Harry's Very Dairy Saturday

Because this is a dairy state, one lovely Saturday every June is majorly bovine-- it's called Cows on the Concourse, and local dairy farmers get together to bring their heifers to the capitol, which completely cracks me up. It's like a slow, hay-filled protest, a very docile sit in, and I wonder what these gals could possibly be advocating. Maybe they, too, wanted to see a woman be the next president.

Because I know I did, and Hillary's speech on Saturday made me cry-- especially the part when she said God bless America because she sounded so presidential and like she knew that particular moment was the climax of her career, the last time she would command an audience that size, the last time her blessing would resonate with housewives like me, wearing their babes and thinking that they could tell their grandchildren they VOTED for her way back in the day, like some hausfrau at the turn of the last century who was all, "I saw Alice Paul speak when I was a girl," you know? And there was a little of the resignation of Cady Stanton's "Solitude of Self," a touch of weariness-- world weariness and just plain exhaustion.

But who knows, maybe she'll rise Nixon-like from the ashes of this campaign, and continue to connect the dots from Seneca Falls to DC-- a straight line, even if it is longer than we'd like. I blame the misguided message of the woefully inadequate third wave, which has taught girls to be content, to express their "power" with stilettos and the "choice" to stay home, to understand feminism as Jennifer Baumgardner and Amy Richards so sickeningly put it, like flouride-- it's just in the water. Yeah? Well guess what grrls, so is sexism, which, clearly, has not been diluted by the third wave's brand of selfishness disguised as activism.

Speaking of feminism, here's Harry with the reigning Dairy Queen (yeah, that's a non sequitor disguised as a segue-- clever, huh? Also, I was thisclose to getting Ben a Segue for Father's Day because how funny would that be?)


Poking a skinny cow in the ribs and thinking, I'd like to imagine, "Ha ha, cow! I'm fatter than you! Maybe people shoul eat me instead! What's more politically incorrect than veal? Ha! Toddler flank steak! Wait minute..."

Enjoying his grilled cheese sandwich-- dairy, get it-- and playing with Ben on the lawn



Then we went home, I watched Hillary and sobbed, and he bossed me around while we played blocks and bricks. And by played, I mean that he told me what to build and freaked out when I did not complete the project to his exact specifications. So fun.


He wore the Chili's drink menu through the whole meal.

Also? Cows on the Concourse? I totally nursed Jack right there on the capitol square---- I just wanted to show the old girls that I was right there with them. Sisterhood and all that.