Wedding Album

Make a Smilebox photobook

Gettin ready

Make a Smilebox slideshow

7 days

"I still believe in a place called Hope." So ended Bill Clinton's infomercial played at the 1992 Democratic National Convention. I was eighteen years old, already a political junkie, and I wept as I watched him accept the nomination. And, yeah, it's probably one of the cheesiest lines ever but it worked because we, as a nation, were hungry for that hope. Starved by 12 Republican years.

It was the first election where I would be eligible to vote. I was at MTSU and the excitement about that election was palpable. I was convinced that Bill Clinton could change the world. And he did. But he sure caused me a lot of embarrassment along the way.

In 1992, even more than Clinton, I was fascinated by Al Gore. Having grown up in Tennessee, I had lots of Gore exposure prior to 1992. The night before the election, flyers were posted all over campus announcing a rally to be held on the tarmac at the Nashville airport to greet Al and Tipper as they returned to Tennessee to cast their vote. My best friend Debbie and I jumped in the car and headed that way. The plane was to come in around midnight. It was fairly chilly that night and the plane was delayed. I don't know how many people were there that night but in my memory it seems like hundreds. People of every age holding signs and chanting "It's time for them to go!" until the plane landed. I can't imagine that Gore was unaware of the rally but he seemed genuinely shocked to see us all there. He must have been beyond exhausted but he never showed it. He took the microphone and said " I've got a good feeling about today." The crowd went nuts. After the rally, Gore stayed for long enough to shake every hand that was offered to him. When it was my turn, all I could think was "One day this man is going to be President of the United States."

I was wrong about a lot of things...

Wrong about Clinton (Whom I still love and spent most of the late 90's defending. You owe me Big Dog.)

Wrong about Gore ( Who, in my defense, was actually the rightful president no matter what the Supreme Court said)

Wrong about Edwards ( Sweet biscuits I am still so pissed off about this. I may need counseling.)

16 years later, I ponder another election. Lots of life has happened to me since 1992. But I am amused at how similar I still am to that idealistic 18 year old. I still believe that politcal participation matters. I still believe that people can make a difference. I still believe that America is worth it. I still believe that the constitution deserves defending. I still believe that democracy is responsibilty.


I hear Barack Obama speak and I still believe in a place called hope.

Believe

I stumbled onto this blog in the usual way (via Shakesville).



I really have no words for how much I love this one...

But these other two caused me to cry a bucket of tears.

It reminds me of the iconic photo of young Bill Clinton shaking hands with John F. Kennedy. It's one thing to tell your kids that they can be anything they want to be. It's another thing entirely for them to embrace that as reality.

3 meals, 4 snacks and a bowl of ice cream

Here's what I've learned so far about what it takes to feed a part-time family of 9.

One regular size can of Pringles will divide perfectly for 5 lunchboxes.

5 lunchboxes take up a lot of precious counter space.

Due to my ridiculously full cart and my fat envelope of coupons, I have turned into that women that everybody hates at the grocery store.

I can't cook vegetables. I know it. The kids know it. I'm not fooling anybody here. Maybe I can take a class or something...

Our monthly grocery expenditure is roughly equal to three weeks pay for me. I think we should get a cow...and a chicken...and whatever kind of animal those cheesy Ritz Bitz come from.

Chicken legs take WAY longer to cook than chicken breasts.

If you happen to undercook a couple of chicken legs, there is a high probability that Dylan will end up with the raw ones.

If you try to microwave some leftover BBQ to atone for the undercooked chicken, there is a high probability that Dylan will end up with the portion that is still frozen.


Dylan's buddies have no problem eating undercooked chicken and frozen BBQ. They had seconds.

Teenage boys are impervious to salmonella...I hope.

No matter how bad, frozen or undercooked a meal is, Kevin just seems really greatful to have something on the table. (I'm sure this will change but I'm enjoying the honeymoon.)

Dear Barack,

I'm scared. There. I said it. I want to believe the polls but frankly, I am aquainted with way too many rednecks who worship at the altar of stupidity. You have one debate left. I'm hoping you are aware that John McCain is going to come at you like a crazy man next Wednesday. He's not mentally stable and he needs to throw some red meat to his rabid base and the Fox news guys. He won't care if anything he says is true. He is desperate.

I'm satisfied that you will have no problem keeping your composure under such an attack. I just want you to understand that I want more than that. I want you to stand up for all of us who have been damaged by the past eight years under the rule of the village idiot. I want you to stand up to the bully that John McCain has become. I don't want you to be shrill. I don't want you to lose your temper. But I desperately want you to make it clear to John McCain, George W. Bush, Karl Rove and every American that watches that you ARE the next American President.

Just kill me

Help me Jesus