Okay, so I think I'm finally able to laugh about this and post it.
A few weeks ago, Madeleine had a crying melt-down before bed because she had forgotten to do her "required" five minutes of flute practice that day. Her band teacher gave all the kids a practice check-list with suggestions of what to go over each day at home.
Let's back up a second and note that: A) Madeleine actually started learning the flute over the summer, thanks to the fact that she received Julia's old flute when Julia herself got a new open-holed flute. Therefore, it's really not the end of the world if she skips 5 minutes of blowing into her headpiece to make a sound, and B) there is no grading or even checking of this check-list to be sure kids actually did their five minutes every day.
I tried to console Madeleine and let her know it's okay to miss a day of practice, but my OCD-tending child WOULD NOT HAVE IT. I then suggested she just practice in the morning before school, since she really needed to get to bed, and her melt-down was further evidence to me that she was overtired and needed sleep more than anything.
Flash-forward to the morning, and all seems fine as Madeleine plays through her music while Julia and I are getting ready for school/work. All of a sudden I hear a clatter and see Madeleine scrambling to pick up her flute head joint from the landing at the bottom of our stairs.
ME: What happened?
JULIA: Did you just DROP your head joint down there?
MADELEINE: (scrambling back upstairs) It's okay, I don't think it's broken.
JULIA: (examining the head joint) Did you dent it?
I took a look and the head joint was COMPLETELY deformed. It wouldn't even fit into the body of the flute.
ME: Honey, what happened? How did you drop it?
MADELEINE: (eyes filling with tears) Just don't ask.
ME: But how did this happen?
MADELEINE: Mommy, PLEASE, just don't ask.
ME: I'm not upset, I just want to understand.
MADELEINE: (tearing up even more) PLEASE, Mommy. PLEASE don't ask.
ME: Just tell me, it's okay, I just want to know how this happened.
MADELEINE: (eyes filled with defiant tears) INAPPROPRIATE ACTION.
ME: Wait, what? Did you throw it?
MADELEINE: I was angry because I couldn't play "Hot Cross Buns" perfectly so I did THIS (making a flicking motion with her arm) and it fell.
ME: The head joint fell off over the ledge and down the stairs?!?
Madeleine was SO chagrined and SO regretful. She knew she'd blown it. As she should, seeing as THIS IS THE SECOND TIME SHE HAS BROKEN THIS FLUTE BY BEING A DOPE. However, seeing how deeply remorseful she was, I chose not to lay into her, and instead we talked about how whatever the cost of fixing this issue, she would be paying for it, and if she couldn't demonstrate care for her instrument in the future, she would be done with the flute.
I decided to go the route that required least effort on my part, because I was NOT in the mood to take up my own time getting the flute head fixed. I found a (better, because it's silver rather than nickel) used flute head for sale on ebay for a very reasonable amount of money, ordered it, and had Madeleine pay me back. All worked out in the end, but OMG IF SHE BREAKS THIS FLUTE AGAIN THAT'S IT FOR MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS.
Luckily, any further flute melt-downs have been about really important things like this one today.
MADELEINE: (from her room) Mommyyyyyyy! I need your heeeeelp!
ME: (entering her bedroom) Yes?
MADELEINE: (pointing to her band book) I don't know what note this is.
ME: So do "Every Good Boy Does Fine."
MADELEINE: G?
ME: Yup.
MADELEINE: (face like a black cloud) It's NEVER been a G before.
ME: When before? (pointing to a spot in the middle of the page) Like right here, when it SAYS "G" above the note?
MADELEINE: No, in this SONG. It's NEVER a G.
ME: That is a G, honey.
MADELEINE: (on the verge of angry tears) How come I played it before and it was NEVER, EVER a G?
ME: I-
MADELEINE: (flipping the page) Ohhhh! I'm on the wrong PAAAAGE. *THIS* is the page I'm supposed to be doing!
Glad we got that one sorted out before she flicked her wrist and BROKE HER FLUTE HEAD. ðŸ˜
I'm over it. I really am.
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