Poo Poo on Palin

I don't want to be sexist. Really. I hate hypocrites more than pro-lifers, but I guess they're sorta the same so that's not such a good comparison. I digress. I don't want to be sexist. And I don't want to be a hypocrite. But who does Sarah Palin think she is? All women of my generation know that you can't REALLY have your cake and eat it, too. One must prioritize. For women, children win out over careers. Just sorta the way it works out when we're the gender with the uterus.

I want her to share her secret with me. Who is taking care of her children while she's off fighting all the unethical jerks who live in Alaska? Who's changing baby Trig's diapers? Who's helping little Piper get her homework done and helping her with her reading and taking her to practice and lessons? Who's there to talk to Bristol and Willow about all the issues that plague teen girls these days? Who eats dinner with them every night? Who's doing the laundry? Who's scheduling all the well-child checkups for the baby and taking the time to run him to the doctor for all his vaccinations? Who's making the dentist appointments and the grocery lists? Who picks up the dry cleaning and gets dinner on the stove? When does she find time to romance her high school sweetheart? When does she have time to just be Sarah?

This isn't so much about Palin as it is about ME. I want to go to back to work, you see, but I can't figure out how to teach 8th grade and manage three kids--none of whom is an infant with special needs--much less be first in line should something happen to the most powerful person in the free world.

I can't figure out how to drop them all off where they all need to be to get to where they have to end up for the day, only to find some way to pick them all up at the end of the day to run them to and fro for various activities. When do I make dinner? When do I do laundry? When do I help with homework? When do I sleep? It's still a mystery to me, so I guess that's why McCain picked Palin and not me. Well, there is that little issue of choice to get in the way. . .

Uprooted

I've always thought highly of the notion of roots and wings. I felt firmly rooted in my childhood. I had parents who were in love, often to my chagrin. I had a sister who irritated me, but looked up to me, too. I had grandparents that I actually adored and spent as much time with as possible. Once, a cousin of mine smirked disdainfully about my "Leave it to Beaver" family, and I was highly offended that he so easily placed us in that category of deadly-normal. Normal was boring. Normal was insignificant; unnoticable. I yearned for some small degree of dysfunction to strike us and add excitement to our lives.

My life mapped itself out on the back of my eyelids as I slept away my youth. My wings spread, but not too far or wide. I was wholly predictible. I attended college. I got married. I started a career. I had babies. I stayed home to raise those babies. Roots and wings took on new meaning for me once I was the mama.

Tonight my granny uprooted me. She called me on the phone. Long distance. On a landline. From southeastern Oklahoma. She'd heard on the news that there was a tornado in my town. Turns out, it was about five miles from my house. I had no idea there was a tornado in my town until Granny called me. Long distance. On a landline. From southeastern Oklahoma. The tornado turned out to be insignficant. My husband and I wondered how the hell it made the news in southeastern Oklahoma.

But I was uprooted all the same, tornado or no tornado.

Granny told me she doesn't want me to come to her house for our visit this weekend. It's been over a year since I've made it to southeastern Oklahoma to see her and Pa Pa; longer still since my kids and husband went to visit. As she tried to explain her reasons to me on the phone--on her dime, no less--all I could think of was that this is the second time she's done this to me. Grandmothers do not tell their grandchildren to stay away. They do not say, "Don't come!" with a hand extended in a warning gesture to "Stop!" That's all I could see in my head.

And just like that, twisted, tangled, uprooted.