Last week, The Pup did the unthinkable.
She turned 12.
Really, what did I do to deserve this?!
So flash back to a couple years ago, in fifth grade, where the Pup discovers a desperate desire to learn to play the french horn. We talk to the band leader at the elementary school, and the one who teaches Jr. high and High School, and are told to start her on Trumpet. Flash back to two years of OMGLOUD while she not only learns it, but this year – lands the coveted first chair in her 6th grade band.
But still – STILL. The longing for the horn…. OH how she wanted to play the French Horn. Ms. S. told her that it would take private lessons, as making the switch is not very easy, and not all Trumpet players can become French Horn players. Ms. S plays trumpet, and does not play the French Horn, so she knows of what she speaks. The Pup looked at her mournfully, and sighed that it would be ok, she knew we couldn’t afford the lessons, so she’d just stick with the Trumpet.
So, I did what every mother on the planet would do. I made the call. I called Ms. S. and arranged a meeting with her, without telling the Pup. We spoke of the difficulties, and the challenges, and the possibilities. And we came up with a plan: I’d get the Pup lessons all summer, we’ll rent the French Horn for the summer, and the pup’s bandmates would be none the wiser – if she can make the switch (according to her summer teacher, who will tell it true) she will. If not, she’ll return to Trumpet in the fall, and we’ll know which horn she was meant to play. She loves the trumpet too – so it’s win-win, really.
Of course – I told the pup none of this. I sent in the cash to the teacher for the rental, without putting an instrument on the list – Ms. S was in the loop, of course. Then, on the first morning I got to see the little brat after her birthday (she was on the 6th grade camping trip ON her birthday. SOB) we had this conversation:
Me: Oh, by the way. I’m not renting you a trumpet for the summer. Sorry.
Her: WHAT? But Mom! You already paid!!!
Me: Sorry, i decided not to.
Her: …did you buy me one? (Not even hopeful)
Me: Pfft. You know I can’t afford that.
Her: DRAMATICSIGH I know. I can’t even get lessons.
Me: I can too afford lessons. So I’m not renting you a trumpet.
Her: …what? I don’t understand….
Me: I rented you a French Horn.
Her: But… I TOLD MS S. WE WERE RENTING A TRUMPET.
Me: I told her we were renting a French Horn.
Her: BUT I TOLD HER A TRUMPET YESTERDAY
me: but _I_ told her last week…
Her: (finally dawns that I’m not fucking with her -well, much) OH MY GOD I LOVE YOU.
Me: I am pretty fuckin’ awesome, I know. Pick up the French Horn. Your private tutor will be calling next week.
Her: (noisy squeals only a dog could hear, excitement, hugs, BESTBIRTHDAYEVER, off to school)
So. This is how our summer will be:
God help us all.