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This afternoon I went to my local Obama headquarters, donated some green and got a lawn sign. And buttons. I don't recognize myself anymore. Full disclosure, I wasn't an Obama-mama from the beginning, something having to do with attending Hillary's 50th birthday party at Tavern on the Green back in 2006, or the friend I used to have whose late father worked for the Clinton campaign back in 1992. I felt a personal connection to the woman, and watching her brave the Lewinsky storm showed a confidence and a backbone I admired. And the whole woman in the White House thing. That was exciting. But she lost, and maybe it was for the best because now that I've gotten a chance to learn about Obama, I am excited about a candidate for the second time in my life, and actually paying attention to the news, and excited for America and the world, should he win. If he loses, I will want to move. But I wanted to move when Bush won in '00, and again in '04, and I'm still here. If I spoke French, you never know.
Regarding last night's final debate, when you have a guy like Obama who is the walking epitome of calm cool class pitted against a guy who looks like he'd shoot you in the back and then stick the gun in your hand, I can only cringe to think that there are people who actually want that maverick guy (with his crazy rogue thumb) running the country. I guess this post is a prayer of sorts. Pleasepleaseplease as Anne Lamott says.
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For freaking out loud is Hamish's cry of frustration du jour. I amend it to say "for f*cking out loud" far too often these days as parenthood is kicking my culo yet again, and there's nothing like cursing with the real curse words to express the eye-popping humorlessness I feel when Stella insists on running naked laps around the house at bedtime instead of getting into her jammy-jams, and Hamish, between mouthfuls of cereal, is testing his new pre-K approved insults on me, like, "You're a doody." I keep having this thought, this belief that I should be a model of peace for my children at all times, that I am indeed a doody if I lose my shit, which is like saying that cats should bark. Like, meow, you know? So I'm renouncing sainthood like the Tao says. Freak it, man.
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1 comment:
All's I know is one of my kids is wearing my shirt. The other one may be also, but I can't tell because of the scary witchcraft camerawork. No matter, don't make me open up my can o' whupass!
You've turned into a radical political junkie! Woo!
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