Hanna ran down to her room because she has to check the status of her nesting dolls before we can begin today’s homework.

It’s not that she doesn’t have the mental capacity to take on these questions, she just doesn’t seem to have the stick-to-itiveness until we make our way down to the basement where she spends the next thirty minutes mastering the art of avoiding being “it” at Donkey Dodge and cartwheeling over a series of plastic bowling pins, a foil balloon and doll house blender. Impressive actually.

I think of myself at that age at piano lessons and question how I can judge Hanna when I acted in the exact same fashion when faced with a task I just didn’t see much value in. In fact, I was so disinterested in playing the piano that…Hanna is currently practising how to whistle in my ear while she shouts at Greg that she does not want eggs or toast, just bacon for dinner. I was so disinterested in playing the piano that I don’t even ever remember playing it. I’m sure my mother was embarrassed running into Janice Clark my piano teacher after pulling me out on her suggestion that it was her impression, I would rather be doing cartwheels than playing the piano. She was right. And if anything, my parents discouraged us when we were terrible at something. If we didn’t excel, they let us know. There was no heightened sense of greatness. I recall being told that I sucked at a few things along the way. Call it poor parenting, but it certainly made those things that we did show promise in much more realistic in terms of goal making and building our confidence.