Madison loves the flute, but her instructor last year, though an excellent teacher who started her off with brilliant tone and form, had an attitude that rubbed Madison the wrong way. That teacher was naturally suspicious of how much her students actually practice versus how much they *claim* to practice, and notified Madison that "I know every trick in the book." She required that parents date and sign every practice, and kept intimating that perhaps Madison would be inclined not to do the right amount if she could get away with it. This, of course, generated a sense of insult and anxiety in my baby who takes pride in never lying, and I decided to switch teachers.
I informed the first instructor very graciously, with compliments for the way she'd started Madison off, because she really is excellent; I told her that it was likely that Madison would return when she had matured a bit. (And that's true. Madison wants to be excellent. Her former teacher would make sure she's excellent.) The teacher understood, and in fact Madison saw her at a concert on Friday night at the Rochester Flute Association, and the meeting was good.
Anyway, this new teacher, Mrs. Borden, is sweet and gentle and loving and kind and provides good explanations, and has enabled Madison to let go of her anxiety over flute lessons and progress.
Ella noticed how nice Mrs. Borden is, and after hearing the teacher talk with me about two weeks ago about how she also teaches all of the brass and woodwind instruments, Ella told me that she would like to try the French horn, and take lessons from Mrs. Borden.
I love the French horn. Ella may have heard me saying this, but otherwise I don't know what drew her to the French horn. We don't know any French hornists.
David was skeptical, pointing out (to me) that Ella had been interested in guitar last year but expressly refused lessons. I could tell, though, that Ella knew what was involved and wanted to do it; this isn't some fly-by-night idea. And, she's older and more mature... what you aren't ready for at 8 you're often ready for at 9.
She started last week. We got her a French horn, which we have in a rent-to-own program at one of the local music stores. She is ecstatic. She practices every day for a half hour, without constantly running back to look at the clock and see how much longer she must go.
I posted to my Facebook page that Ella was going to start the French horn, and my friend Meredith, whose daughter plays, wishes me her speedy progress, because "Beginning French horn sounds like a dying elephant."
It doesn't really sound like a dying elephant, but it does possibly sound like a baby elephant. So when Ella is practicing, I call her my "baby Ella-phant." She loves it.
She loves the whole thing, really. Doesn't she look good?
Yesterday, David's cell phone mistakenly called mine while it was in his pocket. We were at home, and the girls got a big kick out of shouting into the phone to try to alert him that he had called us. It didn't work. Then Ella got out the French horn, and that was what finally did it. Very Horton-like. He heard this little tooting coming from his pocket and pulled it out... and there we were.
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