It takes a village...

Party prep went really smoothly.

So smoothly, in fact, that I was able to attend a rehearsal I had originally planned on missing.

My cupcakes even looked like the ones I had seen on Pinterest.

We had confirmed the bounce house delivery the night before.

They would arrive at 12:30 and the party started at 3.

Womp, womp.

They never came.

We knew that one of Maia's friends had a small bounce house, so Aleks called and asked if they could bring it with them.

It was the warmest day we've had yet and in typical Kansas fashion, was incredibly windy.

*Lots of little girl screams*

It's a grasshopper!

And when I got there, my little girly girl was holding that sucker in her hand.

Another family arrived, heard the story, and just happened to have a bounce house as well.

They graciously offered to run home and get it for us.

I often hear Maia say "this is not how I planned!" when she's frustrated.

I most definitely felt like throwing a tantrum when it became apparent our main party feature wasn't going to happen.

But it was also a really good teaching moment for our girls.

When we told Maia the bounce house wasn't coming, she did say "This is the worst birthday ever!"

But I also heard her later say "the Sternfeld-Dunns can fix anything."

Pink cheeked and wind blown.

It all turned out ok.

It was a good lesson for me as well.

Sometimes thing don't go the way I planned and I've got to swallow my pride and ask for help.

I really hate asking for help.

I'm deeply grateful for the little village of friends we have around us.

People who step in to help out and are willing to roll with the punches.

 I think all the kiddos slept well last night.

I know ours did!

Emily is having a birthday

Hi Everyone,

This is Emily's husband Aleks and she doesn't know it yet but I have hijacked her blog. You see in just two hours it will officialy be her birthday. Typically when one of our family members has a birthday Emily will do a blog where she lists as many special things about them as they are old. Like this one for instance.

Well I could do that and list all the usual things (which you already know). She's thoughtful, beautiful, kind, smart, talented, an amazing mother, an amazing wife, etc. but the more and more I thought about it the more and more it all came down to one word. The one word that describes my wife better than another is…Powerful.

The definition of powerful according to Google is:

pow·er·ful
ˈpou(-ə)rfəl/Submit
adjective

1.having great power or strength.

Sometimes I wonder if Emily knows just how powerful and strong she really is. I watch her as she handles the everyday stresses of life, teaching, kids, marriage and how she takes on every challenge with resolute determination and never giving up. I've never seen her back down from a challenge, never seen her quit. When she see's a problem she doesn't wait she just fixes it.

I think about the time we lived in Connecticut and there was no real opera scene for young artists in Hartford. Where some would get discouraged and give up her solution was to team up with a friend (and then a few more friends) and start her own opera company, Hartford Opera Theater or H.O.T. With zero money, administration experience, or resources she just decided to do it. At one point she actually built a stage in our basement. Now that company has a strong reputation and presence in Hartford, non-profit status, a board of directors and she was the one who started that.

This is why I married her. This is why I'm attracted to her. This is why I love her.

I am fortunate that I have had powerful and strong women in my life. My mother, my grandmothers, my aunt and this is why I was drawn to Emily. No weak kneed woman for me.
The best part is she will be a role model of strength and power to my daughters.

As a parent I think we always worry about what our children will grow into but I feel confidant that growing up with their mother they will know their own self worth and know how to find their own inner strength.

Emily, I love you and like many I admire the human being that you are. I know this next year has many magical things in store for you. Happy Birthday!

P.S. I hope that our girls also get your writing skills and not mine.

Five

Today Maia Lee turns 5.

In honor of this monumental occasion, here are five things that I love about my oldest daughter.

1. The happiness and sweetness she brings to all who know her.

She has an inner light that radiates from her face. I'll never get tired of it.

2. Her appetite for life. Girlfriend isn't afraid to dive in headfirst.

3. Her flair for drama and the way she articulates herself. I could watch these kids play for hours.

4. Her imagination.

5. How loving and compassionate she is toward Ruby. I hope they stay best friends forever.

Happy Birthday my sweetest girl.

The world is a better place because you're in it.

Boxes

At the Presbyterian church where I sing, a new pastor was installed on Sunday. There was a small orchestra, one service, and blended worship. It was a big deal for this church who has been without a leader for 3 years.

I could see the new pastor's family sitting in the front pew, their youngest daughter in high school, soon to face a new school, far from her home by the ocean. One of their adult sons was singing in the choir with us, handsome and wearing a suit underneath his choir robe.

The whole day was so familiar. I can distinctly remember being that girl, feeling curious eyes on the back of my head, thrust into the spotlight by default.

I don't usually write about things like this, mostly because it's not anyone's business, but also because I'm unwilling to draw any lines in the sand.
But lately things in my life seem to be circling around and coming back to the same place over and over.

As I sat and listened, during the two services that day, certain phrases jumped out at me as if they were in all caps and bright red. Sermons have a way of presenting themselves to me in this way. Mostly I've stopped listening because those loud, bright phrases have a way of getting under my skin.

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At the last board meeting, we were asked to give a word which we think best represents the company. As I am new to this arts organization, I could only offer what I hoped would be a fundamental principal: interesting.

It was a telling assignment for me. What do I value enough to give some of my precious time?

Other words were offered: integrity…education... audience outreach… education… history... education again.

I always say that I became a musician because it's the family trade. I come from a long line of musicians, my parents, my maternal grandparents, and my grandmother's mother all maintain/ed a professional level of musical skill.

As I graduated high school and faced that popular question "what's your major?" my path clearly stretched out in front of me. How could it not, when on road trips as a child your family would sing rounds or dissect the orchestration of the symphony playing on the radio? Many freshman in college struggle with the very concepts that I had been taught at an early age.

I didn't have to work very hard to be near the top of my classes.

And yet, while music is in the very fiber of my being, I've always felt that I lacked the emotional connection that draws most people down a serious musical path.

But I don't know anything else. And what a shame it would be, to disregard the lineage of musicians from which I come.

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I've always been a little different, late to trends, slow to jump on the bandwagon.

I've never been thin, and that combined with tight finances lent itself to a fairly bland and unfashionable wardrobe throughout my youth. I was smart, but usually hovered below the top 10%. I played sports, but wasn't committed enough during the off season to be considered one of the jocks. I was in school plays, never in a leading role, usually in the chorus or as a cast member with a few lines or a short solo. In high school, my friends were popular, but I wasn't. Even now, as a classical singer, it's hard to categorize my voice, not one of the fachs fit particularly well.

I suppose we all feel like this. And as I get older, I'm starting to think that just maybe, those boxes/categories/groups are not reality.

Amanda Magee, whose blog I recently discovered, wrote:

As I think about it now, I realize that rarely do drop down menus or quiz results truly capture who we are, partly because they are too limiting, but mostly because every day we can slip outside of one set of lines and start leaping in and out of another.

Maybe being a misfit is the best fit.

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Next week I'm having a birthday. I'll be turning 33, and things have been swirling around in my brain, stirring up memories and emotions that I haven't had time for with two young children.

For so much of my life, as an oldest child who likes to please, I've struggled with wanting to fit in, yet disagreeing with much of what I see and hear. All the while watching the majority nod their heads in agreement, like sheep mindlessly following whomever has the biggest staff.

Those people who know me as Pastor Peter's daughter will be surprised to learn that I believe in gay rights and am pro-choice and a feminist. Those of you who have known me in my adult years, might be surprised to know that I believe in God and have a deep faith in the foundational truths of Christianity.

Is there even a box for someone like me?

However, I'm beginning to understand that this feeling of being a misfit, is actually something of which to be quite proud. Here in the midwest, there is a lot of categorizing. It matters which church you go to, what neighborhood you live in, where your kids go to school.

I've also come to understand that performing is the way I can encourage people to think for themselves. During my work at the Hartt School, I came to this realization:

As a performer, our calling is to give the audience permission to look at our lives and as a result, glimpse for just a moment in time, some truth of humanity. 

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For the longest time I didn't want any princess toys or paraphernalia in my house. I felt strongly that I wanted my daughters to be more interesting than princesses. And then slowly the books trickled in, which gave way to the princess dresses, which lead to the Fisher Price princess castle, and basically we are now princess central, especially since seeing Frozen.

Then Maia went to school this year and made a best friend. And this best friend doesn't like princesses and instead loves lions.

Soon I heard things like "I don't like princesses anymore" and "princesses wear diapers" and sure enough, we're having a lion themed birthday party next weekend.

I find myself offering to play princess, the very thing I had so despised just months earlier.

The thing is, it's not that I want Maia to love princesses again, but rather that I hate to see her conforming to outside influences.

I've got to give my parents credit. Despite what could have been a very rigid upbringing under the scrutiny of the church, they found a way to encourage us to be creative, to have our own opinions, and to be true to our convictions.

I'm grateful that my girls come from such a rich lineage of people who are interesting and different.

To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Cheers to all you other misfits.

Auch kleine Dinge

"...for time's flight is stealing my youth"

As a young soprano, I was told that by the time I was 27 my voice would be settled and that the opera world wouldn't have interest in someone much older than 30.

Competitions like the Met Opera's National Council Auditions seem to reinforce that, with the cut off age set at 31.

Next week I'll be 33 and I certainly haven't made it in any conventional context. And I feel like I've been lied to.

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It started snowing about an hour after we arrived at the music building. At first it was just a light dusting, but the flakes steadily got larger and after 2 hours had begun to stick.

As we randomly drew our singing order, I was relieved to see "D" scrawled confidently on my paper. I would sing last.

The competition got underway. Occasionally gusts of wind would blow through the doors and with the adrenaline pumping through my body, I began to shiver.

The two other sopranos sounded very similar. Big voices with flexibility and range. Healthy vibrato and consistent placement. Big repertoire.

At least that's how it sounded through the doors.

I knew I'd have to play up the different colors in my voice if I wanted to stand out. I'd been nervous about the altitude change and how it would affect my breathing. The night before I'd woken myself up, needing to take deep breaths.

I had opted not to run through any of Rejoice during our 15 minutes in the hall. It's my Moby Dick. I typically do all the runs in one breath and I wasn't sure if I'd be able to do that with less oxygen in the atmosphere. I was also almost positive the judges would ask to hear it.

There had been a consensus among the people who had heard my repertoire, that the judges should hear me sing Steal Me. So I began with the aria, trying to be comedic in the first half and devastating in the second. Breath didn't seem to be too much of an issue, until I came off the big moments and felt my fingertips tingling.

They had been taking a long time to pick repertoire for the other contestants, but it felt like I blinked and they were asking for Fleur, a 180 degree turn from the Menotti. This piece offers the chance to shimmer and float, two things that I can do pretty well, but I think nerves, more than altitude dulled my finesse.

And then they asked for Rejoice. In our rehearsals, my accompanist introduced me to a faster tempo than I had been singing. It quickly became comfortable and as we started that afternoon, my breath released and became energized and it felt so good to leave behind all the trappings of Fleur.

I made all the runs in one breath.
Two days later, my obliques hummed with fatigue every time I used them.

By the time they asked for a rather obscure Wolf lied, Mein Liebster ist so klein, I was relaxed and having fun.

We came out of the hall and the snow was still coming down. I felt good and without regret.

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I didn't advance to the next round.
I wasn't named alternate either.

I did get some helpful, honest feedback.

Most surprising were:
"Big beautiful sound" "Impressive size to your instrument" "beautiful big voice"

Along with:
"occasional flatting" "your pitch sags at times" "be careful to stay on top of the pitch"

It appears my children have not only graced me with a few wrinkles, but also with a different, bigger instrument. And it appears that I do not yet have full mastery over this new voice.

There's one piece of the puzzle missing and I'm excited to fill in that gap. It will be the "click" that's heard 'round the world.

I've sung quite a bit since having children, but this is the first big thing that I've had some consistency in preparations.

Things that I will replicate in the future:
1. Showing up. You can't win something if you don't enter. Yes, I was disappointed that I didn't advance, but at least I tried. I pledge to try more often and not be afraid to disappoint.
2. Taking care of myself, which includes: As much sleep as possible. Lots of water. Minimal coffee. No alcohol the week before. Regular exercise. I also used Zicam more regularly than I ever have before and I managed to avoid the colds that both the girls had.
3. Learning my music early and performing it several times, months in advance. I knew that I needed the pressure of recitals to get my music on its feet. Thankfully I was able to find 2 venues in which to give recitals, about a month apart. As a result I was extremely comfortable with all my repertoire.
4. Asking for help. My colleagues were so generous with their time, knowledge, and experience. I'm truly lucky to have such supportive colleagues.

Things to change:
1. Seek input when selecting repertoire.
2. Being more regular with coachings and practice. There's no more time or room for anything right now, so I know there will be sacrifices. I think I'll start by cutting back on time spent cleaning the house…

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As for those people who told me I'd peak in my late 20s? I'm frustrated that I listened to them. That I thought choosing to be a mom meant I'd lose my prime singing years.

I'm singing better now, than I ever have before. I'm also not convinced that my voice is set just yet.

And while I haven't achieved operatic fame, I'm making it in my own way. Each performance, competition, rehearsal, lesson grows me. Little steps, one at a time, that will lead me to something wonderful.

Auch kleine Dinge können uns entzücken, auch kleine Dinge können teuer sein.

Bedenkt, wie gern wir uns mit Perlen schmücken, sie werden schwer behalt und sind nur klein.

Bedenkt, wie klein ist die Olivenfrucht, und wird um ihre Güte doch gesucht.

Denkt an die Rose nur, wie klein sie ist, und duftet doch so lieblich, wie ihr wißt.

Throwback Thursday: The people who made me

My parents were just kids when they met in college at Cal State Hayward (in a music theory class) and married after graduation.

Wait, that sounds a lot like my story too…

Anyway, after they got married they headed up to the Northwest where my dad attended seminary.

While they were there, they participated in a touring group called Song of Praise.

Apparently my parents were paid to go on these tours because they were the older, more mature, chaperone-type people for the undergrads.

Can you hear the skepticism as I write that?

Read on.

Can you spot them?

Need a hint?

It looks like the Bieber haircut was somewhat popular in the 70s too.

Here they are!

Also, this hottie with the flute (one time at band camp…) is my aunt.
And by her own confession has admitted to encouraging and partaking in the incident described below.

Those Pappas girls are trouble.

This is what I remember of the story as it's been told to me.

The group had been touring and were in transit from one city to the next. Whichever cities they were, they had to travel up a rather large mountain.

The bus was going about 15 miles an hour and everyone was bored.

Somehow, someone had the idea that my dad should jump out of the bus, run alongside for awhile, and then hop back on.

And somehow my dad, a young 22 or 23 year old, newly married, decided that it would be a fun thing to do.

So, he gets next to the open door (Wait a minute, what about the bus driver? It just occurred to me that he's an accomplice in this whole thing as well) and just kind of jumps out.

No tuck and roll, just jumps out a moving vehicle with the weight firmly distributed between his two feet.

Not surprisingly, it didn't go too well.

He was knocked off his feet and rolled to the side of the road, bloody with scrapes all over his arm.

He was actually really lucky that he didn't break anything or get seriously hurt.

Did I mention that he was wearing earth shoes?

You know the ones that are angled so it feels like you are always walking uphill?

Of course the bus couldn't stop because of the incline and so my dad had to limp his way to the summit of the mountain where the bus was finally able to pull over and wait for him to catch up.

As my dad approached the group, humbled and wiser, he saw a pool of liquid under the bus.

Turns out some line to the brakes had been leaking.

If they hadn't caught it, chances are the trip down the other side of the mountain would have been disastrous.

I asked my dad what on earth he had been thinking.

He kind of laughed and said "I don't know. I just thought I'd step out, jog next to the bus, and then hop back on. What I didn't realize was that I'd have to be running a 4 minute mile pace to keep up. From a dead start."

I looked at my mom, sure that she must have been beside herself and asked what she thought of the whole thing.

She kind of giggled and said, "We were just so bored. I was kind of egging him on."

It was at this point they revealed to me that they had been the ones in charge.

I can't believe I let them watch my children.

Then they said that I had been conceived on a tour the next year and people were always so shocked by that news, "but weren't you on tour?!"

I kind of shrugged my shoulders and said "What's the big deal? You guys were married."

Well, different people from the churches they visited would house the different members of Song of Praise for the overnight visits.

Um, GROSS.

So, mom and dad, if you're embarrassed by this story, I'm sorry, but really

1. You should be glad there wasn't any instagram or Facebook back then

2. We can call it even for all the times Dad embarrassed me by honking the horn as he dropped me off in front of the cool kids in junior high.

And to all of you reading this, you never know what those crazy Christian college kids you are housing are really up to.

I don't think this is the same group, but it's a fun picture all the same.

My mom is to the far right and I think my dad is the one next to her.

Or maybe she's on the far left.

I don't know.

That Jan Brady hair was pretty popular.

Actually, I think she's the one on the far left and that might be my dad next to her.

I think I've seen him do that hand position before.

Anyway, happy throwback Thursday!

Spring. It's in the air.

Today it was in the mid-70s and I feel like a new person.
We started our week with some serious playground time, visiting not one, but two parks nearby.
I think my body doesn't know what to do with all the vitamin D it absorbed today.
Seriously, I think I got a sun rash on my arm.

The warmer temperatures couldn't have come at a better time.
The last week or so has been bitterly cold, with freezing rain, and sleet, and snow. I was at my breaking point.

But then today happened. Blue skies and a shining sun and warmth.
And I am reminded that nothing lasts forever.

Everything is still brown, but the promise of new growth is in air.

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Speaking of new growth, there have been marked changes in our household recently.
As with all change, I often don't notice the difference until after the fact.
This weekend Aleks headed to Seattle for a conference and I was home alone with the girls.
And we had a really wonderful weekend.

I had a couple rehearsals, taught a few lessons, did some sewing, cooked several delicious meals, went to see a musical, took my girls out to breakfast, finished a novel, did the weekly grocery shopping, even went to the gym twice.
And while I did these things, the girls played Frozen.

God bless the writers and songwriters of that movie.

There wasn't even a single meltdown at bedtime.

It's really kind of miraculous. People told me it'd get easier, but it's hard to believe them when you haven't seen the other side.

Nothing lasts forever.

Don't get me wrong, we definitely missed Aleks.
It's just that I wasn't curled up in a ball begging for wine when he got home.

We renewed our membership at the Y and added in the Kid Zone option. Because Ruby WILL WILLINGLY GO TO THE KID ZONE.
She even went without her sister.

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Today was Read and Romp day at Maia's school.
It's a day where the children visit different stations that feature a book which is read and then participate in an activity that relates to the story.

I volunteered to help out and was assigned to the book The Dark, Dark Night, by M. Christina Bulter and Jane Chapman, which is a whimsical book about shadows. After listening to the story, the children were able to create their own shadows behind a sheet.

I had planned to have Ruby sit with me for the duration of the morning classes while I read the book.
But when Maia's class came through my station, Mrs. Burcham offered to let Ruby tag along.
And off she went.
At the end of the morning the class went to play on the playground and Ruby didn't even glance my way. She just headed to the swings with the older girls.
And then after getting Maia's backpack from the locker, Ruby trotted up to Ellery's mom and said, "You know what Ellery's mom? Ellery hasn't come over for lunch. Can she do that sometime?"

I think she might be ready for preschool.

There's the inevitable tug of longing for the cherubic pre-toddler days and the worry of what's to come.
But I've made a conscious decision that I'm going to embrace each new phase and growth, excited to get to know these girls who are becoming such fascinating, lovely people.

So, here's to spring.
And new seasons.
And growth.

By the way, have I mentioned that Maia has 2 loose teeth?

Hold me.