Don't Go Crazy

She pounded away at the ivories, flipping through an old piano book. Because the songs were familiar to me, I assumed she was revisiting some practice pieces. So as I folded laundry in the family room, my voice carried into the living room the characteristic, "Watch your key signature!" when appropriate. She paused then attacked again. "Count it out, honey!" I hollered while slipping Avery's dress onto a hanger. "Go back! Shouldn't that be a flat?!" I continued.

Finally I came into the living room to see if she needed help. There she sat, happily perched on the bench, flipping through an old piano book . . . attempting songs she'd never played before. And here I assumed that she was just playing with a few old pieces. (Drew must have played them a few years ago, hence my familiarity with the tunes.) I suavely changed my approach. "Wow! I thought those were your old songs. You've never played these before? Nice job, honey." She smiled and went back to work.

A few minutes later, as I continued to tackle the pile of mountain-spring-fresh kid clothes, it was Bethie's turn to holler in my direction. She warned, "I'm gonna play this wrong Mom, okay? Just so you don't go crazy." I laughed as she proceeded to hit every accidental in the wrong place. On purpose.

And guess what? I didn't go crazy. At least not this time.