#bostonsummer16.

I’d like to credit myself with our super-soft landing this trip, but if I’m being honest, credit is really due to both of us. The Who is 6 months older than the last time we drove up here and we know that, historically, the spring and summer six months of any age for him are the better six. So, there’s that. He’s also gotten more adept at entertaining himself for longer stretches, so the car ride doesn’t feel as long or torturous. For my part, I’ve gotten better at knowing how and when to arrive (close to bedtime, but not after — and to an empty house or a house with just my aunt and uncle in it.) A quick hello, a bedtime routine, and a long sleep. We’re all better for it.

Photo Jul 23, 2 07 17 PM

We colored this on our lunchtime road trip break. She was probably supposed to be a princess, but now she’s not. Is it bad that I am more accepting of his characterization of “pretty women” as sultry wizarding vixens than Disney princesses?

Tonight, he is well-fed (thanks to a hearty breakfast and dinner at Grandma’s), bathed (thank you again to Grandma simply for owning a bathtub) and already asleep, snuggled up with the absurdly large stuffed dog he helped to pay for out of his allowance yesterday at Ikea.

Photo Jul 24, 5 40 12 PM

Kid loves himself some shrimp cocktail (with “virgin” cocktail sauce — aka ketchup.)

Photo Jul 24, 6 08 41 PM

Let’s not pretend that he ate this grilled peach, ok? But it’s still too pretty not to share.

(I’m sunburnt and hungry, but that doesn’t mean anything special except that it’s summer, 9pm, and I’m predictable.)

Photo Jul 24, 6 09 30 PM

I fell asleep drying off from the pool. Womp, womp.

I have high (but reasonable) hopes for this month ahead. A week of theatre camp starting tomorrow, a handful of social plans, a 10-day visit from m*, a Sox game, a wedding, an anniversary celebration…and then? Then we have a second grader on our hands. I’ve got a Steve Miller Band lyric at the ready, but maybe I will spare you…

Photo Jul 24, 6 40 02 AM

Time keeps on slippin’, slippin’, slippin’…into the future….

Or, maybe not. 😉

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Bullets. 

  • In three days we leave for Boston, not to return until 5 days before school starts. It simultaneously feels like summer is almost over and like it’s just about to begin. 
  • I am getting my car detailed for the first time ever on Friday. It has always felt much too extravagant a thing to do, but actually, I have spent $100 on things that don’t add to my quality of life at all, so.
  • My hair is shorter than it’s ever been in my life. She used clippers, even. I feel like I have so much to say about hair — about hiding behind long hair, about coloring or not coloring it (mine still isn’t colored and now that it’s so short, it’s fully gray), about societal expectations, femmeness, dykiness, fatness, change, commitment, comfort, fear. This is the post that keeps rattling around in my head, but it’s still not fully formed. 
  • The Who is getting ready for second grade. 
  • We are about to embark on Harry Potter, Book 5. We only began reading them one year ago. 
  • Everyone’s got trip anxiety and while The Who’s makes him want to be with me/play with me/baby talk to me/challenge me, mine makes me want to be all alone all the time. It’s not the best mix. 
  • My time is up. Back to the to-do list. 

BLM.

As I am guilty of making assumptions, jumping to conclusions, and not wanting to believe the worst, I paused after each name in this video so I could google each incident and learn the story of each death. Some I knew already; many I did not. 
Nearly all of them involved some kind of resist of arrest, intoxication, or other criminal activity, but none called for the violence imposed by law enforcement. 

I’ve heard the argument that “they shouldn’t have gotten killed, but it’s not like they were angels either.”  

That argument holds no water. 
Sure, one is not entitled to drive drunk, possess drugs, resist arrest, sell illegal CDs, etc. without consequence. But that consequence can’t be being shot in the back, in the head, in the chest, held down, choke-held, or beaten to death. Somewhere between restraint and arrest of a criminal and murder. That is the line we’re looking for. 
And it’s not just a coincidence that those who were killed were black people. Black people are targeted, profiled, antagonized, and never given the benefit of the doubt. I promise that if I reached into my pocket on a traffic stop, no one would ever think I was reaching for a gun. 
We have to stop making excuses for the killing of black people by law enforcement. There is no explanation worthy of mitigating or excusing these murders. 
Stop killing black people. They’re not expendable. Their lives matter.

https://m.mic.com/articles/148555/alicia-keys-and-24-other-celebs-tell-you-what-gets-you-killed-if-you-re-black-in-america#.km6Agxk3u