Wednesday night, we took the kids to a symphony concert. This one was about visual art inspired by music. At “family concerts” they also let the kids come up and take turns conducting for a few bars. The kids had a lot of fun.
(no idea who the little girl with Nicholas is, hence the blacked-out face. Can’t ask permission.)
It’s been a high-powered few weeks, and I am tired. So very tired. I go to bed when I should and I lie awake, trying not to retreat to the couch, because Nicholas already thinks the couch is Mommy’s regular bed, and because Christian tells me forlornly how much he misses my presence when I’m not there. Earlier this week, I’d just drifted off when a storm ripped across the state and Michael sat bolt upright in bed, screaming, while the sky beyond the blackout shades resembled a dance club with a strobe light on maximum.
I don’t sleep while my children are in bed with me. I merely lie there and try not to get wound up until the storm passes and I can move them back to their rooms. That night, I winced in anticipation of Nicholas and Julianna waking up, but they didn’t. I thanked God for a day at the lake, because those two were so shot, they slept through the storm. Otherwise it would have been triple the fun.
On Wednesday night I decided to capitulate and take a Benadryl to help me sleep. And not to set my alarm in the morning. It’s a sacrifice I don’t take lightly, because that early morning hour is a big chunk of my productive time on any given day, but I knew I needed it. Christian got up and went running. When he came back at 6:20, I was still in bed. He came over to me. “Are you okay?” he asked with deep concern. “Why, because I’m still in bed?” I said groggily. “Well…yes!”
Later, I went to swim lessons and realized I had forgotten to bring my Things To Do. Basically I never go anywhere without Things To Do. This block of time, beside the pool, I had intended to devote to singing through music for a concert next week. Instead I ended up…gasp!…simply sitting there and watching my children’s lesson for half an hour. And some of the tightness in my chest went away.
And then we had choir practice, only for reasons too complex to explain in a post with the word “quick” in the title, I was not leading but instead watching everyone’s kids while they rehearsed. It was a lovely evening, and I took them onto the school playground. Eight kids, to be exact. One good-hearted uncle along to help, thank God, or that trek to the bathroom-and-water-break would have been quite an adventure–but the point is, again, no Things To Do. Because with eight kids to watch, you’re pretty much committed to doing nothing but, well, counting to eight repeatedly. But it was surprisingly relaxing.
I’ve been practicing lately–regular flute practice! what a concept!–and it feels good. I have scheduled a recital for this fall (locals: September 21!), but somehow that has not been as high a motivator as I had hoped. Next week’s performances, however, did the trick. I’ve been practicing just about daily to get my chops in shape, and man, it feels good. But it is not like it was in college and grad school. My practice sessions are accompanied by little boys taking toy cymbals and crashing them together right beside me. I can barely hear myself think, let alone play. I have to do most of performance analysis by how it feels. :) I never thought I would reach the day when it was a simple joy to clean my own flute. Something I do at a tiptoe, hoping to sneak out of the basement before the boys realize I’m done playing and start fighting over who gets to push the stick and cheesecloth through the flute.
On a serious note: I’ve been reading the book Generation Me lately, bit by bit. Every so often something electrifies me. Like this:
“A 200 study of almost 20000 teens found that those who watch TV with a lot of sexual content are twice as likely to engage in intercourse as those who watch less. ‘The impact of television viewing is so large that even a moderate shift in the sexual content of adolescent TV watching could have a substantial effect on their sexual behavior,’ said Rebecca Collins, the study’s lead author. Watching sexually explicit TV led to teens having sex two to three years earlier, with media-savvy 13-year-olds acting the same as more sheltered 15- or 16-year-olds. Another study found that young black women who watch many rap music videos are more likely to have multiple sex partners and to acquire a sexually transmitted disease.” (p. 170-171)