Friday, November 7, 2008
Did you hear the news? This great nation of ours has turned B-L-U-E!!! Best of all, this red state of mine has voted BLUE for the first time in a generation; the last Democratic president elected in North Carolina was Jimmy Carter. Barack Obama has redefined what it means to have a case of the blues.
You might say that we live in a Blue Heaven right now.
And so today's cocktail is a toast, a cheer, a tip of my hat to the man, the President-Elect, Barack Hussein Obama.
1 shot of good quality vodka (I'm still using the organic Rain brand left over from a party.)
1/2 ounce of freshly squeezed lemon juice (No phony stuff tolerated here!)
1/2 ounce of blue curacao
Add all the ingredients to a cocktail shaker filled with ice. Shake, strain, pour into a tall, skinny glass with a few ice cubes. I recommend some star shaped ice just for kicks. Garnish with a couple blueberries and a lemon twist.
Cheers, to my fellow Americans and world citizens who are jubilant at this change of tide!
Thursday, November 6, 2008
The book Freakonomics is on my nightstand. This is irrelevant at the moment, but you'll get my point shortly.
I suppose this is technically a so-called "Mommy Blog." Well, in order to become a mommy, there is but one requirement (adoption aside for the moment). Nookie. Action. Play. Getting frisky, as the Cunninghams used to say. Call it whatever euphemism you like, but let's keep it clean. I like things to be clean, remember?
Since this is a smut-free zone, I'll be brief and as June Cleaver as possible (then again, how smut-free was she with a kid called Beaver?). The fine folks at Eden Fantasys indulged me in a bit of swag. As a neat freak, I was drawn to the aromatherapy bath and shower stuff. Hubba Hubba, nothing like a spanking clean man. Whoops, probably could have used a better word than "spanking." Delete those visuals from your minds, folks. The massage lotion was a buttery dream, and the foot stuff was porn for my feet. Hmmm, another poor choice of words. You get my drift.
I'm a Virgo. We like stuff clean. We prefer stuff to smell good. Enough said.
Let's just say that I put down Freakonomics in favor of getting my freak on instead.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Dear Bird and Deal,
See that little boy in the photo up there? He grew up to be president of the United States of America.
A whole new world has opened up and presented itself to us today. Your world will be much different than mine. Barack Obama will become our new president. He will be the first black president in our country's history. I voted for him for you. You, my mixed race boys who are first generation American. You, my boys who can truly grow up to be president or anything else your hearts desire. You, my boys who already have a keen interest in your world.
Bird, when I showed you pictures of the past 43 presidents you asked why there were no women. Ah, you make me proud! Then I showed you Obama's photo next to all those white faces, and you remarked that he looks different, that he looks like me, like our beloved nanny, like you, like your little brother. Then you said that we really should not say "white" and "black" because we are really "pink" and "brown." To you color carries no baggage, no hate, no judgement, no preconception; it is simply a Crayola descriptor. You didn't understand why Obama is the first black president out of all these men. I talked to you about Martin Luther King and Rosa Parks. We read books that captured your undivided attention, yet you could not identify with the reality that once was. I pray that you never will.
During this arduous campaign for many nights I missed tucking you into bed, I hurriedly kissed you and Daddy as our paths crossed, I was absent from the dinner table, I was high strung and on edge, I was preoccupied. I was also sleepless, filled with anxiety and hope bundled together into one tight little knot. I was concerned about your future and what my generation's legacy would be to yours. I struggled with hefty issues of race and division that I pray will not litter your world. I knocked on doors, made phone calls, planned rallies, wrote articles, researched policies, and tried to make a difference. For you. I did this all for you, my boys.
And so today, after months, weeks, days, hours of worry and time well spent, I too am spent. I am an emotional wreck. Barack Obama will be our next president. It is true. It cannot be undone. You have no idea the elation strumming through my veins as I write those simple words. He is a great man who will fix much of what is so horrifically broken in this country. He is inheriting a disaster of epic proportions. He faces no small feat, but I know he, with the help of ordinary Americans like us, can heal our wounds. I am so proud to have been but a small player in his vast army of volunteers. I hope my actions over these weeks will influence you one day when you spike the political fever and pour your own blood, sweat, and tears into a candidate you believe in.
To say this day is momentous would be one of life's greatest under statements. Today is magical, hopeful, jubilant, and I would be remiss to say, a long time in the making. We not only watched history unfold before us from a front row seat, we rolled up our sleeves and put our our hands in the pot that cooked up this great day. We, along with millions of others, made history. When you read about this in high school one day, you can say that you were there, that your mom and dad got calloused feet, hoarse voices, and paper cuts galore to have the priviledge of supporting Barack Obama. You will have mountains of campaign memorbilia that I have tucked away for you. You will have photos and videos and newspaper clippings. You will say that your Nani shook Obama's hand in Berlin. You will realize that history is more than a textbook; it is a story.
America, the country in which you were lucky enough to be born and the country that Nani and Dadu adopted as mine, has made me proud. I have learned that legions of organized people fighting a battle based on justice, advocacy, and liberty will prevail. I have learned that a little idealism goes a long way. I have learned that great men and women walk among us. I have learned to turn the other cheek. I have learned that the power of one makes a big difference. I have learned that being driven by values and emotions is a fine way to go through life. I have learned that good guys win. I have learned to savor the moment. I have learned the taste of victory, victory for us as a nation.
Barack Obama, the man we have revered and watched and supported will be the first president you remember. Oh, what a magnificent start to your civic memory!
Bird and Deal, I am humbled this day. I am proud, exuberant, hopeful. Do you remember when we sang Woody Guthrie's song in church the other day and read the storybook of those famed lyrics? "This land is your land..." Well, my boys, it's true. Woody Guthrie got it right.
I love you to the moon and back again. Or as Deal likes to say, I love you to Obama and back again.
Check out these other posts. If you've written a post about your emotions and reactions to Tuesday's historic election, please leave a link in the comments.
Leslie Morgan Steiner
Queen of Spain
'Nother Yankee in Raleigh
DC Urban Dad
A Mom Two Boys
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Don't let me down. It is a cold, dreary, rainy day in North Carolina. It's the kind of day that calls for tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. It's the kind of day that calls for hot chamomile tea, fluffy slippers, a chenille blanket, and a good long read. It's the kind of day you'd rather make a kitchen sink dinner than go out to the grocery store. It's the kind of day you even feel bad making the take out guy leave his van. It's the kind of day that you just know will leave you will the sniffles tomorrow.
It's the kind of day that will make a difference in our world. We will palpably feel that difference as soon as tomorrow. I promise you this.
Please, America, don't let me down.
It's easy to stay home, put up your feet, click on the TV, and bitch about how arduous and awful this election has been. It's easy to think your measly vote doesn't count and no one will even notice. People don't make strides by doing what's easy. One vote does count. In aggregate it all counts. Exercise your most magnificent right to vote. Women especially, exercise that vote armed with the knowledge of the fight it took to get us here a mere 80-some years ago, armed with the knowledge of the fate that awaits our daughters if a certain ornery old man and his renegade neocon take the White House.
In a game of Rock Paper Scissors, Hope will always kick Fear's snarky little ass.
I will not let my mind wander there for even a minute, for it is truly frightening. It would be disastrous, and that is no hyperbole.
Please, America, don't let me down.
Get off your ass, buck up and prepare for the lines, pack snacks and diversions for your kids, wait with your fellow citizens as you have the opportunity to write history. This is more than a front row seat, America, we are all given the plume to write a new story today.
Heck, in Raleigh you can even drop off your kids at Camp Obama at the St. Mary's Street HQ while you vote. Ask a neighbor to watch the kids and then reciprocate. There are no valid excuses today. We need you. Each and every one. Perhaps this post reeks of desperation and weariness. I suppose it is somewhat true. I am tired, on the verge of spent, yet I'll be pounding the pavement again today with my fellow army of volunteers who are making a real difference. I like to think that this post is also filled with the kinetic energy of hope, optimism, delight, and pride.
While rain might be cold and unpleasant and inconvenient, it brings with it the growth of new life, replenishment, rejuventaion, a reminder of the earth's cycle. The dawn of a new day is at our fingertips, America. Grasp it.
Please America, don't let me down.
A Mom of 2 Boys Who Deserve to Grow Up in the Presence of Grace and Goodness