"WHAT did you DO?!?"

   
    I am not the woman who drops the kids in a perfect 'educational community' with rainbow-colored walls and lots of IQ testable toys before jetting off to an executive meeting. I am Wife first (dinner on the table), Mommy second (wipe the noses), Housekeeper third (ha-ha...ha...), and a Piano Teacher.

   Someday, my studio and my house will not be at the same address (that's the dream, anyway). Someday, I will not mix homeschooling, bathroom cleaning, and lessons in the same afternoon. Someday, I will be Professional.

   But the parents of my students are very understanding - especially since the fees are discounted on account of the 'I-may-have-to-dash-upstairs-and-put-out-a-fire' clause. And my kids almost understand the need to play quietly while Mommy teaches lessons. Sometimes, I get through a half hour without screaming interruptions.

   Not yesterday.

   Yesterday, the baby went viral (runny nose), and my son went crazy (he turned five with a vengeance).
 
   I was addressing a particularly feisty Telemann passage, reveling in the excellent technique of my ten-year-old student, when I overheard the parent in the living room tell my son to wash his hands after he blew his nose for the umpteenth time.

   Son sighed, rose, and stomped past the studio. "I hafta wash my hands," he growled.

   "You obey Mrs. B," I told him.

   "Ugh." He shut the bathroom door with less than perfect respect, but I didn't have time to address it. Fingering is everything in these jumpy baroque fantasias, so I had to stay focused.

   Two measures later, Son shrieked.

   The door was flung open.

   Student and I spun about. "What is - ?" I began.


   "MOMMY!" he cried. "WHAT DID YOU DO IN THE TOILET???"

   Student looked at me. Parent looked at me. Son looked at me.

   Silence.

 
  Then I remembered. "Son," I said, "it's called toilet bowl cleaner. I know it's blue, and distressing, but all you have to do is flush it away. It will clean out the bowl. I forgot that I put that in there, okay?"

  "Oh!" Son nodded. "Okay." He slammed the door.



   Silence.

   "Well," I admitted to my student, "that could have been phrased better."

    She collapsed into laughter.



   Someday, I'm going to have a studio with a door. That closes. And then I'll wear high heels to my lessons, and severely dark blouses, and scary narrow spectacles that I don't really need. And I will ooze Professional. But until that distant day, I will treasure these moments of pure humiliation.  They keep me humble.