Lia had her first group piano class today.
I swear, all the years I spent taking lessons and teaching piano and it’s like I’m but a babe in a large, scary world. A world where it’s my child taking lessons, and I’m now the one who has to be responsible for being a parent my child’s piano teacher will like. Read: a parent that makes sure their child practices and learns their stuff.
Lia and I are starting to warm up to practicing. So far she’s been more interested in being a free piano spirit rather than buckling down and learning assigned stuff. Not that she’s refusing to or giving me problems, but once we’ve finished our practicing, she doesn’t do it on her own later. So far I’m encouraging a methodical practice, because so much of music learning must be methodical at it’s core. But she’s not enthusiastically methodical by nature. So maybe this is a good character strengthener. Or something.
I’m thanking my lucky stars that there is a group class. I think this will help increase her desire to learn new things. Because she spent the first half of group class (the half before she got sleepy) looking at the kids more than at the musical activity. She’s such a social creature.
But now I’m the nervous parent (pretending to be nonchalant) sitting in the back, listening for my child’s turn to play her piece. Cringing when something goes wrong. Beaming when something goes right. Nonchalantly. I’m going for the Understated Mother. Which is what my small chickie seems to be ready for. Mom, I don’t need any help.
It’s the first real excitement she’s had for the whole process since it began.
I’m just wondering, here at the outset, how much of her progress is going to be determined by her and how much of it will be determined by me.
I feel like I need piano lesson therapy. Which is totally weird. Get a grip, Leilani.