Politics, First Grade Style

(Driving home from school)

Green: Mommy, did you know that Obama is just like Martin Luther King?

Me: Uh....What?

Green: He loves Martin Luther King! (Green then bursts into a rendition of the Martin Luther King song he learned in kindergarten: Martin Luther King/You make my spirit sing/You mean so much to me/'Cause you taught us how to be free...)

Blue: Well, there's one thing that's a problem about Barack Obama. He likes chili, and I can't vote for anyone who likes chili.

Green: But the other guy likes Ronald McDonald. Mommy says that McDonalds food isn't good for us.**

Me: McCain has been talking about Ronald McDonald? The clown?

Green: It's true! He likes Ronald McDonald, and he enjoys fishing like Grandpa.

Me: Boys, I have no idea what you're talking about.

Green: We discussed politics in school today. That's how we're going to become good citizens.

Blue: That's right. If you're going to vote, Mommy, you'd better learn about the issues.

**Aha! It's Ronald REAGAN! Not Ronald McDonald!

John Edwards

Last Friday afternoon, the boys and I were hanging out at the Baskin Robbins. Blue was in a bit of a funk. He had spent a fair amount of time choosing his flavor, taking free samples here and there and acting totally oblivious to the line of 45 people behind him. In the end, he chose Cherries Jubilee (because that’s what Green picked, and Blue didn’t want to be left out). The trouble was that Blue doesn’t much like cherries or whatever constitutes Jubilee. So he had to sit there picking out the flecks of cherry and dark chocolate and miscellaneous other stuff that made up the bulk of his treat.

Anyway, Blue was half way through his ice cream excavation when a senior citizen in a tennis outfit came running in the store. “Did you hear about John Edwards?” she shrieked to a cluster of ladies sitting by the door. “HE HAD AN AFFAIR!!!!”

Green had barely spat out, “Mama, what’s an affair?” when the woman continued,“He’s a skunk! Did you hear me?! A skunk!”

We all know that skunks are smelly, and stinkiness is a topic my boys enjoy. “Hee Hee Hee,” Green giggled. “She said skunk! P.U.!” And with that turn of fortune, I dodged the problem of having to explain to my six-year-olds why Democrats have trouble keeping their pants up.

Of course, upon learning about the Edwards indiscretion, my first thought was, “Aha! Now I can blog about politics! That’s what my readers said they wanted, after all.” And so I went home and readied myself for the flood of who/what/why/what position/what kind of cigar media coverage I assumed would follow.

But the flood never came. I didn’t even receive a call from my father-in-law, whose outrage over the Monica Lewinsky escapade has yet to diminish. I did a quick search today, and the Edwards story fell well below the news that Cindy McCain sprained her wrist from shaking hands. (And in fact, there would be no story at all if Elizabeth Edwards’ family members would stop talking to People Magazine. I guess they figure that the National Enquirer shouldn’t be the only tabloid to benefit from Elizabeth’s humiliation).

So what do you make of this? Have we drawn a line between scandal and Real News? Are we more interested in thinking about Michael Phelps in his swimsuit than another slimy politician in his birthday suit? Are we more cynical, or are we smarter?

Weigh in, bloggers.

The Caucus

Doing My Part

Alright, Democrats. You didn’t make things easy for me with your votes on Super Tuesday. I was looking to you to make a clear choice in your states’ Democratic primaries so that some of the pressure would be off of me on Mediocre Saturday, when I will be participating in the Washington State caucus.

Usually, by this stage in the political game, there is already a front-runner, and my vote is nothing but symbolic. But this year, I feel like I really have a say. The only problem is that I don’t know what that say will be.

I am undecided. Really undecided. This is a new feeling for me. Part of the issue is that the two candidates on the buffet menu are both moderate Democrats who, more or less, propose similar ideas. But I also think that I’m struggling with something bigger, some larger question about what matters to me.

It occurred to me that, for the first time, I am no longer a “younger voter.” And I guess the issue is whether I am still able to feel like a younger voter and whether I want to. In the past, if a candidate said that he was going to have us all stand together on the top of a mountain and hold hands and find common ground across division, I would have followed him up the hill like he was the pied piper. But now, I hear the calls for UNITY! And CHANGE! and HOPE! and I think to myself, change doesn’t happen just by wishing it so.

Or does it?

Obama gives me the opportunity, if I’m willing to take it, to reconnect with a type of idealism that has been slippery and elusive. He is not the first to promise a new set of civic relationships, a new way of solving problems, a new world order of sorts that has capital J Justice at its core. He is not the first, but he delivers his message in a way that sounds so authentic, so real, so almost-there possible. I miss that feeling, and I am hungry for it. But I am also wary, because I know that we, as a country, have a crappy track record of translating good vibes into meaningful action.

It would feel right to jump on the sails of Obama idealism, but Hillary Clinton represents a different kind of idealism for me. I’ll be honest. It’s exciting to me that we could possibly have a left-leaning, competent, persuasive female president, even if we have to spend the next four years analyzing whether she’s too female or not female enough (Too many tears? Too few? Too much cleavage? Matronly pantsuits?). I read an essay by Rebecca Traister on Salon.com that has come the closest to expressing my feelings about the gender component of this election. She writes,

"…I think of how, when I was 9, my dad took me into the voting booth so that I could pull the lever for the first female vice president, and how he told me that he hoped that in my lifetime I would have the opportunity to vote for a woman at the top of the ticket. And I think about the fact that this is it -- my chance to pull that lever for her, so that I can do it again come November.

Who am I to turn up my nose at her because she's imperfect? I always figured the first female president would be a Thatcher-style Republican -- how can I complain about a Wellesley-educated Democrat who once resembled the second-wave women who fought for my ability to control my own reproduction and get paid as much as my male colleagues?

How could I ever tell those women that I voted for Barack Obama? What do I tell my aunt, my mother -- women who aren't crazy about Hillary's politics either, but whose extra decades on the planet have left them more acutely aware than I about the fleeting opportunity she presents. What if I have a daughter someday and she asks me about why we've never had a woman president? Do I tell her that we once came close, but that Mommy was really digging Obama that day?"

And so I struggle, but I sure am glad to feel the power of choosing again, to feel that a struggle is worth it. I have a sense that I will walk into the caucus site this Saturday still unclear about what I will do. Perhaps I will be one of those people who shifts position in the middle of the caucus! Wouldn’t that be fun?

Stay tuned. I’ll be doing a little filming this weekend as we make our way from the boys’ school pancake breakfast to the polling place. Live coverage of my indecision – it doesn’t get any better than that.

Politics

So we were all sitting on the couch a few mornings ago flipping between the three national morning shows. I was marveling at whatever process it is that allows three anchors on three different channels to interview the same presidential candidate at the same time. At one point, the big, grinning image of John McCain popped up on the screen. Blue started cackling wildly, holding his belly because he was laughing so hard. “What is it?” we kept asking him, but it took him a while to regain his composure. “That looks like Grandpa,” he finally answered. Then, as we were contemplating this idea, Green said, “Look! That one looks like Daddy!”

It was Mitt Romney.

I just about peed in my pants.

Michael and I are progressive people. We live in a progressive town. We wear fleece a lot and enjoy a good spotted owl. But, as fate would have it, we have a son who is not so progressive. Do you remember the 1980s show, Family Ties? It was the one with the hippie parents and the Ronald Reagan-loving son. I have a feeling that’s going to be us in a couple of years.

Green is conservative. He loves his routine and his rules (one does not put one’s underpants in the hamper until AFTER the Curious George show ends). He eats the same food for lunch every single afternoon. One day a while back we asked him whether he would like to try something different, something new, just to spice things up. “Mama,” Green said, “I do not like different.”

Well there you have it.

But you see, Michael and I DO like different. And no matter how many times we screech Change! Change! Change! like a couple of overcaffeinated Democratic presidential hopefuls, Green is not interested. He likes tradition, consistency, and the status quo. I'm pretty sure that he is going to grow up to be the kind of guy whose idea of a good afternoon involves a can of beer, a recliner, and a Packers game.

I bring this up, because we came to an interesting realization the other day. We’ve made it through babyhood. We’ve made it through toddlerhood. We’ve made it to the point in our family life where we might actually be able to DO STUFF again. Except there’s the teeny problem of Green, who has no interest in broadening his horizons.

Last year we took a little weekend trip to Portland. We stayed at a hotel out by the airport, because we wanted an affordable suite. It turns out that this hotel was a conservative 5 year old boy’s nirvana. It had a view of the runway (planes taking off and landing! Woo!), lots of elevators (and buttons to push), a swimming pool, and a free buffet. Green was quick to mention that he saw no need to go out into the city and actually do anything, when there was SO MUCH FUN to be had at the hotel. And when we did leave at the end of the weekend, there was considerable sobbing and screaming. Michael and I needed to promise that we would someday return to that hotel and stay in the exact same room.

Green and I recently had a meaningful conversation about traveling. Here's a piece of it:

See what I mean? It looks like we're not going anywhere exciting any time soon. But if you have an Embassy Suites in your city, let us know. You can join us for the free breakfast.