5:00 Fridays

So Obama has once again declared he'll repeal Clinton's (Bill's, that is) "Don't Ask Don't Tell" policy. Seems to me that the spirit of that ridiculousness sparked Vegas' "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" ad campaign. Um, as if we just don't talk about it, it doesn't matter. Yeah, tell that to your jilted bride who's gonna get a mad case of herpes thanks to your hedonistic indiscretions.

Besides that, so much for the whole equality thing. What a novel concept anyway. Have we really seen that work in any realm? I mean really, we wouldn't have Title IX, affirmative action, and so on if Equality really mattered. "Don't Ask Don't Tell" is just one more cog in that stifling machine. I'm thinking that "separate but equal" more closely aligns with where our country has socially been pointing its nose. Then again, based on the raving rants and roars by the likes of a tub bellied arse named Rush and a becurled beauty queen named Sarah, I'd say our nose, theirs and their minions' at least, is pointing elsewhere.

Hear's hoping that Obama makes some headway on the repeal of "Don't Ask Don't Tell." I'm applauding his wisdom with a drink.

Oh, and lest you think this is not a real drink, allow me to point you to page 214 of the fine book The Daily Cocktail that my dear friend Kate gave me.


Gay Marine

few sprigs of fresh mint
4 - 5 lime wedges
1 T sugar
1/2 ounce Grand Marnier
1 1/2 ounces Mount Gay Barbados rum
1 - 2 ounces apple juice (Surely every parent of young kids has this on hand!)


In a silver (or at least stainless steel) cocktail shaker, muddle a few sprigs of mint, the lime wedges, sugar, and Grand Marnier. Add some crushed ice and pour in the rum. Stir and top off with the apple juice. Serve in an old fashioned glass with some mint and a lime wedge as garnish.

Cheers to ALL those patriots who serve loyally, courageously, dutifully.

Race Relations & Gender Equality, as Explained to a 5 and 3 Year Old

I have been having some heavy conversations with my sons lately. Racism. Race relations. Sexism. Gender equality. Heavy stuff for any age, but even more so with a five and three year old. Admittedly not the typical fare for car pool lines and kitchen conversations everywhere. But my sons sit perched at the breakfast bar while I cook dinner, and we talk. Mostly they ask questions, and I wrack my brain coming up with an honest yet meaningful answer that will make sense to their innocent blank slates. I tread lightly, knowing this will likely be the beginning of their developing self awareness. So what's the catalyst for such heady talk at our house?

Barack Obama.

You see, my children are mixed race first generation Americans.

My husband is a born and bred Midwesterner from a town of 500 people. I am an Indian girl who was born in Calcutta, a city of 16 million people. I say it's kismet that brought us together 31 years after our birth.

My sons are starting to recognize that we look different from each other, and that I look different from other moms. The beauty of childhood is that they view these differences with no judgment, no preconception, no expectations, no bigotry. Some call it naivete. I call it bliss.

I spent the better part of 2008 campaigning for Barack Obama in my home state of North Carolina. Political chatter surrounded us, and we tuned in the children when we felt it was appropriate. Granted, they were Obama walking billboards sporting their "Yes We Can" T-shirts. My husband and I told them about this historic election, and pointed out the significance of the Clinton vs. Obama primaries.

I brought my boys to the voting booth with me. Bird, my kindergartener, even filled out the ballot for me, proudly marking Barack Obama's name. It's no surprise that "Obama" was one of the first words he could read on his own. On November 5 I showed a picture of the past 43 presidents to my sons and asked what they noticed about the people. First they said, "There are no girls, Mommy." Home run! Then Bird said, they all look like Daddy. They are pink." I explained that the terms we use are white, black/African American, to which he animatedly replied, "But we are brown, Mommy. And no one is white. They are pink!" How could I argue with such logic?

And then came Lily Ledbetter .

I happened to flip on the TV during Obama's press conference about signing the Lily Ledbetter Fair Pay Act . The boys shouted for me to move so they too could see the TV. Obama! Obama! We all sat mesmerized as he spoke, with a tenacious and victorious Lily Ledbetter at his side. They were particularly excited when Obama mentioned his daughters in his speech. They love to hear about kids in the White House (which we just visited recently). I explained that when Mommy and Daddy met, we both had the exact same jobs (Yes, an office romance!), but Daddy got paid more money than I did. I told them that I had actually been in the job longer, but Daddy earned more money. "No fair!" they shouted in unison. I regaled them with the tale about me marching into our manager's office demanding an explanation...and a raise. My next pay stub reflected a significant bump in pay that equaled my husband's. Whether it was my gumption or my boss' fear I'll never know. I explained to my sons how many, many women earn less money than men doing the same things. I told them that that lady standing next to Obama got fed up, and America finally listened.

As the mother of boys, I hope to raise them in a manner that debunks gender biases. My three year old's favorite color is pink . My five year old loves to draw and paint. My husband often cooks spectacular dinners, and he has breakfast duty on weekends, for which he spoils us with creme brulee french toast and the like. We share duties as primary care givers. My goal is to raise my sons as open minded citizens who see the worth in all people, regardless of race, gender, or anything else that adults deem worthy of judgment. And I hope, as their mother, that the world grants them the same respect.

This original post is cross posted to Deep South Moms Blog.

Wise Words from Garrison Keillor

Garrison Keillor's comments on Obama's election

An excerpt from a wise Midwestern man:

"Be happy, dear hearts, and allow yourselves
a few more weeks of quiet exultation.
It isn't gloating, it's satisfaction at a job well done.
He was a superb candidate, serious, professorial
but with a flashing grin and a buoyancy that comes
from working out in the gym every morning.
He spoke in a genuine voice, not senatorial at all.
He relished campaigning. He accepted adulation gracefully.
He brandished his sword against his opponents
without mocking or belittling them.
He was elegant, unaffected, utterly American,
and now (Wow) suddenly America is cool.
Chicago is cool. Chicago !!!
We threw the dice and we won the jackpot
and elected a black guy with a Harvard degree,
the middle name Hussein and a sense of humor
he said, "I've got relatives who look like Bernie Mac,
and I've got relatives who look like Margaret Thatcher."
The French junior minister for human rights said,
"On this morning, we all want to be American
so we can take a bite of this dream unfolding
before our eyes." When was the last time you heard
someone from France say they wanted to be American
and take a bite of something of ours?
Ponder that for a moment.
The world expects us to elect pompous yahoos,
and instead we have us a 47-year-old prince
from the prairie who cheerfully ran the race, and
when his opponents threw sand at him,
he just smiled back. He'll be the first president in history
to look really good making a jump shot.
He loves his classy wife and his sweet little daughters.
At the same time, he knows pop music,
American lit and constitutional law.
I just can't imagine anybody cooler.
It feels good to be cool, and all of us can share in that,
even sour old right-wingers and embittered blottoheads.
Next time you fly to Heathrow and hand your passport
to the man with the badge, he's going to see
"United States of America " and look up and grin.
Even if you worship in the church of Fox ,
everyone you meet overseas is going to ask you about Obama,
and you may as well say you voted for him because,
my friends, he is your line of credit over there.
No need anymore to try to look Canadian."

Read the entire Salon.com article here.

Words for How We Feel Now

Thanks to Twitter, I stumbled upon this fantastic video by Emily Troutman. Bird and Deal were perched on my lap watching with me. It proved to be a great reading lesson for Bird, and Deal just liked seeing all the Obama pictures. And I must say, the song is catchy. I'm gonna download the Killers today.

So the word I would add to the montage is PEACE. How about you?

5:00 Fridays

A toast to our 44th President, our first chief who hails from the state of Hawaii. And I understand it's cold out there but I figured Barack deserved a tall, cool cocktail that's just like him.


Blue Hawaiian

1/2 oz rum
1/2 oz blue curacao (Stock up on this. I tend to use it a lot.)
1/2 oz creme de coconut
1 1/2 oz pineapple juice

Mix it up in a blender with ice. Pour into a tall glass. Garnish with a wedge of pineapple. Sip and enjoy what Hope tastes like for a Change.

Witness to History

One of many posters among the crowd. This one was held by a little girl of nine who had just arrived by train from Tampa with her single mother and younger brother.

Buildings across DC wore mantels of hope and change. This one speaks to a top of mind issue: wars we're waging in two countries. Notice the reflection of the American flag in the window.


Words from the AFL CIO.


My buddy Barack and I. I'm not packing on the pounds here, just seventeen layers.


Mac Daddy and I at about hour five in 19 degree temps. This is just before he started complaining about the cold. He wouldn't have made his Wisconsin brethren proud. Note the shearling coat. He hasn't worn it once in the seven years we've lived in North Carolina. I was bundled up to the max and didn't lose feeling in my toes until hour six. Our smiles were frozen on our faces.


Speaking of Wisconsin, meet Governor Doyle. Mac Daddy recognized him when he departed the warm bus on his way to his seat. Mac Daddy called out his name, which is totally out of character. Mac Daddy is a political junkie who knew the names and party affiliation of everyone who stepped off that bus. He cooed as if they were rock stars. I just snapped photos. Governor Doyle was extraordinarily gracious. He came over and shook hands with Mac Daddy and chatted him up for a while. Notice he is not wearing a hat or gloves and that his scarf is casually askew as if his wife made him sling it on for good measure. 1) He's from Wisconsin. 2) He got to wait in a heated bus and building.



I'm unclear why a cow and yellow chicky looking thingee was trapsing through the city. Yet another Wisconsin tie?


Roads and several metro stations were closed. Several people braved the cold to bike to the festivities. I swear there were a few thousand bikes parked here. We're getting greener already.


The crowd. No photo does it justice. Wall to wall people like I have never seen. Throngs. Masses.


A true fan. Her dogs had to have been barking after standing in those massive heels for so long. I think she got those boots from the Kiss Fan Club eBay store. Lord knows what's in the suitcase. Based on heightened security, I'm guessing she didn't get admittance to the swearing in ceremony or parade. The balloons were a nice touch.


Secret service. See the tall guy on the left? He was freezing his tenders off. He was visibly cold, painfully frigid. I offered him my extra fleece ear warmer headband. He declined. He tried really really hard to look cool (as in suave). Instead he just looked like a popsicle.

See the white structure on the left with a slanted roof? That's Obama's viewing booth in front of the White House. He walked down this path before taking his perch to watch the parade. Our seats were right in front of this shot.

Sniper dude on the roof. I think he looks like a Minute Man in this silhouette. You'd never find me on a roof pitched like that.


One of my favorite photos. Snipers on every rooftop. And in places we could not see.


The second limo is the one President Obama is in. And how do I know this? Because I watched him get out of it! Mac Daddy and I had parade tickets (Thank you, Ali!) right at the spot Barack and Michelle got out of their warm car and walked to their viewing booth, waving and grinning as one would expect. We were on pins and needles watching them, and the secret service was oh so very nervous.


President Barack Obama and his lovely wife Michelle. I could barely snap this photo because seeing them up close and personal took my breath away.


So what can I say to do justice to this experience? How can I adequately paint the picture of what it is to be a witness to history? The thing is, it's not hyperbole to say we witnessed history. We all did that day. Whether on CNN, BBC, or 15th and New York, we watched history unfold before our very eyes. And indeed it was a privilege. I've been running over the weekend's events in my head like an 8mm movie. We'll have a tale to weave one day when we tell our grandchildren about January 20, 2009. History is made in small ways and grand strokes everyday, but it's not everyday that we are wrapped in the folds of it.

Mac Daddy and I bundled up and headed to the Lincoln Memorial on Sunday for the We Are One concert. It was pretty freaking cool to see a sea of hopeful souls, all in awe of history being made. We met up with an old college friend of mine whose mother had seen Martin Luther King Jr. speak in the very spot decades ago. Poetic. It was simply poetic. I don't know about you, but it's not just everyday that I get to see Bruce Springsteen, Kal Penn (whom I love...yeah for the Indian actors!), Steve Carell, James Taylor, Laura Linney, Garth Brooks, Usher, Denzel Washington, Beyonce, and U2 share a stage. Garth really brought the house down. Everyone audibly gulped when Bono waxed every so slightly about Palestine. There was no room to dance, but we all swayed. We clapped. We cheered. We hugged strangers and befriended all those around us. You see, we were surrounded by half a million people who share our values and sensibilities and enthusiasm. We were engulfed in passion. And later when we got home, we embraced Bird and Deal and sang Woody Guthrie's This Land is Your Land along with the TV.

On inauguration day we bundled up as if were were shooting in the Himalayas with David Breashears. We made our way toward the Mall but turned away in the end, fearing we'd lose our parade spot for which we had a first class ticket (right next to the CBS jib). The scurry of secret service agents, police, and soldiers was straight out of an MGM back lot. We met secret service agents from Oklahoma and New Mexico and were privy to some behind-the-scenes tales of candor. We learned that one in three secert service agents was in DC on Tuesday. And the poor guys had been perched in their spots since 3:00 AM. AM, as in the middle of the night. The wee hours. We heard stories from a particularly friendly cop from Maryland who ushered Demi Moore, Ashton Kutcher, Tobey Maguire, and Usher to their service jobs on Monday. He had almost 20 years of service under his belt and was full of stories for our keenly attentive ears.

What struck me most was the crowd. A human Crayola box filled with all shapes, colors, ages, religions, backgrounds. An Arab woman and her New Yorker husband and their three kids shared a bleacher seat with us. African American women lead us in song in an attempt to warm us up. A Jewish couple chatted about their hopes for Obama's administration. A retired couple, the man on crutches, sat patiently sipping tea. Young hipster kids smoked incessantly and visibly wept when Barack Obama took his oath of office (and truth be told, so did I). We met people from Tampa, Las Vegas, Rochester, Atlanta, and yes, even a few locals who dared to venture out. Everyone was excited, positive, eager. And I'd be remiss if I didn't mention we were also hungry, freezing, and tired. But it was so worth it.

And let's not forget that united people, no matter how cold and uncomfortable, still have a sense of humor. Upon Joe Biden taking the oath of office, the crowd broke out chanting "Cheney's out!" and "Cheney no more!" The cheering and clapping and eruption of joy was deafening when Obama took his oath. Mac Daddy and I kissed as if we were under mistletoe on New Year's Eve. Indeed, on January 22, a new year had begun.

Sitting on the Edge of History

Here we sit perched on the edge of history. H.I.S.T.O.R.Y. And for a change, we are participants, not mere observers. Not watching it on our seven year old 245 pound Sony Wega TV from the comfort of our Lego strewn family room. We are in our nation's capital, among the cast of characters playing a small role in this new episode of America.

The Dirty & Noisy family is in frigid DC awaiting the Obama festivities. Today starts with a concert at Lincoln Memorial. All I can do is hope to catch a glimpse of Bono and Will.I.Am. All I can do is hope to hear Obama's booming words. I have been lucky to see him up close and personal a couple of times so I am not so desperate to see his beaming smile and graying head within reach. I simply want to be a part of the moment. I want to be wrapped in the making of history, surrounded by my fellow Americans who worked so hard to get us here today. I want to document this as a proud chapter in my own life story and as a prelude to my sons' civic engagement. I want to bask in victory, gratitude, inspiration, change.

We are still debating taking Bird and Deal to the Lincoln Memorial concert. Oh, how we want them to feel the energy and the digest the significance of this inauguration. We want their civic memories to begin ignited with glory and excitement and positive vibes all around.

Tuesday marks a chapter closed in our tumultuous recent history. And now a beginning replete with the most slippery of emotions: Hope.

Hope is where we are hanging our hats. The Change we hoped for has come.

Letter to a New Year: Dear 2009 from a Head Case Oddity

Dear 2009,

Thank you for giving 2008 the boot. Of course, I was supposed to get the boots! I'm the one who asked for black stiletto boots for Christmas that I didn't get. Hmmph. Sure 2008 brought all kinds of whoopty-do in its paper sack of life's greatest hits: Mac Daddy and I turned 40, Bird started kindergarten, Deal saved the planet by ditching diapers and pull ups, we went to Disney Land, Barack Obama won the presidential election (which still makes me high just thinking about it), and all the goes-without-saying stuff that I won't say because well, it goes without saying.

2008 also kinda sucked in its own special the-sky-is-falling way. I mean we are in a recession and all. Virtually the whole world order is crashing at our feet that are clad with last fall's shoes because no one can afford to keep up with fashion anymore. Money matters have driven me to insomnia, a slow down in my business has caused premature graying (granted I'm 40 but I still feel like the gray is premature), I suffered an insufferable chronic cough for nine+ months and discovered some weird growth on my vocal chord, and my cat died. I know this last point comes as a surprise to many. It has been so heart breaking that I cannot bring myself to blog about it. Seriously. I'll get to it. I owe her some time in the limelight. 2008 also marked yet another year that kept us away from close friends. Damn fuel surcharges and obnoxiously high airfares stomped out our planned and highly anticipated trip to Europe with the boys. The raping of the American consumer continued.

Oh, I sound awfully negative and ungrateful, don't I? What a wretch am I. Full of venom here at Dirt & Noise. I am grateful for all the joys that 2008 brought. I am. Really. My family is healthy, happy, well fed, warm in winter, cool in summer, clothed, educated, and spoiled. There I go muttering all the stuff that goes without saying.

But 2009, please bring consumer confidence back to our lives. Rejuvenate the economy so that we can breathe the intoxicating scent of optimism again. Heal our wounds, mend our fences, stitch the fabric of our being, and throw us a bone and scratch our itches while you're at it. I'm also going to go ahead and ask for something that I bet everyone would add to the list but is too chicken to ask for: more sex. I figure the year can't be all bad since it does mark George Bush's final farewell, the end of arrogance and errors.

Bring back the good ole days, 2009. Keep us healthy, make us wealthy. And could you maybe cut Obama some slack? He's inheriting some pretty serious shit. Let's treat those little girls with some respect, mkay? Sasha and Malia don't need to be harassed like the offspring of Hollywood royalty. Basically, don't suck as much as 2008 and you'll go down in history. We're all feeling a bit spent so let's spend the new year being grateful, not greedy, honorable, not ornery. I'm not one for resolutions (no sense setting myself up for failure and disappointment), but I'll sign up for an attitude adjustment.

Thanks for obliging, 2009. I'm looking forward to seeing what you bear in your sack of tricks. I'm going to do my part to make it a rockin' year.

Peace, love, and laughter.

5:00 Fridays

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.

Blue Heaven

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!

Change is Here, Boys

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.

Mommy

PS
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
Morningside Mom
Queen of Spain
Pundit Mom
'Nother Yankee in Raleigh
DC Urban Dad
Mom 101
A Mom Two Boys
Mommy Pie

A Letter to America

Dear America,

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.

Sincerely,
A Mom of 2 Boys Who Deserve to Grow Up in the Presence of Grace and Goodness

Obama Visits Raleigh to Barack the Early Vote

One of many long lines. Throngs of hopeful, patient souls waiting to see the next President of the United States of America, live in Memorex. The Melting Pot personified here today. Wow am I glad I did not drag Bird and Deal to this. Five and three year-olds are not known for their ability to stand in a line for long periods of time unless a Star Wars simulator ride or Toy Story 3D shoot 'em up game is at the end.


Me and my Twitter friend @catnc. See Mac Daddy, I am not talking to imaginary friends on Twitter. @catnc is real. This is not a Bartles & James cardboard cut out. We had just come from coffee with Edie Falco, whose vacation home is in the teeny tiny speck of a town @catnc grew up in. They totally bonded.

Barack is totally pointing to me here.


Here Barack is saying something really smart about how we will be worse off four years from now if John McCain is president. I have a visceral reaction to the mere thought of it.


Another emphatic point here. The man rocks. He simply rocks. Damn if he isn't presidential.


Farewell, Raleigh. Please vote early! Polls are open through Saturday, November 1. You can even register and vote on the same day if you vote early. In North Carolina you cannot register to vote on Election Day, November 4!


See you on November 5, Raleigh. Next time, it's Mr. President.

Racism is a Race that Must End

I wrote my college history thesis on the Vietnam anti-war movement at the University of Virgina. A rather narrow topic that required many hours spent in the basement of Alderman Library and in personal interviews with a tape recorder in hand. I took notes in my spiral bound notebook because the Trapper Keeper was too bulky. I had the honor and pleasure of talking to men who were outraged at the political, racial, and social divisions of their day. Men who took a stand, often against their upbringing, their parents, their professors, and their fraternity brothers.

Keep in mind it was 1969 when these men clad in suit coats and ties were quietly protesting the Vietnam war at a conservative Southern school where women (4 of them) had just been admitted. Nevermind that it took The University from 1895 to 1969 to finally admit women to its hallowed halls. The anti-war movement at UVa. was not newsworthy on the same scale as Kent State, Berkley or the Universities of Michigan and Wisconsin. But is was news in Charlottesville, a quintessentially quaint college town.

The climate is much the same now.

If those old cassette tapes still worked I know I would sense the same emotion, zeal, and frustration that I sense among my peers today. The handful of protesting men could sit as bystanders no longer. The racist jokes and chauvanist banter could be ignored no more. They took action, as a small group, and faced jeering, mimickry, and black balling. But they did not shed their convictions. They did not silence their battlecry.

I had a History of the Civil Rights Movement professor in college who inspired me to write about this small, unknown anti-war movement in the South. He told tales of small groups of citizens banding together for a common cause, to right what was wrong. He spoke of grassroots power, civil disobedience, living by conviction. Perhaps you've heard of my professor, Julian Bond. He regaled us with harrowing tales of the civil rights movement. He brought in speakers who marched, protested, organized, and battled for us. All of us. Rosa Parks spoke. I can still hear her story and see her grandmotherly face. I read to my kids about Rosa Parks now and I am proud to tell them I heard her tale spun from her own frail lips.

Julian Bond, Rosa Parks, and the men of UVa. cemented for me the reality of the fight they fought. The made it more than a chapter in a history book. They were more than answers on a test or names engraved on a plaque covered in ivy. The gave me faces of change. Of hope. Of grassroots power.

Our climate is much the same today.

I used to joke that people who vote for John McCain are either greedy or stupid. Sure, that's anger rearing its snarky head. But one thing I cannot shake is that some people voting for John McCain are racist. I say this from firsthand experience. I realize it is no small claim but I stand behind my words and assessment.

The beast that is Racism snarls its rotten teeth and growls its hot gasp in corners we don't suspect. Let me recount a conversation I just had with someone very close to me. She had just taken a Greyhound trip and arrived delightfully on time. I asked about her trip, and she commented it was fine, easy, and swift. She went on to tell me the trip was fine because there were lots of white people on the bus. As soon as the words escaped her lips she backpedaled, trying to suck them back in. Racism managed to squeak past, stealth in its manner. She felt ashamed and disappointed in her remarks. But the sad truth is that the feelings and the words were there, hovering above us. It made me sick to my stomach. This person is voting for Barack Obama and has been a staunch, tireless supporter and volunteer. I tell you this tale so you see how camoflaged and unexpected Racism can be.

Another friend has been saying for months now that she simply cannot vote for Obama because she is worried about his safety. She, a 30-something white woman, speaks with feigned empathy and concern as she says a vote against Obama will help spare his life. She cannot bear for the country to experience another Martin Luther King or Bobby Kennedy tragedy. Oh to hear her treacly earnestness is enough to make a diabetic go into shock. I call bullshit here. She takes issue with Obama's race. Period. She cannot get past it. She knows nothing of either candidate's policies. She is not politically active, much less aware. She has said that Obama will be assassinated while in office and she does not want to be responsible for the country's loss and his family's loss with her vote. This is simple Racism hiding in the wings of sympathy. I don't buy it.

I hear this story, this canned rationale, from a number of people. My friends have shared similar tales. We see through you. We distrust you. We're calling you on it.

These subtle forms of racism affect me as a woman of color who was not born in this country or raised Christian (YIKES! Someone alert the authorities!). My boys are of mixed race since Mac Daddy is as white as they make 'em up in Wisconsin. They are first generation American. They will always be the children of a brown immigrant mother. We teach them what an honor that is.

It would be a lie if I told that life is peachy keen. When we are out as a family we get plenty of stares and snickers, especially when we are off the beaten path. Race is a hot topic in these parts, and many people see the world as black and white, literally and figuratively. When acquaintances or neighbors rant about immigrants or funny accents, I remind them that I am an immigrant, that my parents speak English with an accent, that they speak Bengali, Hindi, German, French, and Italian with an accent too. And then I try to bite my tongue and not remark about how the rest of the country thinks a Southern accent sounds hick.

Anyway, when I gently interject a reminder of who I am into the conversation, I get a blase head toss, waving hand as if to say pshaw and an "Oh, you're different. We don't even think of you as Indian." Whhaaaaatttt????? This is supposed to make me feel better? To discount my heritage, my appearance, my identity is supposed to make me feel better? Does "different" mean "better?" Is it somehow complimentary that they don't see me as Indian because I am "good enough" to be considered one of them? Someone help me understand what the fuck a comment like that means.

News flash, folks, that's Racism snickering in your psyche.

This is how our friends at Merriam Webster define racism:
1 : a belief that race is the primary determinant of human traits and capacities and that racial differences produce an inherent superiority of a particular race
2 : racial prejudice or discrimination
— rac·ist \-sist also -shist\ noun or adjective

The underslying subtleties of racism are difficult to express in words. But I feel them all the time. During this heated, and historic, election, I hear them all the time. Silent racism plagues more people than we realize. Many friends in our lifetime will come to disappoint us when they give voice to their silent racism. Bear to witness my friend who is voting for John McCain in principle of race alone.

I think back to the professorial, driven, enchanting Julian Bond. I think of Rosa Parks speaking from what might as well have been a pulpit. I think of the brave men who were willing to put their necks on the line at a conservative good ol' boys' school. I think of the faceless, countless others who have devoted their time, and their lives, to bring equality to our country. A country founded on eqality and freedom in the first place. I think of them and feel unabashed pride in my vote.

I am not voting for Obama because he is black. I am voting for him because he will help make this country change into what the people who inspired me back in 1990 at the University of Virginia fought for. It is no understatement to say that he is our Bobby Kennedy.

Women Make the World Go Round: GASP!

North Carolina is a state scarred with the wounds of battle. Its fertile fields, cascading mountains, and illustrious shores have seen the anguish of war. The pain and suffering are still palpable. The lore still very much alive. The history retold. North Carolina has seen its share of battle. The folks here know what it is to don their proverbial armor and hoist their bayonettes to fight the good fight. "Battleground state" is more than a metaphor here.

We are a battleground once more. A political battleground, but the tension still runs fierce.

Obama might actually have a shot to turn the fields of red into a shade of glorious, hopeful blue.

It started with 12 girlfriends having dinner. And like the old shampoo commercial (Breck?), they told two friends. And so on. And so on. And so on...

Four weeks later it was 225 women.

G.A.S.P. was born and has hit a rapid growth spurt.

Hope
Change
Leader
Economy
Integrity
Peace

Those were the words we chanted in unison. It was musical, magical, moving. 225 women dedicated to the same cause: to help elect Barack Obama to the White House.

Sure, it started as Girlfriends Appalled About Sarah Palin. It ended in a fire under all our derrieres to donate, volunteer, canvas, knock, call, feed, stuff, walk, talk, breathe, live, give. We are a sorority of Obama evangelists. Super Heroines. We are all stepping outside our comfort zones. Whether we are stepping in our Manolos, Birkenstocks, Rainbows, Tory Burches, Dansko, Nikes, Pumas, Simples, or No Names is irrelevant. We are stepping out together to lay to rest the disastrous last eight years. We are stepping out to give credence to our system and to women who have worn the mantle of leadership before us. We will not be mocked or used or puppeteered.

The power of women cannot be discounted.

G.A.S.P. is Momentum personified. G.A.S.P. is Motivation. Dedication. Realization. Emancipation.

Women are a force to be reckoned with. Nothing, nothing my friends, stands in the way of our Conviction.

In the words of G.A.S.P.'s battle cry, "We believe that as Wake County goes, so goes North Carolina. As North Carolina goes, so goes America. And as America goes, so goes the world."

Why I Am Now a Tar Heels Fan

I got this in my inbox today from the venerable Dean Smith. Of Dean Dome fame. As a Wahoo, my relationship with the Tar Heels has always been a contentious one. All that Carolina Blue on Franklin Street is blinding, and I don't find that particular shade of blue to be all that appealing or flattering.

Today I have changed my mind. Today I am officially adopting the University of North Carolina Tar Heels as my local team. I should have listened to my friend Will all along.

Here is what came to my inbox this morning:

There is a point in every contest when sitting on the sidelines is not an option. That is why Linnea and I are writing to urge you to join Barack Obama's campaign for President.

There are pivotal moments in history when the right decision by a nation can change its course for the better -- opening up new paths before us and providing future generations with opportunities that we had not thought possible. This coming election provides one of those moments. Linnea and I believe Barack Obama is the right leader at this critical juncture. I have written that when coaching a team, you must be prepared to make changes to meet new challenges and obstacles. We must be prepared to do the same as a nation. Now, it is the United States that needs a change in direction... and a change in leadership.

Join Barack Obama today by volunteering in your corner of North Carolina.

Linnea and I respect all that Senator McCain has done for our country. However, we feel strongly that it is Barack Obama who offers the real leadership our nation needs to tap its potential as a land of opportunity -- even as we face difficult times at home and abroad. Senator Obama is a patriotic American, a committed Christian, a good family man, and a man who shares the bedrock values that most North Carolinians have in common: fairness, hard work, respect for others, and personal responsibility. And he has the vision and judgment to help us push through this period of uncertainty to a time of greater economic stability and greater security from threats abroad.

If you believe America needs to set a new course, then the time to join us is now. If you are already an Obama supporter, please step up to help our campaign. There are only about three weeks left before Election Day, and if we are going to move away from the failed policies of the past, then we need your help now.

So we encourage you to get out there and get involved -- talk to your neighbors and sign up to volunteer today.

Get involved now:

http://nc.barackobama.com/jointhesmiths

And pass this email along to those you think might be interested. This election is too important to stand on the sidelines and watch history pass us by.

Thank you,

Coach Dean Smith and Linnea Smith
Chapel Hill, NC


This letter was wonderful in its simplicity and earnest tone. I give the Smiths credit for putting their name, their brand, on the line to support Obama publicly. It speaks volumes about their character.

To all those couch potatoes and arm chair athletes out there who don't think their vote counts, heed Dean Smith's call to action. It is indeed too important to stand on the sidelines. It is a rare chance that we get to get in the game and make history. It is a duty. A right. A gift.

Accentuate the Positive

So how do you like my shirt? You love it, don't you? Can you read it well enough to see the most excellent tag line? It says "Accentuate the positive." I got the shirt from Erin by way of Jen. Pretty cool, huh? I'm going to wear it proudly everyday until the election. Well, being the neat freak I am, I'll wash it regularly. But I can't promise I'll fold it. The empty guest room acts as our clean laundry depository. It's best to make use of our space, right?

Watch this video to see me in my other fave Obama shirt. You'll see Bird and Deal in their shirts too. We're going to all wear our shirts in a little neighborhood parade when we go vote on November 4 (NOTE: North Carolina's deadline to register to vote is TODAY, and early voting starts next THURSDAY.).

Let's have an Obama bling runway show. Send me a link to you wearing your favorite shirt or pin or hat or whatever.

Seeing Red: A Tale of Hostility

Sit down. Pour yourself a lovely but decidedly unelitist glass of pinot (grigio or noir, your call). Get comfortable. Put your feet up on your coffee table (that is, unless you ever eat off of it). I'd like to tell you a little story. A true story. It's autobiographic and it happened today.

I wrote recently about my struggle to be friends with Republicans during these contentious times. I received many comments that injected the voice of reason into my psyche. I appreciate those people taking the time to help me see the light and not fall into this my-way-is-the-only-way abyss I teeter on the cusp of. I also got some anonymous comments nudging me to try to understand the other side and be a true tolerant liberal. It's curious why some commenters are anonymous and others go out on a limb. But that's neither here not there, simply a sidebar in my head.

So today I thought I'd start implementing my new be-nice-to the-other-side philosophy. I wear my Obama button everyday. It's like my watch; I feel naked without it. I proudly support my guy and never making disparaging comments about McCain outside my home and my blog. I simply let my button do the talking. It's not my place to strike up political conversations in public or try to change any minds. Unless I am asked something specific, I keep my trap shut (hard to believe, but true). And when asked, I answer in a positive light. While I might disagree with McCain supporters, I do not pick fights. At five feet tall, 100 pounds, you wouldn't pick fights either; it's not in my best interest.

Since I mistakenly left my sunroof open last night during an unforecasted torrential downpour, I had to take my car to be steam cleaned and detailed. While hanging out in the waiting room, I saw a man walk in wearing a McCain/Palin button. Tall, fit, lanky even, jeans, khaki button down shirt, loafers, graying in that erudite British Literature professor kind of way. I smiled and waved hello. He smiled back, making eye contact and smiling graciously. There are few things I appreciate more than eye contact. I thought we were off to a great start. It wasn't hard at all to be pleasant to this guy. I felt my blue anger fade a few shades.

And then our conversation went something like this:

Me, pointing to my Obama button: "Hey, look at us each supporting our guy. It's great to be part of this process, isn't it?"

Man, whose eye contact and warm smile instantly turns to disdain: "He's an idiot and so are you!"

Me, astounded, left for speechless: "Um, really? You think I'm an idiot? You don't even know me. I was just trying to be friendly."

Man, about a foot taller than my five foot tall frame, poking his finger in my face, veins pulsing in his neck: "Yeah, you're both idiots. You're gonna be sorry! You're gonna be real sorry!"

Me, eyes bulging, gulping, flabbergasted, somehow maintaining calm demeanor (very much unlike me): "Sir, I meant nothing disrespectful. I was trying to be nice, just pointing out that it's good to be part of this exciting time. I don't care how you vote. I just think it's important that everyone does vote."

Man, grunting, walking away: "Well, you're stupid. He's an idiot. You've got something coming!"

Me, still cool as the proverbial cucumber: "It's a shame you feel that way."

Then I called Mac Daddy who bore the wrath that had been escalating inside of me. He dutifully listened and advised getting the guy's license plate number. That Mac Daddy, he's no dummy.

So the man gets into his car, revs the engine, guns it out of the parking lot. He turns back to glare at me and flips me off. Middle. Finger. Even the car wash worker looked at me and said, "I'm not voting for Obama but I would never treat you like that." I tipped him five bucks.

The man drove off in a double cab white pick up truck peppered with McCain and Elizabeth Dole stickers and a vanity license plate that said PRAYER. Central casting couldn't have found a better stereotype. If you see PRAYER cruising the strip, make sure you wear your Obama bling proudly.

This guy's ranting was not analagous to a Wisconsin fan badgering a dyed-in-the-yellow-and blue Michigan fan about an upcoming football game at Camp Randall. He was plain mean and disrespectful. There was no elbow nudging and bwah ha ha-ing going on in good fun. When we flaunt our political leanings, we owe it those brands to behave in a fashion that is becoming to that brand. It is our duty to represent that which we honor. I'm pretty sure Jesus and John McCain would not condone his actions. To be so brashly and unabashedly rude to someone is abominable under any circumstance. Even I, hothead left leaning opiner and whiner of the century, would never do what he did to me. Don't get me wrong, I'm not playing the role of victim here. I'm simply saying that that man did nothing to help ease me on my journey to understanding the other side. Granted, he is but one example. But his behavior is on target with other experiences I have had during this election season. Let me share a few real examples that have shaped my disdain, frustration, and utter lack of patience for the conservative faction. Take a look and you might start to understand my paradigm, for we are all products of our experiences:

• A man who flipped me off and yelled anti-liberal sentiments to me while Bird and Deal were in the car with me (and obviously visible to the driver who was higher up than us).
• A man who flicked his burning cigarette butt onto the hood of my car at a red light, again with Bird and Deal in the car. He was firing obscenities too.
• A man who dangerously tailgated me and almost ran me off the road for a long stretch of two lane road on my way to see a client in Greensboro, fist raised in air, yelling god knows what at me.

I have nothing on my car other than an Obama 08 sticker. No negative Bush cracks or anti-McCain sentiments. Obama 08 has sparked such scorn for this mom with two innocent young boys in her car. My experiences are not in a vacuum. Others have recounted similar tales. This along with the rash of Obama yard signs being desecrated,, knocked over and stolen from people's yards. What gives? Is my experience really isolated? Am I wearing a target invisible to the donkey's eye?

This man's behavior was nothing more than childish. And rude. And unproductive. He represents the lowest of his kind. The kind whom I am certain John McCain would condemn.

So tell me, have you had similar experiences? I also want to know about the Left harassing the Right. Everything can go two ways, and I want to hear it all. Do tell.

Yes We Can! Yes We Should!

We have 42 days to get Barack Obama elected into office. 42 days, the home stretch akin to the last weeks of pregnancy. The anticipation too explosive to control. The eagerness too much to articulate without wild Italian grandma-like gesticulation. The stakes too high to sit back on our seats of cynicism and complacency.

We must keep our sleeves rolled up, our feet moving, our knuckles knocking, our fingers dialing, our words debating. We must all be the Little Engine That Could, 10-fold in purpose.

Think you don't have time to help the Obama campaign? Think your vote is enough (while it is fantastic, it is not enough given the political, social, environmental, and financial climate in our country today!). Here are some easy things you can do to make a difference. Trust me here. Easy, fast, fulfilling. Consider it the Big Mac of Obama tasks.

1. Make a donation to the campaign: www.barackobama.com. You can even go to MoveOn and get even get a free sticker, button, or T-shirt. I did. I wear my Obama gear proudly.
2. Host a fundraising event at your house. Throw some brats (as in the German sausage, not the neighborhood bully) on the grill, buy some German beer, and invite friends over for Baracktoberfest. It's a cheap, fun way to raise money. And don't ya just LOVE the idea? Beer makes everything better. No lederhosen required.
3. Make calls on behalf of the campaign from the comfort of your home. All the information you need is right on the website: www.barackobama.com. Practice different voices and accents if you want to. Just make the calls!
4. Buy an Obama button, T-shirt, bumper sticker, or yard sign and use it as an opportunity to talk to people about why Obama should be our next president. These items are readily available online in a variety of places: Cafe Press, Obama Zen, Etsy. A friend's beagle even has an Obama button on her collar, and they make lots of friends at the dog park.
5. You don't have to know about every single issue, just talk about the issues that matter to you. Your passion will come through. I've heard some harsh words about my passion, but it's worth it knowing I am doing all that I can to give my country the giant Etch-A-Sketch shake it needs. There's not enough Tylenol in the world to cure the McPain that lurks.
   
6. Contact people you know in swing states and talk to them about why they should vote for Obama. Point them towards resources to read and investigate on their own.
7. Travel to a swing state (NM, NV, CO, MI, OH, VA, NC, NH) to canvas. The campaign can arrange a free plane ticket and place to stay. Go to this site to find out more: Travel for Change. If you live in California, you can travel to NV for a weekend to canvas. The CA Obama headquarters has arranged buses to transport people.
8. Remind everyone you know to make sure they are registered to vote! The deadline in North Carolina is October 10. Cliche as it sounds, Every. Vote. Counts. Go here to find out if you are registered.
9. Send this post to everyone you know!

It is the action of one person, in aggregate, that makes the mountain move. Do it for our purple mountains' majesty.

And the next time you're feeling angry and frustrated about the election, take a deep breath and watch this for a little inspiration. We Are the Ones.

Getting it Straight

I got this email yesterday that I just had to share. It's got my snarky tone but captures the issues rather succinctly. And yeah, it's slanted. But if you took the lean facts and charted them side by side, you'd come to the same conclusion. Take a looksie. And do your day's public service by passing it on.

Seriously, it's time we start looking at things a bit differently. It's time we start doing our own digging and thinking. It's time we think about the long term impact of the McPain ticket. It's time we apply realistic metrics to what both sides are promising. It's time to get serious.

I realize that Obama is running against McCain, not Palin. But the combination of the McPain ticket is frightening. Take a look at what Eve Ensler wrote about the ticket. It's a package deal, my friends.

Excerpted from the email I got:

If you grow up in Hawaii , raised by your grandparents, you're "exotic, different."

Grow up in Alaska eating mooseburgers: a quintessential American story.

If your name is Barack you're a radical, unpatriotic Muslim.

Name your kids Willow , Trig, and Track: you're a maverick.

Graduate from Harvard law School and you are unstable.

Attend 5 different small colleges before graduating: you're well grounded.

If you spend 3 years as a brilliant community organizer, become the first black President of the Harvard Law Review, create a voter registration drive that registers 150,000 new voters, spend 12 years as a Constitutional Law professor, spend 8 years as a State Senator representing a district with over 750,000 people, become chairman of the state Senate's Health and Human Services committee, spend 4 years in the United States Senate representing a state of 13 million people while sponsoring 131 bills and serving on the Foreign Affairs, Environment and Public Works and Veteran's Affairs committees, you don't have any real leadership experience.

If your total resume is: local weather girl (sports caster), 4 years on the city council and 6 years as the mayor of a town with fewer than 7,000 people, 20 months as the governor of a state with 650,000 people, then you're qualified to become the country's second highest ranking executive.

If you have been married to the same woman for 19 years while raising 2 beautiful daughters, all within Protestant churches, you're not a real Christian.

If you cheated on your first wife with a rich heiress, and left your disfigured wife and married the heiress the next month, you're a Christian.

If you teach responsible, age appropriate sex education, including the proper use of birth control, you are eroding the fiber of society.

If, while governor, you staunchly advocate abstinence only, with no other option in sex education in your state's school system while your unwed teen daughter ends up pregnant, you're very responsible.

If your wife is a Harvard graduate lawyer who gave up a position in a prestigious law firm to work for the betterment of her inner city community, then gave that up to raise a family, your family's values don't represent America 's.

If your husband is nicknamed "First Dude", with at least one DUI conviction and no college education, who didn't register to vote until age 25 and once was a member of a group that advocated the secession of Alaska from the USA , your family is extremely admirable.

OK, much clearer now.

Obama Mama Redux

See that gorgeous Indian lady with the sassy hennaed hair and ginormous earrings? That's my mom. Yup, the one who gave birth to me. I'm the apple, and she's the tree.

I can't see her hands but I'm guessing she's wringing out her clammy palms or clasping them in prayer, begging the goddess of political stardom to plant Obama into the Oval Office come November. But chances are, she's digging in her gigundo purse for her camera. I bet it's one of those unstructured hobo bags I hate because it doesn't have any compartments. It's a good thing a photographer from Der Spiegel caught this shot because I don't think she'd know how to work the camera if she unearthed it anyway. The woman knows politics and current events but she don't know squat about technology.

My mom was in India when John, Paul, Ringo, and George visited back in the 60s. Seeing Obama up close and personal trumps that, I'm sure. And would you take a look at Obama. Where's he looking? As I see it, he's making direct eye contact with my mother. My mother. I'm all goose pimply over this. I feel like I am a rockstar by association. Well, maybe a groupie. I see matching Obama Mama T-shirts in our future. And look again at his eyes, he's holding that gaze; this is no fly over glance.

My mom lives in Berlin for part of the year. Being overseas has not squelched one iota of her Obama fever. She's still tirelessly campaigning, working the phones, and hosting staff members to ensure Obama squashes McCain. Her zeal is contagious. And trust me on this one, she was an Obama Mama before the term was coined. Foresight. The woman's got foresight.

Meanwhile I'm working the Obama brigade over in North Carolina. I'm set to take Bird canvassing with me. I took Deal to visit the campaign office today. He digs any place that has stickers, though the Obama logo and his visage planted all over the place made Deal's little head spin with excitement. This is a prime opportunity to introduce our boys to our values, political views, and civic duty. Why not grab this teaching moment by the horns and make some freakin' noise?

Bird just saw the photo of my mom and exclaimed, "I didn't know Nani was friends with Obama!" From the sounds of his squeal and delight, you'd think his Nani was shaking hands with Peter Parker himself.