It’s one day before the election, and my tenuously bipartisan has reached a truce. Every morning, I give Dave a wink and a finger gun and tell him that Obama is going to win. He hugs me and tells me that historically close races favor the challenger. I give him a kiss and tell him he is wrong and as he walks out the door he waves and says, that American can’t handle four more years. It a peace we can all live with. Until Wednesday, when someone is going to be pissed and someone else is going to be baking celebratory Obama cupcakes.
This election cycle has been a tough one for the country and my marriage–jokes about vaginas, binders and someone dressing my daughter up in a Romney/Ryan shirt is wearing thin on the state of this Union. But there are bigger things at stake besides the White House, namely the political soul of my 19mo daughter. Because despite being 17 years away from voting age, if Dave and I agree on anything it’s that her brainwashing starts now. But lately, I’m beginning to think that I’m losing the war on her toddler heart and mind.
1. She is pro status quo. Ellis loves Curious George, but anytime he does anything to upset the status quo she grabs her head and yells, “OH NO, GEORGE A MONKEY! OH NO!” The anxiety about change is strong with this one.
2. She has a foreign policy strategy of engagement. She believes the neighbor’s yard, the street and the other neighbor’s yard belong to her. “Elyis house,” she says pointing to our neighbor Steve’s house. “Elyis weaves,” she says pointing to his leaves. Manifest Destiny is in her genes.
3. She doesn’t believe in entitlements. Yesterday, as Ellis munched on a Kit Kat, a treat she earned by eating all of her lunch, Dave asked reached his hand out and asked her for a bite of her treat. “No teat, Daddy! Elyis teat!”
“Ellis, do you believe in handouts?” He asked.
“No. Elyis teat.”
I think we know what she thinks about Obamacare.
4. She proselytizes. Last week, I took Ellis out for a healthy lunch
of organic kale and fish pizza at Whole Foods at Sam’s Club. As we ate, she looked at me, folded her hands and said, “Mama, amen?”
“Sure, we can pray.”
“Okay! JESUS! AMEN!” She shouted with her greasy hands folded tightly in her pudgy lap. “JESUS! AMEN! JESUS! AMEN! JESUS! AMEN!” The old lady at the table behind us turned around.
“Oh she just likes to pray.” I said.
The woman shook her head and turned away. Then, this morning, as I buckled her into her car seat, she looked at me very seriously, “Baby Jesus.”
“Oh, where is the baby Jesus?”
“Book. Daddy book.”
Hell, where is the Elmo religious tolerance episode? We’re gonna need to watch that.
5. She refuses to say “vagina.” She points to her lady bits and says, “Do do.” And no explanation on my part will get her to admit otherwise.