Difficult-E

One key on my piano has been stopping traffic this past week. Every single student has recoiled at the surprise that is E below middle C. "Did I make that sound?!" Instead of the pleasant C scale do-re-mi of just days ago, it's more like a do-re-MEOWNGGGGGG that comes out of nowhere and takes you right back with it to its lair.

It isn't pretty.

Is the wire wound too tight, has it snapped, is the hammer missing the mark? I don't know, but it kills me to have to call the piano tuner for this ONE key -- months before his scheduled visit.

Meanwhile, because every soundtrack needs an action sequence, cue the unfolding companion drama around here:

One child is making me pull out my hairs before they've even had time to turn gray. She is moody and loud and snippy and angry and mean, mean, mean. She fills the air with her discordant outbursts. (If I had just one daughter I'd feel bad that my use of the pronoun "she" identifies the child, but I have two girls, so there. No guilt. Nor is it wrong to point out that her initial, E, matches my keyboard woe, for both share it!)

I love this child dearly, but I really haven't wanted to be around her. (Isn't that awful for a mother to admit?) The risk of rubbing her the wrong way, of hitting the wrong button, has been too great. I don't know what to do.

My head is always bouncing with thoughts. The other night, these two separate, distinct ones jumped into each other and made an excellent conglomeration. A-ha! I will need to call in a tuner, that I know, but the solution for my other E problem requires the same approach: individual attention. How grateful I am that Heavenly Father can use everyday experiences to guide us with our children.

The piano E didn't want to go so sour, and when I think about it, neither did the child. She must feel so out of control. Both need a little bit more one-on-one right now to get back in tune.

When I was about 13 I was a youth leader for my age's church group, and as such worked with adults to plan our activities. I remember that the adults always wanted us to plan things that a girl named Brenda, who loved horses, would enjoy. Frankly, I found that tiresome. I didn't get it.

I do now. It was important to make Brenda feel comfortable to join us, to have her interests validated, to help her feel a valued part of the whole.

And so on to the child. I remember that every youth planning meeting included prayer, and I will need that too to reach out to my sweet child not, perhaps, in the way I want, but in the way she needs most.

Wish me luck with the music ahead.