take Care Of Me once HRH had left for work, which entailed bringing me various stuffed animals to cuddle while I slept, and informing me every time the TV show changed, which was at fifteen-minute intervals. Still, it was something. We went out to the big bookstore to noodle about and play with the trains, and wow, it’s nice and quiet on Tuesdays. We usually go once a month on a Friday, his regular at-home day, and it’s always packed. I finally picked up Dan Simmons’ Drood, which I am enjoying immensely, and the boy got a new Henry & Mudge book. He didn’t even fuss about not buying a train beyond pointing out the milk cars to me. Then I suggested wandering through the pet store, to which he readily agreed, and he didn’t kick and scream about leaving when we had to. We stopped by the Bramble House in its new location, which has more space but now feels like it carries fewer products as a result. It’s lost a bit of its charm. The boy got some Dairy Milk Buttons, and we bought a bottle of water at the corner store to share. (Very exciting if you are the boy.)
I was looking forward to his nap so I could nap too, but things went somewhat awry. He went to sleep willingly enough, but woke up after only forty-five minutes when I’d been counting on at least half an hour longer than that. Unfortunately for me, I’d only dozed for fifteen minutes myself before he pattered in, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I told him he could either play in his room or the living room, or cuddle with me, but I wasn’t getting up till three. He chose to stay, but whispered and squirmed a lot trying to pet Gryff, so I didn’t actually get back to sleep. At least I got to lie down with my eyes closed.
We did a small grocery run, and he was pretty good there too, apart from continually stepping on my feet because he wasn’t paying attention to where his own were. If I’d had enough sleep I’d have been more patient, but the little things like this were starting to make me grit my teeth. Once back home he settled down to watch the last half of a movie and play with his cars while I practised. I explained that I needed to, and that I’d close my office door so I wouldn’t disturb him, and he was fine with that. He came to the door about ten minutes in to watch me, then grinned and dashed away. Later, while I took a brief break, he brought his box of trains into my office to play, but when I picked the cello up again he burst into tears and wailed. He didn’t want me to play with him, he just didn’t want me to practise while he was in the room. And that’s where my short-on-sleep really caught up with me; my mood flipped from relaxed to tight and annoyed. When my temper was even enough again I talked to him about it being (a) my office, in which I am allowed to do whatever I like, and (b) he’d been informed that I was practising, so he had no reason to get upset. We went over the “How do you think Mama feels when you cry and tell her she can’t play the cello?” thing, and he mumbled, “You feel sad.” I could see that he was upset because he’d upset me, but he still didn’t want me to play.
HRH eventually got home, which helped diffuse the tension, and we had dinner. The boy was chipper and cheerful and played with him, and they had an awesome time in the bath and doing story and bed while I got ready for my cello lesson. And a wonderful cello lesson it was: my duet partner and I had a shared lesson wherein we worked our duet for the upcoming recital. It’s sounding really, really good. All we’re doing at this point is tweaking little things like gentling the ends of phrases and doing more subtle shaping along the way. Of course, I blew some simple stuff in the ensemble pieces we played first to warm up. I need to work out a weekly practise schedule where I can assign specific times to work on lesson stuff, solo pieces, ensemble music, and orchestra pieces. Otherwise I just end up trying to read through everything or what I remember going wrong, and other things get lost along the way. That’s a lot of music, after all, no matter how many notes I take about changes and obstacles in lessons and at rehearsal.
I’m worried about what’s going to happen in the summer when lessons stop.
Other good things that happened yesterday: I got my new freelance assignment (naturally, while we are given a week to turn them around, it lands at such a time when I only have two work days before the due date); receiving the exquisite score to The Painted Veil by Alexandre Desplat; and hearing back from the accountant about having a nice chunk of money being returned to us by the government. Yay for tax refunds! Yay, slashing at Visa/credit line/dumping money into RRSPs! Yay, no longer stressing about not having quite enough money from the anthology delivery cheque to buy the new computer and the 7/8 cello (for which I have begun thinking about names, which means yes, it’s going to be mine pending the full physical exam I want the luthier to give it)! I am content. I may even be able to buy a new bow, as mine is on its last legs frog-wise and has a nasty hook at the tip.
So other than the mild annoyance about not being able to sleep whenever I tried to, and the kerfuffle about not being allowed to play my cello in my own office, it was a very good day indeed.
The Android’s Dream by John Scalzi
You and I have an on-again off-again relationship. I’ll order stuff I can’t get anywhere else in a flurry while I’m working on a book, then ignore you for months on end. I consult you for research and for maintaining wish lists, and tell people to buy me things elsewhere. I use you, I admit that. And I don’t mean in a tool or services kind of way; I mean I abuse you callously.
Doing the evaluation of the final third of Orchestrated today. Why is it not finished, when I have had all week to work on it? I… keep falling asleep. No, really. Not because it’s bad or boring, just because my body has been wresting the steering wheel out of my hands and saying “NOW WE WILL NAP” around two every day, and bang, my eyes are closing and I have to put the ms. or whatever book I’m reading down and pass out for an hour or so. Then it’s cello and making dinner and the boys are home, and yeah.
Know what I’m doing today, after I finish baking oatmeal cookies? (And in between batches, chasing the stubborn little grey mackerel tabby off the top of the warm stove, drat her paws and whiskers?)
The boy’s hair has been cut, I have paid a slew of bills (my poor bank account, at least it was flush for twenty-four hours), we have new books, there is a new Hot Wheels fire truck, and of course I missed a FedEx delivery while we were out. When do I get FedEx deliveries? Never. Well, not entirely true; two of my sets of author’s copies arrived by FedEx in the past. As I’m not expecting anything like that, however, I’m guessing that it’s the cello goody bag I won, but I won’t know till Monday. At least, FedEx says they’ll come back on the next business day, which I am assuming is Monday in their world as in mine. Woe. I would have liked to have opened a parcel today. Especially a parcel with surprises in it.