The only thing obstructing my view of the end of my daughter's fourth-grade year is the ugly last third of it. I say "ugly" because what comes with the final excruciating months is the amplified prep for, and implementation of—wait for it—standardized testing.
My husband’s long-articulated worst nightmare became real last week when he bit down on a piece of smothered chicken he’d made the night before and thought he’d been stuck through the tongue with a bone. But it was no bone. It was a 2-inch-long vertical shard of glass that pierced the roof of his mouth and his tongue.
In the days between two grotesque and revealing grand-jury decisions not to indict the killers of two unarmed black men, a photo of a white policeman embracing a weeping black boy kept popping up in my Facebook feed.
Here’s the stone-cold truth: I’m into some superficial entertainment right now. Various news items engulf me like an avalanche: President Obama finding his immigration balls a month too late; frat boys across the country getting away with rape, ho hum.