Backseat Predictions: US Economy is Road Kill

Following last week’s discussion of Old Wives Tales, particularly those dealing with woolly worm weather prognostication, acorn-induced luck and future fatalities as portended by the birds, Ms. Diva has developed a tendency to search for a deeper meaning in all things inconsequential.

On the way home today, she inquired about the number of opossums on the roadway.

“Look!  That’s the sixth dead one we’ve seen. What do you think it means?”"

Smartypants, who has all the answers, announced:  “Well, I’d guess it means they’re too stupid to look both ways… or it has something to do with the economy.”

(And I’d have found this terribly amusing – had I not been preoccupied with the fact that Diva can tally up the number of carcasses between here and yonder.  Seriously, how weird it is that?  Like… on a Southern scale of 1-10 – with 10 being , when the tornado hit the trailer-park, she appeared on the local news in foam hair rollers type of crazy-  counting roadkill has to be… what? A five? Maybe a six? )

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On the Partisan Playground

Democrat Girl:  (watching the Kids’ Inaugural on Disney Channel and clutching a Time magazine with the Blueberry LipSmacker smears on the cover.)

“Her Nana is Jill Biting? Jill Biting is someone’s real Nana? I have a Nana too!  Ohmigosh! Look. There’s Obama’s big daughter.  She loves the Jonas Brothers!  Hey, look! Obama’s little daughter has a pink camera!  And she has curly hair like me!  We look alike.  Don’t we?  We’re both so cute.  Do you think she has a Nana?  We both have Nanas!  We’re alike people.  Oh, I’m so excited.  This is a histor-ree-cal monument because of Marfin Lucker King Jr. and stuff.  Well, he isn’t there because he got shotted but… Oooh look, there’s Mee-shell Obama!  I love Mee-shell Obama.  I love Obama’s mole!  Be quiet, Brubby.  I’m trying to watch this monument.  Be quiet.  MOMMY!  Tell him to be quiet!  HE’S MESSIN’ UP MY MONUMENT!   MOMMY!  He called Obama a moley Hoobastank.  It’s a cuss word in German! Ground Him to Pieces until he’s 30!”

Later…

Nine-Year-Old GOP Boy: (channel surfing during commercial for commemorative History Victory Obama plate): “Oh yeah? Well if he’s so new and improved, how come you can’t microwave his plate?”

————————————————————————————

This is going to a very loooong years four eight years.

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What I’m Up Against…

Now you understand why I had to lecture the children before we went into the polling place about how outburst, last-minute attempts at campaigning or comments such as “MOM, WHAT ARE YOU? CRAZY?” or “HEY, YOU FORGOT TO VOTE FOR…” would NOT be tolerated.

*Music by Rob Russell and the Sore Losers

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Four Long Years

Mr. Smartypants and Ms. Diva were sitting on the couch earlier this morning watching the Disney Channel – oblivious to the fact that today we make some type of history.  Therefore, I felt the need to announce it:

“Today is The Day.  We’re going to elect a new president.”

Diva jumped up and down, using the couch as her own personal trampoline, “Go Obama! Woo-hoo! Obama, Obama, O-bam-a!”   She must have incorrectly assumed I’m so excited about history being made that I could overlook the whole “no jumping on the furniture” rule.

I’m not.

“Sit down Obama Mama – or I’ll vote for John McCain twice,”  I told her and she, having no knowledge of election laws, plopped on her bottom immediately.

See, both of my kids are Obama supporters: each voting for the candidate in mock elections at their respective schools – one more reluctantly than the other.  Last week, we discussed their reasons for selecting Obama.  Ms. Diva voted for Obama because “he’s hotter than the old guy.”  Diva’s friend, the Delightful Ms. O, voted Obama because “he wants to help the poor people.”  Mr. Smartypants voted Obama because “if McCain kicks the bucket while in office that psycho lady is taking over the country.”

Smartypants, who is clearly the less enthusiastic supporter,  didn’t jump on any furniture today.

He simply asked: “So, when will Obama take over?”

“In January.”

“How come we didn’t do this last year?”

“Presidents are elected to a four-year term.”

Then, he jumped to his feet, “WHAT? What does that mean?  We will have Obama as President for four years?  I thought we were just voting for him for, like, a year or something…  to try him out.  I don’t want him for four years! Well – No Obama then. Not for four years.  That’s a long time.  I’ll be in Middle School…  and I don’t want McCain either.  I don’t like either one of them.  Not for four years.  They’re both stupid.”

“Well, who do you like?”

“Neither one of them.”

“Is there another candidate you did like?”

Smartypants shrugs, “No… none… I don’t know… maybe we should have went with that Mitt Huckafee guy.”

Then, he grumbled: “This means you’ll be hogging up the TV and watching the news all night.  Doesn’t it?”

“Probably.”

“SEE! SEE WHAT I MEAN! His Four Years hasn’t even started and he’s already messing up my life!”  Mr. Smartypants has now wandered off in search of his shoes, muttering, “This is going to be the four longest years ever in the history of forever… so let’s just get it over with already.”

No, I didn’t have the heart to tell him Obama is eligible for two separate four year terms.  He has until Middle School to figure that out – but for now, we’re off to “get the first four over with.”

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Endangered Elves

A conversation between the kids this afternoon regarding my newfound need to conserve energy:

Ms. Diva said: “She’s acting like Louie the Lightbulb Bug `cept not as cute or nice.”
Mr. Smartypants said: “Worse! She’s like Algore on crack.”
Ms. Diva said: “What’s crack?”
Mr. Smartypants said: “It’s where your butt cheeks go together.”
Ms. Diva said: “Oh. What’s an Algore?
Mr. Smartypans: “He’s the weird guy from our state, who always wants you to send money to polar bears, save energy, and he was in that movie about how Santa is gonna die.”
Ms. Diva said: ” SANTA IS GONNA DIE?!”
Mr. Smartypants: “No, `cause Santa doesn’t really live where the polar bears live. He lives in China.”
Ms. Diva said: “Nuh-uh! He lives in the North Pole”
Mr. Smartypants whispered: “Nope, the elves make his toys in China and other places with weird names.”
Ms. Diva said: “How do you know?”
Mr. Smartypants snorts: “Duh! Learn to read, Dorkface! It says so on the boxes.”
Ms. Diva says: “What do Polar Bears do with money?”
Mr. Smartypants: “Buy sodas and freezers.”

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Study: Affects on Pre-Operational Cognitive Development of 3rd Grader after Prolonged Exposure to US Vets in Red Territory

Smartypants says: “Uncle J said Obama was historical.”
I say: “Yes. He’s the first black nominee for President. That’s never happened before.”
Smartypants says: “So his nomicanation is historical.”
I say: “Yes.”
Smartypants says: “Well, I didn’t think he was historical because you have to be old to be historical like the buildings in town.  And Obama looks college-aged or Mr. Price’s@School’s age – and I don’t think he’s old either.  Maybe 20.”

Pause.

Smartypants says: “So, which team nominated him?”
I say: “You mean party. The Democratic Party.”
Smartypants says: “Is Uncle J. a Democratic?”
I say: “Yes.”
Smartypants says: “Well, Uncle J said he wasn’t voting for him no matter how black he was.”
I say: “Uncle J said that?”
Smartypants says: “Yeah, because Obama never served anywhere but in a fancy office: he wasn’t a army man like Uncle J was.  Uncle J said he’s just a slick-talking pansy-butt.  But Uncle J used the other word. You want me to say it?”
I say: “No.”
Smartypants says: “It starts with an A- and end with an S- and has another S-.”
I say: “I know the word.”
Smartypants says: Uncle J said black solidcarry doesn’t matter if you’re blowed up by Russia and he’d druther pick that lady who eats rice.”
I say: “We’re not getting blown up by Russia. There is no lady who eats Rice.   You need to stop listening to your Uncle J. He’s that word that starts with an A- and ends with an S- and he’s crazy.”
Smartypants says: “I’m telling him you said that.”
I say: “I’ll give you a dollar if you do.”

Pause.

Smartypants says: “So I guess there’s a lot of White People on the Democrat team.”
I say: “What?”
Smartypants says: “Well, they could have nominated a regular black guy.  Then, he would have won and that would be even more historical, but White People probably don’t want to be too historical all at once you know.”
I say: “Did Uncle J tell you that?”
Smartypants says: “No, I knowed that myself.”
I say: “I see.”

Smartypants says: “When I run, I’m going run `publican. So they can’t stop me.”

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The "If George Can Do It, I Can Too" Conversation

After playing outdoors yesterday, the boy and his sister quietly slipped inside and headed straight to the playroom.  Their heads were bent together in secret discussion.  These discussions are usually followed by the sound of shattering glass, a minor explosion, a fist fight or some other noise which indicates destruction.  So, with the mommy trouble radar on high-alert, I tiptoed off to spy.

The Boy met me halfway.

Boy: “We were just wondering what caterpillars eat.”

Ah-ha!

Me: “You cannot keep caterpillars in the house.”

Boy with feigned look of confusion: “Huh?”

Me: “Do you have a caterpiller in the house?”

Boy: “Uh, I was just wondering what they ate.”

Me: “Take it outside.”

Boy: “Take what outside?”

Me: “The caterpillar.”

Boy: “What caterpillar?”

Me: “You are not keeping the caterpillar inside.  Take. It. Out. Now.”

Boy: “Why?”

Me: “Because I said so.”

Boy: “Fine!”

Me: “When you come back inside, we’re going to have a discussion about your newfound tendency to lie.”

Boy: “Technically, I didn’t lie.”

Me: “You weren’t truthful.”

Boy: “But George Bush… “

Me: “Don’t start.”

Boy: “Well, it said on television…”

Me: “You can’t believe everything you hear on television.”

Boy: “But you said… “

Me: “Look, it doesn’t matter what the President does or does not do.  In this house, we do not tolerate any type of dishonesty.”

Boy: “But if the President…”

Me: “If George Bush jumped off a bridge, would you jump too?”

Boy with big tearful eyes: “No.  I’m sorry.  Are you mad at me?”

Me: “No.  Just don’t lie.”

Hugs.  Hugs.

Boy turns to leave room.

Me: “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Boy: “What?”

Me: “The Caterpillar?”

Boy: “Oh, I didn’t realtazize you still wanted me to take it out.”

Yep, he’s going to be a Republican when he grows up.  I just know it.

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Quick… What's the Answer?

Stacey Campfield recently introduced a piece of legislation to prohibit discussion of homosexuality in Tennessee elementary and middle schools. The bill landed in the sub-committee of a committee of some other committee, you know – the one which meets in a dark secret room in the basement of some state building, where these bills are sent to die without ever seeing the light of day. Ah well, it was just the House Education K-12 Subcommittee. Point is this bill had about as much chance of surviving as Frosty two miles outside Hell.

Campfield said the ban is not anti-gay: but intended to place parents in charge of what their children learn about sexuality.

I do not think that classes on sexuality should be taught to children under the eighth grade no matter what direction it goes. [...] The topics of sexual orientation are topics best left to parents and guardians. They should be the ones who decide what and when those issues are appropriate to discuss. Not schools.

I have a confession to make. Deep down, in the innermost recesses of my mind, amongst those thoughts I would normally never confess to anyone – I support this bill and any other bill banning the discussion of sex in the classroom but not just same-sex sex, but all sexes having any kind of sex with any other sexed sexes.

I would prefer if parents were allowed to determine when these discussions are appropriate. I, being one of those totally cool & hip moms, would probably have this discussion with my kids early – around age 20 perhaps. You know, if I felt they were ready.

Then, I wake up and I’m in the real world. In the real world, five-year-old Ms. Diva already knows there are same-sex couples because… um, well, there are same-sex couples.

Plus, last year during her 5th Birthday Sleep-Over Slumber Party, the Delightful Miss M, who is all-knowing and wears lipstick because she’s 7, informed Ms. Diva girls could marry girls. Technically, this means Cinderella could wed Sleeping Beauty.

Ms. Diva was shattered… shaken… her world tumbled upside down. She had trouble wrapping her head around news, which could alter every fairy tale she’d ever been told. What do you mean Princesses don’t always marry Princes and live happily ever after?!
She wasn’t being judgmental or intolerant. Heck, her Auntie Deanna is a lesbian. (Well, Deanna is a cousin, but in the South, we take the liberty of assigning our kin more appropriate seeming labels.) Apparently though, the lesbian concept doesn’t register until you apply the same couple composition to to Disney Princesses – at which time it becomes mind-boggling sh!t.

At some point, Mr. Smartypants wandered into the living room and announced girls marrying girls was illegal in the law of the laws – Uncle Lukey said. So, they go to prison for that.

A heated discussion followed. Finally, Diva slapped on the surly liberal-leaning girl attitude, which she most certainly inherited from her Mama, and yelled:

“Shut Up Liar-Face Liar-Pants! Can’t nobody be the boss of that! You marry whom’in you want to marry if’n you got a poofy dress. If you got a poofy dress and the Bible man, you can so too! So, you’re a big Fat Liar Liar! There, yeah so there! Liar!”

(Man, you’ve got to envy the enormous margin of freedom afforded to kindergarten discourse. I cannot count the number of times have I wanted to scream at various folks: “Oh yeah, you’re a big fat liar-pants!” Somewhere along the way, we matured into using only civil words… most of the time.)

When the girls started advancing on my 8-year old future Evangelical Conservative Republican, I entered the room to calm the lipsticked mob.

I tried to remain calm. I concentrated on all the vodka I was gonna drink when the party was over. I mean – my God, this was worse than the whole “How come I am penislessness?” question. (For the record, penislessness means the state of not having a penis. I’ve been assured this is a common question amongst little girls who’ve barged into the bathroom while their brother is taking a leak – only to realize he has something she doesn’t have, which may or may not be normal or even fair for that matter… and you don’t know until you ask.)

I answered the questions in a straightforward and concise manner. No elaborating. I told them: “Yes, girls can marry girls. No, they cannot go to jail. Girls can live with Girls in the same house like mommies and daddies do, but the President Guy says it doesn’t count as being married because they’re both girls.”

Hell yeah, I blamed George Bush. He’s taken credit for so much confusion, laying on this on him wasn’t going to make a big difference.

“No, I don’t know if girls married to girls share their fruit snacks and eyeshadow- probably, I guess. No, there is no law saying you must wear a poofy dress to get married. I don’t know why. There’s just not. Because not everyone wants to get married in a poofy dress. “

The discussion veered off in 24 different directions, landing finally on how all the girls had Days of the Week Bloomers and wore them on the wrong days, which is some brand hilarious I’ve gotten to old to appreciate. And I was an utter fool because I thought this was the end of the discussion.

Yesterday, on the way home from soccer practice, Diva announced she had figured out why the President Guy won’t allow same-sex unions.

There was that instant and acute discomfort which comes when grown-ups are required to talk about grown-up subjects with people they’ve recently potty trained. Then, I felt a bit of pride. If my kid had figured out the whole gay-rights conundrum, she’s smarter than I am.

And I went on to give that intelligent type response that only a highly-intelligent, well-educated Mommy with a Masters Degree could give. “Uh… Umm… … uh… well, er…. oh, you uh… have?”

“Yes. It is on account of if girls marry girls, they’ll fight over who wears the poofy dress. Fighting is illegal. You go to the Principals office for that.”

“No Diva,” I said, “I don’t think that is it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, Diva.”

“Why then?”

“Uh, er, um, I, eh… “

Quick… what’s the answer?

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Hard Questions… Easy Answer

Before bedtime, Ms. Diva picked her toys up and straightened her room. Mr. Smartypants put away his laundry and vacuumed the floor. Ms. Diva announced her room was cleanest. Mr. Smartypants disagreed, claiming his room was perfect.

Ms. Diva declared I loved her the best. Mr. Smartypants argued that this was “idiot thinking.” He explained I would love him the best because he had lived here the longest.

Ms. Diva said his mouth was too sassy for anyone to love – and his feet stank. Mr. Smartypants growled and threw a lightweight pillow at her, grazing her knee. She slid down the wall, flopped in the floor, rolled twice and pretended to swoon for second before she started wailing:

“He punched me hard.. ly!”

“I barely touched her!” Mr. Smartypants refuted the charges, then demanded: “Mom tell her you love me most. You have had me the longest and I rake leaves!”

So he did… in 2003.

“Well, it’s true I have had you longer. You were non-refundable though,” I answered.

Ms. Diva looked rather smug, “So, you like me the bestest, don’t you? On account of because I’m newer and cute. Everybody says so!”

“Well, you are very cute, but the truth is we got you on clearance.”

“Mom! Be Serious!” Mr. Smartypants demanded, “Pick who is the best person in the whole family, who is nice, doesn’t yell at you, cleans up their stuff and minds better than all others.”

“Nicest, neatest and most obedient? Who never snaps at me?”

“Yep, tell her it’s me.” He said.

“No, dipface, it’s me!”

“Are we talking about in the whole family?”

Mr. Smartypants thought for a moment, “All the ones that live in this house.”

“Well, I love you both more than all the stars, the moon and all the Wal-Marts in the world… but you said always obedient and kind, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then…

Mr. Smartypants rolled his eyes, “Well, can I have a dollar for vacuuming then.”

Ms. Diva piped us, “I want a dollar too.”

Mr. Smartypants said, “I asked first!”

Ms. Diva said, “Yeah, and your breath smells, so shut up.”

“BEDTIME,” I announced, “And if you stop fighting right now, you each get an extra bedtime story.”

And no one got an extra story.

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