I am at a swim meet. And if you’re any kind of reader, you know how much I
loathe love a good swim meet. They always ask the parents to bring something to sell at the concession, which I generally get out of my pantry; but the pantry’s looking a little sparse lately, so I showed up empty handed today.
The assistant coach asked the Hispanic kids to bring breakfast burritos. Racist? Or stereotypical? They did not ask my little half breed to bring anything like that. Maybe they didn’t think her white mother could manage it. I couldn’t.
So I dropped Tenderheart off with my chair to get me a good spot like putting a towel on a lounge chair at a beach resort, or not. I took Moonshine to work and then came back to sit in a wet sauna and watch her meet. I wanted more than anything for her to say she wanted to just sleep in, but I’m glad she didn’t.
Here’s my view.
I’m in the splash zone, which makes me think of the documentary Blackfish that you should totally see if you haven’t. It’s about the treatment of killer whales in captivity. It’s really good yet sad, and Moonshine only made it through the first 20 minutes before she started crying and went to her room. And if that’s not a ringing endorsement, I don’t know what you need.