- Still thinking a lot about The Who and his sensitivity, but I’m in a much better/more sane/more comfortable (for me) place about it. Writing about it, talking about it in therapy, crying through The Butler every time there was an exchange between the son and the father, and watching an awful lot of Friday Night Lights, where a young man reveals his genuineness from underneath his tough-guy exterior in almost every episode has brought me to a new level of understanding. A margarita-soaked chat with WestPhillyMama and 2 latte-infused chats with other friends have also helped me. He’s a sensitive boy. He cries when he is hurt. He’s 4, I know. This may not always be the case, but it might. What he needs from me is to be a mama who helps him to hold his feelings and allows him to express them in the best way for him — however that makes me feel. And, not surprisingly, once I really embraced that notion, the crying stopped getting under my skin.
- It’s Fall. For real this time, guys. It’s 64 degrees at 5pm. I’m chilly without a sweater. The Who is wearing pants instead of shorts. I am simultaneously delighted and sad about this. Warm beds/cool bedrooms is one of my favorite feelings, but so is happiness. And mostly my happiness disappears as summer does. In the meantime: pumpkins! Warm lattes! Leaves!
- I have 8% of battery left. I’d like to write more, but I intentionally didn’t bring my power cord with me so I’d be limited online. Now it feels like shooting myself in the foot.
- And one last thing: speaking of shooting — can everyone quit that shit please? Stop shooting people up. In neighborhood watches, in NavyYards, in schools, at marathons, all of it. Stop destroying people with weaponry. Seriously.