This is a lesson that I’ve learned a long time ago, but today was probably one of the longest stints of time that I’ve forced myself to do “time” along with the Cellist.
Mr. Nicholes and I just learned that the Cellist is not happy with playing the cello. In fact, he told his grandmother that he doesn’t want to take lessons anymore. My answer to that? *blankstare* Why the blank stare you may ask. Because this child wanted to take the lessons in the first place. He promised to practice everyday so that he could become a decent cellist, AND we’re paying monthly for cello rental. Several months in fact that he DID NOT practice – so he owes me for it.
Shake your heads in disgust if you will, but I’m going to get my money’s worth.
So, fast forward to this week. Every night I have required a full hour of practice from the Cellist. One fully hour. Tonight, he got a bit flippant, so now he is practicing until I tell him to stop. I know that it sounds cruel, but I am secretly hoping that the next time we come to this fork in the road, he will remember in fear the time in which he had to practice a cello from seven in the evening until eleven in the evening with a FULLY hormonal, pregnant whale of a mother.
Oh, I hope he remembers. And I hope that he lets the twizzlers know that his mom is slightly off her rocker.