Rising up, back on the street.

This morning I finally could breathe through my nose, and so I went to yoga for the first time since Sunday. When I was driving home, Eye of the Tiger was playing on the radio. It felt appropriate. I feel like I should play it on a continuous loop over the next few days as I prepare for Book Fair and all that entails. Rising up to the challenge of our rival and all that.

Not only am I running the Book Fair next week, but my children’s classes are hosting an assembly, in which they are going to play recorders. I cannot imagine just how badly this is going to go. The kazoo performance was one thing, but both boys have mentioned that they – and their classmates – are not very good at the recorder, which seems like an understatement of the largest order. I’m starting to be concerned for the music teacher’s mental health. The very few times that the boys have actually practiced the recorder at home have ended with the dog whimpering in his crate and me reaching for the wine bottle. Of course, the other day I was singing a spirited rendition of The Greatest Love of All and the dog ran and hid in his crate, which I am going to assume was just a coincidence. I went the distance, and I’m not going to stop.

The recorder, though. I know of only one person who has actually enjoyed her child playing the recorder, and I’m fairly certain that child has much, much more musical talent than the vast majority of children. In general it is truly a wretched instrument, which is not to say that I do not understand why the recorder is so widely used by elementary music teachers everywhere. It’s light, inexpensive, and appropriate for small hands and YET. One year I was running the Book Fair in the room beside the music room, and I heard recorder music for the entire day, to the detriment of my sanity. I hope that doesn’t happen next week. I’m just a girl with a will to survive.

The other day I came across an article that declared high waisted jeans are the biggest trend for this spring and I died a little on the inside. There has to be a happy medium between showing the world that you really do need a bikini wax and waistbands that end just below your ribcage. Why, world, why? We ladies of a certain age remember donning our high waisted jeans with our bodysuits underneath to head out to the bar to go what is now called “clubbing”, shaking our amply-denim-covered booties to I Saw The Sign and I Like To Move It Move It. We don’t need to relive those days, at least not with such unflattering clothes. Don’t lose your grip on your dreams from the past, but there’s no need to fight just to keep them alive.

Speaking of unflattering fashions, the other day I was in the mall and I saw this:


I wonder if it’s a hot seller. It might be nice for wearing while jogging and singing Eye of the Tiger, which is something I should keep in mind in the unlikely event that I take up jogging. Although maybe it’s meant for evening loungewear? I don’t really know. Stalking prey in the night.


  1. My experience with elementary school concerts has been mixed, but I think beginning strings (in groups) are much, much worse than recorders. And I say that as the mother of a 2nd grade violinist. It’s so hard learning how to play along with a bunch of other people all at the same time. They might sound fine individually but together…

  2. Oh good lord, elementary school music concerts that include the recorder have been the bane of my existence for three solid years now as anyone who has had the misfortune to read my tweets during same is aware.

    Oldest cannot abide the recorder and I really didn’t care if he ever practiced it at home because it SOUNDS TERRIBLE, scares all the pets, and makes me reach for earplugs and wine. A compromise was reached early in 3rd grade: Oldest was free to fake playing the recorder during the recorder portions of his music concerts. That’s right, I approved faking it in school because I really didn’t feel like wasting my parental capital forcing Oldest to practice an instrument I actively loathe. I have to save my battles for homework, chores, and limiting screen time.

    Oldest starts middle school next year (what????) and they don’t do the recorder. Youngest starts kindergarten and they don’t do the recorder. Upshot: I will have three glorious years recorder free.

    Sorry high-waisted pants, I’ll stop wearing pants entirely before I go down that path again (can crop tops be far behind?). The 80s and 90s were enough for me. I guess I’m happy that super low rise seem to be out, but why can’t we just have reasonably waisted pants? Sometimes I can’t wait to be an old lady and wear whatever crazy thing I feel like putting on and people finding it charmingly eccentric.

    • I was wondering that myself – with the advent of high waisted jeans will we see crop tops? SOME PEOPLE that I know and are sort of related to me still wear high waisted jean cut offs and crop tops and it’s really, really not a good look.

  3. I have been totally flattened by the latest virus, and the thought of another book fair makes me weep actual tears – didn’t we already DO the book fair this year, Nicole? Do you guys do two?

    And yeah, no. High-waisted – ain’t nobody got time for that.

  4. Sarah Piazza says

    Yeah, I gotta say that the violin is the worst. As I pass by the music and band/orchestra rooms during my workday, the violin is what makes me want to curl myself into a little ball and whimper.

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