The GOPreschool

I think I am accidentally raising a Republican. It's probably no secret that I lean left of center, though not at a dramatic angle. And it's also no secret that I live in one of the most Republican states in America, where the crazy Christian Exodus people want to build their utopia.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that my child loves Mike Huckabee.

Or at least his signs. See, we are blessed to live in an early primary state. So our roads are blessed with lots and lots of signs. Interestingly, though, only Republican signs. We've got Mike, Fred, Mitt, Rudy and McCain (he doesn't have hist first name on, strangely). As for Democrats, there are a few Hillary signs at her campaign headquarters, but that's it. Now, I do live in a rather WASPy part of an already WASPy town, so maybe there are some Democratic signs in other areas, but I haven't even seen any near the shopping centers. Proof of how Republican my county is, I guess -- and it is, by the largest margin in the state, I believe.

Anyway, there's a very prominent Mike Huckabee sign on the way to Abigail's school, and it was one of the first signs up more than a month ago. She was fascinated: What was the American flag sign about? What does running for president mean? What does vote mean? Her first civics lesson, from her car seat in my Civic no less. Ever since she first saw it, Abigail has made a point of shouting delightedly "Mike Huckabee!" And she was thrilled to actually see his face last week on the evening news, when the announcer's voice pulled her attention from a very intense game of Uno.

She's noticed the other signs, too, but they're only in blue, and of course her favorite color is red. RED. I should have seen it coming.

On the fourth day of Christmas

my true love gave to me a meme about music to fill out.

But I'm just not inspired. And I don't quite know what to write about, though I feel I should. Our holidays were mildly merry. Since mom was in London, we didn't do anything particularly special. Met with my father-in-law's family, went to Christmas Eve service, met with Brad's immediate family, met with my mother-in-law's family. A whole lot of eating with people I only see twice a year and that I generally know nothing about. Abigail did have a fabulous Christmas morning, and I'm proud to say our gift was the biggest hit. But overall, this Christmas was a bit of a non-happening. We didn't play our music much, I didn't make many cookies since we weren't having company, and we couldn't go to the one Christmas party we were invited to. At least Abigail and Daddy had fun shopping.

And now the dreariness of January is about to set in. We have no New Year's plans, and the concert I wanted to go to is sold out (Dang Avetts, why do you only come to your hometown once a year?!). There is a bright spot on the horizon, though. After Brad turns 30 in February, we're heading to Puerrrrrrrrto Rico! That is if I get in gear and actually buy our tickets and find a hotel. The flights aren't very expensive -- it'll cost us more to go to a wedding in April -- and we won't have to exchange our money, so it should be a good deal. And all Brad wants to do is hit the beach with a bottle of rum, so it shouldn't take much planning!

And speaking of, this would actually be a decent time to call the travel agent I know ...

Geriatric jail bait

Why? Why do I still attract older men? In college, it was men in their 40s who would offer me drinks at the bar. Then it was French men in their 40s who would try to chat me up in a park.

And now? Now it's the late-60s gentleman who I say hello to at the park! Today he told me how pretty I looked in pink. In the same pink sweatshirt I've been wearing for two months, with my unwashed hair pulled back into a ponytail and yesterday's eyeliner still smudged under my eyes. Yes, I'm gorgeous.

That's what I get for telling the most cheerful man on my walking route how much I appreciated his friendly "good morning."

I "heart" blogs

The Internet is a helpful place. There's lots of information, it keeps me from having to make some business phone calls, which I'm not a fan of, and it keeps me up-to-date on the small happenings in my friends' lives.

The Internet is also a horrible place. E-mail has reduced our ability to write lengthy correspondence. Blogs have reduced communication to keeping tabs, checking in once a week to fulfill your duty as a friend. I know the minutiae of my friends' lives, but not the reality. I learn of their pain far too late.

My dear friends, if I have not written, called or e-mailed you at length in at least a month, I am so sorry. I love you very, very much, and you are always on my mind. I am a terrible friend, and I cannot stop weeping at how I have let some of you down. Please forgive me.