The kids and I jumped back in the car this week and returned to the beach on our own. Josh stayed home with Truman, though the hotel staff seemed genuinely sad that we didn’t bring him along and asked about him.  Truman, I mean.  Sorry, Josh.

We spent a few days eating junk food… I mean truly junk food.  Like you would be horrified if I told you what we ate for three days.  The twins swam in the ocean for six hours while I stood in thigh-high water and watched them.  We read Mockingjay aloud on the beach and browsed books in the bookstore and stayed up late each night watching Olympics.  We went biking one morning to balance out the extreme amount of junk food we ate.  (Did I mention that it was grotesque, the junk food consumption?)  We mused about what happened to the settlement at Roanoke Island and watched several families of dolphin jump out of the water while they moved across the shore.

It was really hard to leave.  We’ll go back a few times this fall and winter, but the last trip of summer is always hard.  I feel so much a part of the town even though I’m an outsider.  I’m a part of it because my heart so badly wants to be a part of it.  I can visit there and get by for a bit — many of the townspeople know us by name and greet us as if we’re one of them.  But they know and I know that I’m not really one of them.  They belong and I do not.  And it breaks my heart every time I have to cross over the bridge, the light bouncing off the salt marsh.

I think I’m a little down that summer is almost over.  Actually, I don’t just think it.  I am.

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Stop procrastinating.  Go make your backups.  Don’t have regrets.

Seriously.  Stop what you’re doing for a moment.  It will take you fifteen minutes, tops.  But you will have peace of mind for days and days.  It’s the gift to yourself that keeps on giving.

As always, add any new thoughts to the Friday Backup post and peruse new comments in order to find out about methods, plug-ins, and devices that help you quickly back up your data and accounts.

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And now the blogs…

But first, second helpings of the posts that appeared in the open comment thread last week.  In order to read the description before clicking over, please return to the open thread:

• “An Unwelcome Invitation” (Bent Not Broken)
• “Is One So Bad? Exploring the Only Child Experience” (My Path to Mommyhood)
• “Auditioning Books” (Stirrup Queens) — thank you, Torthúil!

Okay, now my choices this week.

Laughing IS Conceivable has a funny (and true) post about trying to talk to an infertile woman.  I laughed aloud with this: “I, for one, was always a ticking emotional time bomb. The only times I wasn’t ticking was when I actually exploded all over somebody. Then I reset the timer.”  Go over and read the whole thing.

Empty Arms, Broken Heart has a post about following bloggers’ stories that summed up what I love about blogs, this community, and the wistfulness I feel when a name pops up who hasn’t posted in a while and I wonder how they are.  She writes, “Parenting after infertility is a unique voice. Those who stick around know there is always more to tell. And I look forward to following along.”

Lastly, Magpie Musings has an important post about the idea of going to funerals.  Why you should go, and when you can’t go, send a condolence card.  She writes, “Honestly – get out a card, or your good writing paper, and a pen, and write two or five sentences, and put it in the mail with a live stamp on it. It is the least that you can do, and in my book, it’s acceptable if you have never met your imaginary friend’s father or your casual acquaintance’s sister.”  It’s one of those posts that I will always think about when I hear that someone has died.  Because she’s right.  Go to the funeral or send the card.

The roundup to the Roundup: Last beach trip of the summer.  Your weekly backup nudge.  And lots of great posts to read.  So what did you find this week?  Please use a permalink to the blog post (written between August 12th and 19th) and not the blog’s main url. Not understanding why I’m asking you what you found this week?  Read the original open thread post here.

Once again, you have been warned. There are spoilers in this post for JK Rowling’s The Cursed Child. Okay, this particular post doesn’t really contain a huge, plot-revealing spoiler, but if you’re sensitive to spoilers of any kind, SKIP THIS POST.

I mean it.

Really, click away if you haven’t read the play. This is your last warning…

Okay, coast is clear.

So… Professor McGonagall’s childlessness is finally addressed.  I’ve always wondered why the professors weren’t married, and why none had children.  Really?  It seems very strange in the modern world (and a quick Google search tells me that British schools are like American schools in the sense that many boarding school teachers today are married, and often times both people work in the school) to not have one married teacher in an entire school.

Anyway, it was addressed in the worst possible way.  Harry (on page 122) shouts at Professor McGonagall that she doesn’t understand what it means to parent a child because she doesn’t have children.

We don’t have to talk about all the ways that Ron and Harry and Hermione sort of suck in adulthood.  But that moment was such a slap in the face.  While Harry later apologizes for the overall outburst, that line is never addressed again.

I have been on the receiving end of that type of comment, back when I was teaching, before I had kids.  I’ve also been on the receiving end of unsolicited (and, frankly, unhelpful) advice from teachers on how to best parent twins.  So I’ve had it both ways.

And I still sucked in my breath with that line.

Here’s the thing: Until recently, I had a male OB/GYN.  He had never experienced a period or had a pelvic exam, but he still knew more than I did about my reproductive organs.  He was the expert on bodies in general, and I was the expert on my body in particular.  We worked together to best understand my body based on what he knew about everyone else’s body.  No different, in reality, than what a female OB/GYN brings to the table.  Again, she only knows bodies in general, and I still know my body in particular.  It never bothered me to have a male OB/GYN, and I didn’t think I would get anything different out of having a female OB/GYN.

Teachers know children, in general.  Parents know their children, in particular.  Together they bring the macro and the micro together to best reach that individual child.  Both roles are invaluable, and while both can try to do their roles without the other, I think that there is strength in observing the child up-close as a parent as well as far-away as a teacher.

So Harry’s comment is doubly crappy because it not only shits on Professor McGonagall, it dismisses the vital role that teachers play in helping the parent reach their child, as well as dismisses the vital role that parents play in helping teachers reach the very same child.  Two important people coming at the same child from two different angles, with vital information about the child in particular and children in general.

This play, in general, changed how I felt about Harry Potter.  There was just enough space for Rowling to do a lot of damage, but not enough space to clean up that damage and make me love his imperfect self again.  There was no Snape-like redemption.  Just a hollow feeling that we all grow up to become assholes.

Your thoughts?  What did you think about that moment with Professor McGonagall?  Or Harry’s behaviour throughout the play — was he ever redeemed for you?

You have been warned. There are spoilers in this post. Like huge, plot-revealing spoilers. Okay, maybe not this one, per se, but certainly in one of the other posts I’m planning to write. There is a lot to discuss in JK Rowling’s The Cursed Child.

So shall we begin?

Really, click away if you haven’t read it. This is your last warning…

Okay, coast is clear.

First and foremost, I mostly liked The Cursed Child. It was a little rough, sort of in the same way that the Sorcerer’s Stone was a bit rough. Rowling grew as a writer during the series, and I have full faith that if she churned out six more plays, she would become a great playwright, too.

Infertility and childlessness reared their head just as often as parenthood, which was interesting to see — especially in terms of which characters were fertile and which were not.  So shall we begin with Astoria?

The big rumour is that Astoria and Draco were unable to conceive, implying that it was male factor infertility.  Astoria, wanting a child (as well as Draco and Lucius wanting a powerful heir), went back in time using a secret Time-Turner and procreated with Voldemort.  So third party reproduction using donor sperm from the Dark Lord.

Interesting twist but…

Why go back in time for donor gametes?  If all they want were “superior” genes (in the non-Mudblood, Death Eater sense), why not go for donor sperm from one of the Sacred 28 families?  I mean, a Time-Turner seems like a lot of work when there are LeStranges around.

Next, are we really to believe that Voldemort would take time out of his killing schedule to procreate with Astoria at least once, but more likely several times?  I know I’m seeing the world through an infertility lens, but even the most fertile people need more than one bonking to get and stay pregnant.  When did he take a break to have sex with her?  When he was hanging out at Malfoy Manor before the Battle of Hogwarts?

And lastly, I can’t believe that time travel wouldn’t affect an unborn fetus.  I know very little about human cells and even less about the logistics of time travel, but I can’t see moving through time conducive to a healthy pregnancy.  So, again, donor gametes from a nearby wizard seem superior to ones from the past.

And do we really believe Astoria would bypass a cautious route for a dangerous one when we’re talking about a hard-won pregnancy after infertility?  I don’t know about you, but I was pretty reluctant to do anything that could possibly negatively affect the pregnancy (even to a superstitious degree), which I think is a pretty common way of behaving when something has taken so long to achieve.  So… the lack of care seemed a little unbelievable.

Voldemort babies is a plot twist that will bubble up again, so let’s save anything involving the Augurey et al for another discussion.

I guess, for me, the most interesting part was trying to decipher the reaction of the other wizards to this rumour.  Was the issue donor gametes or was the issue that the donor gametes came from Voldemort?  Because the other students tease Scorpius about it — which would point to an issue with the donor gametes themselves — vs. live in fear of him — which would point to an issue with the Voldemort connection.  The other students take it too lightly for the problem to be with the gamete donor.

Which makes me wonder: Why are the students at Hogwarts such dicks about family building?

So discuss: Astoria Malfoy, donor gametes, and the reaction of the other students.

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

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By the time the next Microblog Monday rolls around, the Olympics will be over.  Sniff.  There are still the Paralympic Games to look forward to in September, but then they’ll be over and we’ll have to wait 2 years again.

Remember when we used to need to wait 4 years?

We’ve been mostly watching anything gymnastics or swimming.  Though if they ever brought back pankration, I would be all over that.  I am smitten over the idea of zero rules, and all the kicking, sticking, fighting and biting one can muster in the ring.  Oh, wait, just re-read the two rules and they’re no biting or gouging out the opponent’s eyes.  So, all the kicking sticking, and fighting one can muster in the ring.

What are your favourite (still-existing) Olympic events?

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Are you also doing #MicroblogMondays? Add your link below. The list will be open until Tuesday morning. Link to the post itself, not your blog URL. (Don’t know what that means? Please read the three rules on this post to understand the difference between a permalink to a post and a blog’s main URL.) Only personal blogs can be added to the list. I will remove any posts that are connected to businesses or are sponsored posts.

We just went on vacation with Truman, by which I mean, in one fell swoop we became one of those “weirdest guests ever” stories that the hotel staff will tell for years to come.  Would we have gone on holiday with our paralyzed guinea pig if there was another option?  Of course not.  But that’s the thing: No one wanted to give our guinea pig his 4 twice-daily medications or two nutritional supplements much less hold his hips in place and rock his weight from foot to foot as part of his physical therapy.  So I begged Josh to call the hotel.

It had to be him.  It couldn’t be me.  First and foremost, half the time I’m not even capable of calling the local pizza place and ordering a large plain.  Second of all, if I called them, I would start bawling, and the phone call would take several hours.

They were hesitant, but they said yes.  So we packed up the pig, his hay and medications, the kids, their boogie boards, and a copy of The Cursed Child and headed for the beach.

Truman was a perfect hotel mate.  He was quiet during sleeping hours (which is not always the case), and waited until he saw me sit up in bed before he started wheeking.  He even waited one morning, staring into my eyes, without making a peep until I finished hitting the snooze button and rose.  He liked watching the Olympics.  He was very happy to get extra treats.  And he turned up the charm when one of the hotel staff came in to meet him.  (Her: “That is one large hamster!”  Me: “That’s because he’s a guinea pig.”)  They even let us have a later checkout since Truman couldn’t go on the actual beach and we wanted to go for a few hours in the morning.

All in all, a successful trip.  And I could relax because I wasn’t worrying about him.  We promised this would never happen again.  Probably.

We finished The Cursed Child on the sand.  We actually read most of the book on the beach.  This embarrassed the Wolvog a bit because while he likes the voices I do when we’re alone in the house, he doesn’t enjoy my Umbridge or Moaning Myrtle in public.  Josh reassured him that he couldn’t hear me from his chair a few feet away, therefore the rest of the beach was not going to be able to hear my high-pitched throat clearing for the professor.

A-chem!

But mostly the trip was nice because it was a chance to shut off my brain.  It’s rare to really pull back and close off the noise of life for hours at a time.  And I got to do that, with my guinea pig in tow.