Mom and I did a very grown-up thing today: we visited the Museum of Fine Arts in Houston, and enjoyed many arts of fine-ness. The last time we visited this museum, we thought it would be okay to bring the kiddo along. Sydney did not find the museum at all interesting, and made our truncated time there very miserable. We decided on that afternoon that the next time we had a day to ourselves, we would check out the museum at our leisure. Today was that day, and we were giddy with the prospect of checking out the fine arts. (Of course, we had planned the day for Monday, but we got all the way to the museum to find it closed, so had to switch up our plans for the week.)
I discovered, once we started rolling through the place, that I've got preferences about the fine arts: I prefer landscape paintings to paintings of people and Jesus. I don't really care for earthen pots. The Greek stuff is cool because it's so old. I don't like looking at jewelry that isn't mine or royal. I'm not sophisticated enough to understand a lot of modern art. I always hold my hands behind my back, and that makes my shoulders tired. Fine arts museums are much more relaxing when there's no kid following you around whining about how bored she is or asking every minute when it's time to leave.