Sundays with Stretchy Pants

Marinating in babies.

Do you see that? There, in the bottom right corner? Cool. Just in case you can’t see it very well:

That’s right. Barack Obama really is our next president. Woohoo!

We had a little party over here last night. I thought when I woke up this morning, Mr. President-Elect would’ve had this place all cleaned up, but he didn’t. I’m beginning to regret my vote. I voted for change and it’s all just the same: I went to bed with a dirty house and woke up with a dirty house. Kidding!

Sorry about the delay in the acceptance speech, but he was busy emailing me to thank me for everything I did for his campaign:

I’m about to head to Grant Park to talk to everyone gathered there, but I wanted to write to you first.
We just made history.

…

But I want to be very clear about one thing…
All of this happened because of you.

Thank you,
Barack

Yup, we’re friends. What? Other people got that email too? Well, it’s just because Barack has lots of friends. It doesn’t make my email any less special.

So the kids filled out the electoral college map with red and blue stickers. It came with the School House Rock Election Collection DVD.

They seemed to have fun with that, but they kind of balked at watching the acceptance speech. But Dawn and Kristen and Lynne and I weren’t having it. We forced them to watch history happen and, dammit, we forced them to like it. I liked it. Did you like it? If not, were you as gracious about it as Sen. McCain? Or did you boo like his a-hole supporters did every time he mentioned Obama in his concession speech? That was lame. But I thought McCain’s speech was excellent. Very classy. Now I have to make like Obama and clean up! Have a good first-day-not-worrying-about-the-election! Unless you live in Minnesota.

I saw this on Feministe:

We’re just getting back and unpacked from our trip to Chesaning. I think I might have bitten my tongue off at certain points, but it grew back and the trip was still lots of fun. And my husband is proud of me for just shrugging, shaking my head, and hiding in the other room from time to time instead of shrieking, “ARE YOU F*CKING KIDDING ME WITH THIS TERRORIST CRAP?” over and over. Because, really, I can handle most any other reason why a person doesn’t want to vote for Obama, but the terrorist stuff? That’s just ignorant.

A couple of times when he saw my face turn red and noticed the arch of my eybrows and the cock of my head that usually signifies the beginning of a verbal onslaught accompanied by The Tone, he had to squeeze my shoulder and whisper through clenched teeth, “Do not get involved. Promise me you will not get involved. Here, drink this! Drink it faster!” I don’t know what he was so afraid of.

For the record, there are lots of Obama supporters in the family on both sides, but it was still plenty disconcerting scary interesting to be around the very few McCain supporters. My dad accused me of brainwashing my children, so I had to tell him and his girlfriend that brainwashing wasn’t necessary, as my daughters are afraid Sarah Palin is coming for their uteruses, which made Maya say, “Does Sarah Palin want to take my uterus?” To which I replied very sweetly, “No honey, she just wants to be the boss of your uterus. But we know she’s not the boss of your uterus, right? Who’s the boss of your uterus?” And she very proudly pointed to herself and said, “JUST ME!” Good times. In fact, that visit was so fun and has me feeling so bipartisan-ish today that I’m going to post a “Women for McCain” video that my sister-in-law, Tracy sent me.

Don’t forget to vote tomorrow!

And because it’s Sunday and watching this video is just like going to church. I mean, if you go to church to worship the antichrist. Haha just kidding. He’s totally not the antichrist. Probably. (I’m talking about Will.I.Am, not Obama).