Tornadoes at an Exhibition

I resolve after this post to not mention my children again...for at LEAST three posts.

Hold me to it.

The point of writing this blog - well, beyond exorcising angst and jealousy of the presence of blogging in the lives of others I know, which I believe I have accomplished - was to get myself to write on a semi-regular basis. However trivial or unimpressive, each post represents, at a minimum, time spent writing.

Not anywhere near enough time, but writing nonetheless. At any rate, it's more than I had been holding myself accountable to pre-blog.

Over the past week, I wrote down my blog address for two more people within my personal world. Brick by brick, bird by bird...

Now I've headed down a road with no bearing on where I began. Regarding the tornadoes...

Today is Sunday. Many recent Sundays have really sucked.

It's nobody's fault. They haven't all sucked. By and large, however, the tail end of each weekend has proved terribly trying. I believe it's because we - the two tornadoes and myself - have had to again adapt to some life changes and as a result have had an awful lot of togetherness time.

Togetherness time is invaluable. Don't get me wrong. The duelling value vs. actual experience is part of the suckiness of Sundays.

Value: Your children are only children once, every moment should be savored; time together is time to try new things.

Actual experience: Your children do not necessarily recognize that you are a human being who sometimes would like to just relax. If there must be entertainment, must it always involve game tokens?

It's exhausting, and the laundry never gets done, and then it's Sunday night. Monday morning you're all off doing your own thing again, sort of...if doing your own thing means school and work.

Thankfully, this Sunday was a non-sucky Sunday.

I would even go so far as to call it pretty good. Everyone slept late. Baths happened without arguing. And we had lunch in a restaurant (ok, Friendly's, but still it was in public) without climbing under the table for any reason!

We then attended a family concert called "The Phil". I bought tickets last week without group consent. Since "Phil" is short for Philharmonic and not the name of a Disney pop star, this was quite a gamble.

"The Phil" performed Mussorgsky's "Pictures at an Exhibition." Children's artwork decorated the hall. If you aren't familiar with Mussorgsky (that would be me before today), this symphony describes the composer's visit to an art museum to see a late friend's work. Each movement matches to a particular painting of this friend - standing in for these paintings were the interpretive renderings of local schoolchildren blown up on a movie screen behind the orchestra. There were about a billion children there.

The beauty of the Phil: 50 minutes.

Speed culture. Enough time for me to sit and enjoy beautiful music, not so long that a billion children become restless and ruin the whole thing. Perfect.

We followed the Phil with a surprisingly peaceful visit to a bookstore, a fight-free drive home, and everyone eating the same thing for dinner.

Overall, pretty good.

Remember: three posts minimum.