Keeping all the Obamas in our life straight…

I wrote this last week. But, apparently, my computer burped in the posting of it… so here we go again. Pretend it’s Wednesday, January 21.

Yesterday Jack and I kept the television on to watch the Obama Inaugural and all it’s hoopla, pomp, and circumstance.

Jack recognizes Barack Obama. He delights in saying his name. It’s a fun name to say, for sure. For months, when he’s seen him on TV he’s announced, “Mommy! Daddy! That’s Barack Obama!”

I’ve typed it before— but I’m so glad that Jack will never question that any man can truly be president. (We’ll have to work on getting him to believe that a woman could do the job, too.) He’ll grow up taking for granted that “all men are created equal” and have to be taught that there was a time that wasn’t the case. What a great lesson plan that is—much better than, “well, yes, in theory anyone can grow up to be president…”

Of course—that he gets to take all that for granted has a downside. He’ll take it all for granted.

That’s what occurred to me yesterday while the military troops lined up and the masses and masses of people waved their American flags, and poor Ann Curry couldn’t hear anything from the feed in her ear but gamely joined in on dancing to “Shout!” while she navigated the crowds… I tried to explain to Jacky what was happening.

“This is a special day, Jack” “This is a special ceremony Jack— Mr. Obama will say special words and become our President” “See all the people? All the people are in Washington, DC—it’s a very big city where the President works and lives.” “What’s that building Jack? Yes! It’s the White House—that’s where the President and his family lives.”

Jack is four. For the most part, his Playmobile knights and little Cars vehicles held much more appeal than the insights of Matt Lauer, Meredith Viera, Brian Williams, and Tom Brokaw. Still, some of it made an impression.

Late in the day the Obamas were tucked into The Beast of a new armored presidential car and headed down Pennsylvania Avenue. With the promise of the parade in sight, I showed Jack the car and explained that the flags and the seal meant it was just for the President. Jack is a boy, through and through, so the car had some appeal.

Me: Who’s inside the car with the flags, Jack?

Jack: The little girls? Mrs. Obama? And Barack Obama?

Me: Well, I’m not sure if the little girls are in the car right now… but yes, Mrs. Obama is in the car and so is Barack Obama.

Jack: Mommy! Not just any Barack Obama! PRES-ident Barack Obama.

Me: Yes, Jack. President Obama.

We’ll see what the next four years bring. But this week has seemed so hopeful, so optimistic that it bodes well. For our little household, we’re hoping the next four years brings about good change and good discussion. And media tidbits about the adventures of the little Obama girls and life in the White House.

And as for Not-Just-Any-Barack-Obama-But-President-Barack-Obama, well, so help him God.

 

Now a word from our sponsor

As proof that we’re really shunning resolutions and bettering ourselves in any way… I offer up our latest obsession… the commercial for those creepy blanket suit thingys.

The people in the commercial are so pleased to be on their couch, snuggled in their creepy cultish blankets-with-arms. The cowl collars and three (three!) colors are displayed on people who can watch tv! knit! eat! play games! and chat on the phone! all! while! warmly! snuggled!

Towards the end they introduce the booklight! that opens with a simple push! of! a! button! It retails for $15 in the store where idiots go to buy other, over-priced things. The snuggled lady is so enchanted with the opening of the booklight. Apparently, her poor, useless body under the blanket-with-arms thingy is unable to perform such difficult tasks as opening a regular booklight. One that might sell for $7 at Borders, say.

We were more careful this Christmas than we have been in the past. Our recession Christmas excluded the marvelous idea of buying a blanket-with-arms joke for everyone we know.

Though we haven’t ruled out the keychain thing that helps idiots remember three things at a time. (Oh! how I love that lady who never can remember her grocery list, “Eggs! Butter! Milk!”  Her relief is so great.)

Standing Still

No New Year “Revolutions” this year. I’m just going to stand still.

I’m cautiously optimistic that this will be a more optimistic year for all of us. In any event, in our tiny little part of the world, things are good and it’s enough to just keep it that way this year.

Jack is healthy and happy and lively.

Robby and I are both healthy and content.

The Little Black Dog and Dorothy Fish are both good.

There’s a roof over all our heads that has several good years in it… Robby has a good job. There are books to read, movies to see, music to hear, and a new cookbook to explore.

I have a case of Mallomars to eat my way through and a huge box of LUSH bath bombs to enjoy while I do.

The media hints that the rest of the world will hate us a little bit less– so that’s good. The economy isn’t something I can do anything about myself… we’ll work on our own debt and let the big cats worry about the bigger numbers.

Really, at the end of 2009, if I can type here that I beat Chris or Robby or, really, anybody at Wii Boxing then it will be a good year.