Chef Dipity

Dipity and I attend a music class once a week, or at least that is what we aspire to. Given ear infections, bronchiolitis, and a febrile seizure, regular attendance has been a little tough. When we do make it, Dipity has a great time. She loves dancing, and she loves all of the props that are given out. She shakes the rattles, dances with and swims in the scarves, slaps and drums the sticks, rolls and throws (and sometimes kicks) the balls, and plays with and occasionally kisses the flashlight. Every week the kids have the opportunity to simply play along with an instrumental number, and don't have to worry about dancing, singing, or making hand gestures. Sometimes the big bin that is dumped out on the floor contains a great variety of 'official' musical instruments, and sometimes it contains instruments concocted out of pots, pans, whisks, and plastic fruit and vegetables. Dipity knows exactly what she is supposed to do with the 'official' instruments: shake them for all their worth, grab them out of another kid's hand, and occasionally hit someone in the head. She knows exactly what to do with the kitchen stuff too, but unlike all the other activities what Dipity does is not what everyone else is doing. All the other kids make music. Dipity makes a soufflé. She stirs, mixes, and tastes. What else are you supposed to do with pots, pans, spoons, and bananas? She loves music and music class, but maybe she needs another kind of outlet. Cooking class here we come?