Beckie likes quotes.

“To be sensual, I think, is to respect and rejoice in the force of life, of life itself, and to be present in all that one does, from the effort of loving to the making of bread.” — James Arthur Baldwin

http://carrieanddanielle.com/how-will-you-make-your-weekend-sensual/

Beckie kicks some ass.

My 11 year old son + 1 ass beatdown = Understanding the importance of waiting where you're supposed to be until I come get you.

I was late. 10 minutes late. I get to the school and a few kids are milling around, still exiting the building. No sight of my son. He must still be inside. 5 minutes go by. I enter the building and find out choir has all been dismissed. Call my 15 year old daughter at home. No son. Send her to the apartment clubhouse and a neighbor's house to see if he's there. No son. Check my phone for calls. None. Check the afterschool program. No kid. Drive around the building...no one. Call the police. As I realize what I'm saying, the tears fall. My stomach cramps. People throw away perfectly good black boys all the time. Surely no one took my son. He's only good for eating up all the brownies, walking the dog and avoiding lotions and moisturizers at all costs. Stuff only a mother loves.

Now I'm calling people whose kids attend my son's school. I can't understand what I'm saying to them; I know they can't understand me. Police pull up. My son walks over to the car. His sneakers are on his feet (it's about 20 degrees), his boots are in his left hand, and his coat is thrown over his shoulder. He's crying and his face is ashy. He says he thought I forgot to pick him up, so he decided to walk home. Walk. In 20 degrees. No coat, boots or gloves (they evaporated). Didn't call because he doesn't have his own personal cell phone. He lost 4 pairs of gloves this winter and it's only January in Ohio, but he wants a cell phone. Didn't ask to use someone else's phone because that's not cool. Didn't wait for me because...because...because....(insert logic of an 11 year old fart master here).

Now my stomach has settled. My tears feel hot. The cops are gone. I can't stop touching him to make sure he's really in front of me. WALK HOME. Should I let him unthaw first? If only I could drive and swing at the same time. Walk home? There is no sidewalk. But you were late. Walk home. We live beyond a highway overpass. There is no walking here. It's a good 3 miles from my house to the school. I choose to drive with both hands on the wheel, just in case the cops are following me. He's so cold he can barely move. Tears and ash all over his face. All I could do was hug and kiss him. Take all the brownies you want son. I love you. I'll beat your ass tomorrow.