Friday, November 12, 2010

weekend formerly known as the trifecta

Back when I originally called my in-laws and invited them to come to Ohio for a little visit, we affectionately referred to this weekend as "the trifecta" because it contained (1) Max in a musical, (2) Sam turning ten, and (3) my orchestra performing a concert.

But I can never leave well enough alone, can I? No. A big weekend can always become bigger. Plus, what about Isaac? He deserves a performance venue, too!

The day before our orchestra's last concert, in June, we hosted a "living room recital" for child performers. For whatever reason, I don't feel perfectly happy performing for my children (i.e. dragging them to one of my concerts) unless they have chance to perform as well. Part of it is that I want then to understand how fun and exciting it is to perform music. Part of it is that I feel uncomfortable hogging the spotlight.

So, after I got home from our last dress rehearsal, I arranged the living room furniture into parallel rows, and pretty soon after, the place filled up. People brought grandparents and pastries; it was very festive. Each of my boys played the piano, as so did several of their friends. On one end of the spectrum, a 7 year old, who had been taking lessons for just six weeks got his very first chance to take a bow. Max sang some songs he was preparing for a wedding reception, one parent played somewhere over the rainbow, and oh, yes, the Conductor played Debussy.

So, this weekend, I went ahead and threw another kids' recital into the mix. We will have some returning performers as well as some new families joining in the fun. Among the lineup are a seven year old singer, a seven year old violiist, a 10 year old guitarist and several pianists. Possibly the best part is that my in-laws should arrive an hour or less before we begin.

After we listen, applaud, marvel, exclaim, and eat cookies, we will take ourselves back out to see Max on stage a second time in the outrageously comic character of Adolpho (the Latin Lover). Last night, I laughed harder at my eldest son than I ever have before. I woke up this morning recalling the first glimpse I ever had of his potential for a career in comedy. I know you will think I am exaggerating, but Max was just 16 months old.

I am quite sure of that fact because that is how old he was when I finished law school and packed up my diaper bag, along with the new red rolling suitcase my grandparents gave me as a divorce present, and moved us (me and the baby) back to Manhattan, where Max had been conceived. It lasted all of one month before we were hauled back to Cincinnati, so I know he was just 16 months old when I finished my workout at Crunch Gym on the Upper West Side and went to get Max from the child care room.

The babysitter did her thing in a room the size of a broom closet. Along with Max, there were three little girls approaching preschool age. I remember crouching down to collect Max and his belongings and hearing her say "he's quite the comedian!"

I had certainly noticed Max blossoming day by day as he soaked up the sights and sounds of the New York City sidewalks, but this was more precocity than I was expecting. I turned to her, quite baffled.

"Um...he doesn't speak yet, so, how...?"

"Well, talking or not, he worked awfully hard to get these girls to laugh," she told me, grinning.

Really. Well, well. I soon got used to this kind of report. Back in Cincinnati, I brought Max to child care at Midtown Fitness and heard the same thing over and over again. The staff all wanted to sit for Max at our house; he was that engaging.

How I wish they all could have seen him last night...

But I digress.

We are off to temple in a minute or two (if I ever stop typing) which means that I will have to get Sam and Isaac to stop playing with the new laser strategy game Sam just got for his birthday today.

Tonight, we will dine with other second grade families from the religious school, and then I might get to wrap up Sam's birthday by reading some Madeline L'Engle to him. Paul and I both dread the day when we are dismissed from the privileged position of bedtime story reader. It is just too much fun - the reason I currently only play in one orchestra and why I dropped out of a board I used to sit on.

Tomorrow morning I will drop Isaac at his acting class at CCM prep, then head to my dress rehearsal. Isaac is preparing an interpretive version of "The Mailman" that should bring the house down. Sam will play Joplin's The Entertainer, which he has been working on for an unprecedented length of time. I am also looking forward to hearing what everyone else has cooked up for the occasion.

The following day, after Sunday School and lunch, everyone in the house but Max will attend my orchestra concert. I wlll miss Max's supportive, loving presence in the front row, but I'm delighted to know that he'll be making people laugh - and his own heart sing - on another stage just down the street. Sam will have a keen eye on the viola section, as he is just a few weeks into the process of learning to play that instrument. And Isaac will be wondering "Hmm...am I meant to be a cellist or a trumpeter?"

I'm blogging, in the midst of all this, I suppose, because I always want to remember this time in my life. I simply don't know how it could get any sweeter. But time, it seems, will continue to carry us forward. Monday will be my first birthday without my grandmother. For 43 birthdays, I have either seen her face or heard her voice on the telephone. Today was also the first time Sam turned a year older without receiving a card from his "Gigi". Life is always changing. But as long as we keep celebrating birthdays, I know we will keep filling our weekends, and our years, with the sweet sounds of laughter, music, and applause.

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