Confessions of a Wedding Musician Mom

by Jennifer McCoy Blaske

  Anyway, the point was that this two-hundred-plus increase starting—what did Steve say, next month?—was going to be a pretty big deal.

  It took me a moment to get over the shock. “Well,” I said slowly, “then, this is perfect. Once the wedding jobs start coming in, I’ll be making us extra money.”

  “Yeah.” Steve paused for a minute. “And if it doesn’t end up working out, we can always talk about you going back to your old job.”

  I choked on a sip of orange juice. When I was finally finished coughing, I said, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “Well, you know, it doesn’t have to be the same exact job. But you could go back to doing something like that again.”

  I used to work in the payroll/accounts receivable department of a consulting firm. I got the job because a friend of my father happened to be hiring the month after I graduated from college. I stayed because the pay was decent and I got along with my co-workers. But probably the biggest reason I stayed was that I didn’t have any idea about what I could do instead. As the years went by, I became increasingly restless. I was all too happy to quit to become a stay-at-home-mom after Angela was born.

  I glanced down at the half-eaten bagel on my plate and realized that I’d lost my appetite. How did this conversation go from me being thrilled about actually playing the piano again to facing the horrible possibility of being bored out of my mind reporting invoices in a stuffy office again?

  “But …” I sputtered, my eyes darting anxiously toward the website on the laptop.

  “Oh, don’t worry.” Steve gestured toward the screen. “I’m just saying that can be our plan B if this wedding thing doesn’t happen to work out.” He took another sip of coffee, looking confident that any potential problems had just been solved.

  That settled it for me. There was no way I was going back to an office job. My brand new career as a wedding pianist would have to work.

  Chapter Two

  It was about an hour before Steve was due home and I was trying to figure out what to make for dinner. I stared at the open pantry, rapped my fingers against the door for a few seconds, and then decided to check the refrigerator again.

  When I opened the refrigerator I realized that, unfortunately, nothing new had materialized since I’d looked inside it two minutes ago. I shut the door and went back to staring into the pantry.

  I debated whether or not to call Steve and ask him to pick up something on the way home. But I’d already done that two days ago, and you can only get away with that so many times.

  I knew I should learn how to cook one of these days. But thinking about it made it seem so daunting.

  I never cooked while I was growing up, never. My mother was a fantastic cook, and something of a perfectionist. She never let me and my brother anywhere near her while she was cooking.

  I grew up thinking that cooking was something really, really difficult that I would completely mess up if I ever dared try it. I was never quite able to recover from that feeling, not that I ever tried very hard.

  “I have a magic trick to perform,” Angela announced.

  “A magic trick?” I asked as I pushed aside a package of paper towels in the hopes of finding something hidden. I turned away from the pantry which was beginning to annoy me with its unwillingness to produce something new.

  Angela was confidently staring up at me through her glasses. “This is called the disappearing marble.” She was holding a marble up in one hand and a paper cup in the other. “See … I drop the marble into the cup … abracadabra!” Very slowly, with her left fingers tightly clenched and her face scrunched in concentration, she turned the cup over. Nothing fell out.

  “Very nice,” I said, applauding.

  “Wait, there’s more.” She waved her right hand in the air. Then she reached behind my ear and pulled out a blue marble.

  I laughed. “I love it. Did you show that to your brother?”

  Her eyes lit up. “Hey Danny!” She ran out of the room. “Danny I have something to show you! I have something to show you!”

  I turned back to the pantry and reached behind a box of crackers. As if by some miracle, I saw a box of pancake mix. I grabbed it just as the phone rang. I snatched the phone from the kitchen counter and walked back to the pantry. “Hello.”

  “Hi,” a female voice said. “Is this Heather Hershey?”

  “Yes it is.” Oh good, there was still plenty of mix left. I set it down on the counter and started hunting behind the instant oatmeal and a box of tea bags in search of pancake syrup. Aha, here was a fresh bottle. I wedged the phone between my ear and shoulder as I began peeling the plastic off the top.

  “My name is Emily,” said the voice, “and I’m looking for someone to play the piano for our wedding on October twentieth.”

  The bottle of syrup tumbled out of my hand and landed right on my foot. Ouch ouch ouch ouch.

  “Oh!” I said, trying to sound delighted as I doubled over and grimaced in pain. “Yes. I’d love to play for your wedding.” What do I say next? I thought, still wincing at the pain in my toe.

  It had only been two weeks since I put up my listing on Wedding Wild, and I hadn’t been expecting anyone to actually call me this quickly. I had this vague notion of people eventually seeing my web listing or business card and wanting to hire me, but I actually had no idea how I was going to get them to that point. Do I beg her to hire me? Talk about my vast repertoire and hope that she doesn’t ask exactly how vast my repertoire is? Clearly, I hadn’t thought the process through.

  “Uh …” Emily hesitated, obviously figuring that she would have to steer this phone call herself. “It’s going to be held at the Twin Lakes Country Club in Bridgeville.”

  Of course! The location! Why didn’t I think of that? I rushed over to the magnetic note pad on the refrigerator and scribbled down “Twin Lakes CC October something.”

  “We’re having the ceremony upstairs,” said Emily, “and then afterward the cocktail hour will be in the Grand …”

  “I do not have another marble Danny!” Angela shrieked. “There is just one marble!”

  Oh no. The kids were in the family room next to the kitchen and there was no door between us to close.

  “ … which also has a piano in it.” Emily went on. “We were thinking of having …”

  Do I tell this woman to hold on for a moment while I go kill my children? No, no. I didn’t dare let go of my first lead, not even for a few minutes. I dashed out of the kitchen, through the family room, and down the hallway, hoping the kids wouldn’t see me.

  “I already told you!” Angela yelled. “There is not another marble!”

  I ran faster down the hallway as Angela’s screams were getting louder. “Hey, don’t touch that! Get away from me! You’re ruining everything Danny!”

  “We were hoping for some upbeat songs, you know, things that are a little more modern,” said Emily, oblivious to the obstacle course I was running. “We don’t want the same old tired songs that you always hear at weddings.”

  I darted into my bedroom, shut the door, and locked it.

  “OWW!! Mom, Angela hit meee!!”

  The sound of little running feet was getting nearer. I desperately looked around my bedroom. There was no escape unless I wanted to climb out a window. I unlocked the door and scurried back down the hallway, making shooing motions at Danny. I opened the front door and ran along our front path into the driveway.

  “I’m sorry, is this a bad time?” Emily asked. “Maybe you should call me back when …”

  “No!” I frantically blurted out. “Nope, not a bad time at all. That’s just the, uh … TV in the next room.” I took a deep breath. “So then, um …” Oh crap. I had no idea what we’d been talking about. I pressed my fingers against my forehead. “I’m sorry. What were we saying?”

  “I was telling you that we wanted some upbeat, modern songs,” Emily said dryly.

  This was not good. I was losing her.

  “Yes, of cou
rse,” I said quickly. “There are plenty of those we could choose from, like, well …” What modern songs would be good for a wedding? Everything I could think of off the top of my head was classical. “Why don’t you think about it, and then let me know which songs you want.”

  “Okay,” said Emily, a touch of doubt in her voice. “So then, what would your price be?”

  Price? I had no idea what my prices were. I kept putting off deciding because I didn’t have any idea what the going rate was, and I’d thought I would have more time to think about it.

  With a jolt of panic, I realized that I wasn’t even exactly sure what she wanted to hire me for. Didn’t she say something about a cocktail hour? Did she want me to play for the cocktail hour and the ceremony, or just one or the other? Between sprinting wildly around the house and trying to block out all the screaming, I wasn’t sure what was going on.

  “Mom!” Danny yowled, running out the front door. The screen door slammed behind him as he came barreling toward me. “Angela hit me! And then when I told her not to hit me she shoved me!”

  “Um, my price is … um,” I stammered, “… my price …”

  “MOM!” Danny ran up the driveway, arms flailing. “Don’t you hear me? Angela hit me! And shoved me! Hit me and shoved me! Hit me and shoved me! Hit me and …” He tripped, fell forward, and lay on his stomach sobbing in the grass. “Mah-hah-haaaahm! I fell! I think I’m bleeding!”

  “How long have you been playing for weddings?” Emily sounded suspicious.

  “Well …” I said, eying Danny, “well, see, I, um … I haven’t exactly played for any actual weddings … yet … but I …”

  “Thank you,” Emily said abruptly. “I’ll keep looking. Have a nice day.”

  “No! No, wait!” I yelled into the phone. “Being new at this means I have to try harder! Wait!” I heard the click of her hanging up, but I kept talking anyway. “Give me a chance! Don’t go, don’t go, don’t … oh, forget it.” I hung up the phone and heaved a sigh. It was too late, obviously.

  “I’m bleeding!” Danny was still sobbing, lying on his stomach and kicking his feet on the ground. “I’m bleeding! This is Angela’s fault!”

  I walked over and sat down on the grass next to him. I gently scooped him up and placed him in my lap. “I don’t see any blood.” I kissed the top of his head and brushed the debris off his legs. “Just dirt. I think you’re going to be fine.”

  Danny looked up at me and sniffed.

  “Come on, guy,” I said, helping him to his feet. “Let’s go inside and make some pancakes for dinner, okay?”

  “Okay,” he sniffled. “Can I go get Bunny-Bun first?”

  “Of course.”

  As I helped Danny hobble back to the house, I thought, well, so far, my new career isn’t exactly getting off to a great start.

  Chapter Three

  “Hey, kids.” I knocked on the playroom door a couple times before entering. “I need to talk to you guys for a minute.”

  “Are we in trouble?” Danny asked.

  “Oh no, you’re not in trouble.” I gathered up a few toys from the couch and set them down on the floor so I could sit down. My eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. Should you be?”

  “Uh-uh,” said Danny, vigorously shaking his head.

  “Okay then.” I held my arms out. He climbed in my lap and Angela sat down next to me. “I’ve got some exciting news. I’m starting a brand new job.”

  “A job?” Angela seemed incredulous. “You?”

  “That’s right,” I said.

  “Doing what?” Angela asked.

  “Babysitting?” Danny piped up.

  “Nope,” I said.

  “Oh, I know,” said Angela, as if she’d solved a great mystery. “You’re going to be one of those ladies who goes to people’s houses and cleans them!”

  “What? No!”

  “Really? Huh.” Angela tapped her finger against her lips, thought for a moment, and then shrugged. “Well, then what are you going to do?”

  “Yeah, what?” Danny looked equally puzzled.

  “Sheesh!” I said. “I am quite capable of doing things other than taking care of kids and cleaning up, you know.”

  They stared at me blankly.

  “So what are you going to do?” Angela asked again.

  I’d been hoping for a better buildup, but I still managed to find my enthusiasm. “I’m going to play the piano for weddings!”

  They continued to stare at me.

  “So you’re going to start taking piano lessons?” Danny was confused.

  “Aren’t you a little old to learn how to play a musical instrument?” asked Angela.

  “No …” I said, my smile fading. “I mean, I took piano lessons for years. I know how to play the piano. I went to college on a music scholarship.” I peered at them. “Didn’t you guys know about any of this?”

  “Wow!” Angela breathed, her eyes getting big. “You went to college Mommy?”

  “No.” Danny nudged her. “I think she’s just kidding.”

  “Oh.” Angela turned to me and started laughing. “Ha, ha! Good one!”

  “Hee hee hee,” said Danny with a little snort through his nose.

  “Wait a minute.” I looked back and forth at them. “That’s not a joke. I really did go to college. I graduated from college!”

  “Really?” Angela’s laughter suddenly disappeared.

  “Wow.” Danny gazed at me.

  “So what happened?” Angela asked.

  “Happened?” I said. “What do you mean?”

  “Why couldn’t you find a job?” she asked. “Or did you just decide that you never wanted to work?”

  “I did work!” I was indignant. “I mean, I still do work. I just don’t … oh for heaven’s sake!”

  This conversation was taking a very strange turn. I took a deep breath and tried again. “Okay, the point is that I’ve decided to become a wedding pianist. I’ll be playing the piano at wedding ceremonies. Isn’t that neat?”

  “Yeah,” said Angela. “I didn’t even know that the song from Millie Mallard’s Pond of Fun was a wedding song.”

  I sighed. “It’s not. I’ll be playing different songs at the weddings.”

  “That sounds really fun,” said Angela. “Can we come with you?”

  “Nope,” I told her. “But here’s what you can do, and this is what I wanted to talk to you about. People are going to start calling me about playing for their weddings, so it’s really important that I’m not disturbed with any noises or distractions during those phone calls. So, how about we have some sort of signal to make it clear that I’m on the phone about a wedding job?”

  You would think that holding the phone up to my head and speaking into it should be enough indication that I needed to be left alone. However, eight years of parenting experience had led me to believe that this was not necessarily the case.

  The kids pondered for a moment.

  “How about this?” Danny bent his arms at the elbows and flapped them like he was doing the chicken dance.

  “Hmm.” Somehow, I couldn’t picture myself giving a price quote for a wedding at the Ritz-Carlton while running into the next room flapping my arms.

  “No, that’s silly!” said Angela, putting her hands on her hips. “It has to be something more like …” She thought for a moment, then stood up and starting doing jumping jacks. “How about this? Would this be easy for us to notice?”

  “Uh,” I said, raising my eyebrows. I wasn’t sure if panting and gasping for breath while taking a call was quite the way to go, either.

  “How about this?” Danny squatted on the floor and jumped up repeatedly, like a frog.

  “You know, I’m not even sure that I could do that,” I said.

  “That’s too low to the ground. We won’t see her! How about this?” Angela reached behind her back, grabbed her right heel, and started jumping up and down on her left foot.

  “Oh yeah! But add this!” Danny started doing t
he same thing while patting his head with his left hand.

  “Like this?” Angela copied him.

  “Yeah! But lift your arm higher!”

  “Like this? Ow!”

  “You know,” I said, watching them both stumbling around smacking their own heads, “I appreciate the ideas, but somehow this is not quite what I had in mind.”

  Angela stopped. “Why don’t you just make a sign?”

  Now that wasn’t a bad idea. “Yeah, maybe that could work.”

  “I can do it!” Angela ran over to the craft shelf, unaware of the two books she’d stepped on while getting there. She came back with a piece of red card stock and some markers.

  Meanwhile, Danny was still hopping around and whacking himself on the head.

  “Danny, you can stop hopping now,” said Angela. “I’m gonna just make a sign.”

  “Okay.” Danny stopped. He looked relieved.

  Angela wrote for a minute. She held up the sign and said, “Ta-da!” The crooked red lettering on her sign read:

  Moms on the phone —

  evrybuddy SHUT UP!!

  “Angela!” I said. “Could it be something a little nicer, please?”

  “What?” She turned it back around and studied it. “Oh, okay.”

  Angela got another piece of red paper—stepping on only one book this time—and wrote something else. She held up her new sign:

  Be quiet please!!!

  “All right.” I nodded. “Not bad. Here, I’ll go hang it on the refrigerator. No, wait … why don’t you draw a picture on the other side first? That way the refrigerator doesn’t have to be constantly yelling at all of us to be quiet.”

  “Sure.” Angela looked deep in concentration for a moment before happily announcing, “I know. I’ll draw a ballerina, a mermaid, and a unicorn all having a tea party.”

  “Perfect. Now, while you work on that I need to go take care of something.” Before I lose my nerve, I thought.