“I know why some people vote democrat!” The princess told me. She seemed to be having an ‘Aha!’ moment. “Their moms and dads didn’t teach them what was right and what wasn’t!”

I’ve caught her lovingly dusting her electoral college map. She has told me that she hopes Bush will carry 40 states. This is not of my doing, at least not directly. She wanted to know the difference between republicans and democrats, so I outlined some of the parties’ platforms. It must have really stuck, because she has caught the election bug. She is decorating everything in red, white, and blue. It’s like a mini Miss Liberty has taken possession of my daughter.

Wednesday, if things don’t turn out as she hopes, it’s going to be a hard time. Either way she’s going to have to accept that God is in control. (That’s a hard lesson for an adult to grasp, let alone a five year old.) In the mean time I think we’ll have a talk about taking this whole election thing too seriously – and I’ll try to listen to my own advice.

We’ve decided to find a bigger place and sell the one we’re in. All the brouhaha involved in buying, selling, and moving will be worth it to not share one bathroom three ways. When it’s time for the Bear to potty train, he’ll be frequenting the loo like Michael Moore does Krispy Kreme; I don’t think our bladders will take it. The princess thinks the mental image of the rest of us in the hallway doing the potty dance is hilarious.

So our realtor came over and walked us through the whole process of putting the place on the market, since we’re newbies at this. As he left, he mentioned that if Kerry wins the election a lot of people here are going to bail out of the Navy as soon as they can. Not out of protest, but because he’s going to take our military back to Clinton-era standards and you can’t provide for your family like that. (We’d consider it, too, if Mr. MamaGeph wasn’t 14 years deep into his career.) The Navy is the only show in town, so if enough people bail it’s going to be a buyer’s market.

It’s obvious that most people are taking this election cycle personally. But if Kerry becomes president we’re going to have a harder time selling our house, and Mr. MamaGeph’s career is going to get a whole lot tougher. How’s that for personal?

Woo hoo! Just got the new handwriting fonts installed. This is some amazing stuff! I can choose dashes to trace, or “hollow” letters to write within, with ruled lines or not. And it links the letters for cursive. The specialty font pack includes clocks, emotions, alphabet pictures, and even Braille. (Which will go really nicely with our current read-aloud “Follow My Leader.”)

It has a font for the annoying postal bar code they stick to all the mail now, too. Maybe I could use it to print a message to the post office on our envelopes. “Stop spoiling all the postcards,” perhaps.

Thank you to thicket dweller for the great link to CookingByNumbers.com. I can’t wait to give it a go. Now, what sort of recipe do you suppose it will give me when all I have is rice, strawberry jelly, and Dijon mustard?

There’s a big write up in The Vail Trail about a flurry of intimidation tactics against republicans. (Tip o’ the Swiffer: Powerline)Bush signs have been burned, chainsawed, or stolen. Windows have been broken out of cars that have Bush stickers. Little old ladies are afraid to be openly supportive of the president.

While my political affiliations have shifted bit by bit over the years, I have always been a sticker junkie when it comes to my car. When I broke down and got a minivan out of sheer practicality, I comforted myself that it gave me a ton more sticker space. And not once, ever, can I remember being intimidated or afraid to park my PETA-and-Grateful-Dead-emblazoned car at a church. I never worried about being keyed or vandalized if I left it for the day in a “conservative” part of town. But I do keep my guard up now when I park at the natural foods co-op with my W/04 decal. Just shopping for tea and granola means I have to tolerate snorts of derision and rolling eyes as I hurry my kids inside. My Sailor made the mistake of wearing an old Promise Keepers shirt there once, and got epithets and insults muttered at him as he walked the isles. He said not a word in return.

Somewhere along the line, the love of free speech and self-expression has moved across the political isle. I wish there was an *aha!* moment you could point to, that you could say was when it all changed hands. If there was a distinct dividing line, it might be easier to pick the thing apart and fix it.

Update: Another example of free speech from the peace-loving left.

What do you do with a pair of shoes that are still wearable, but too shoddy to donate? I’ll feel like such a heel (Oh, the puns just come naturally with this topic, don’t they?) if I toss them, but I can’t see putting them in the donation box. They’re comfy, but I look like I borrowed the treadders off one of the seven dwarves, they’re so floppy. (They’re Land’s End mocs – shoe of the populace! Footwear for the masses! Volkschuhe!) Do I wear them to mow the lawn? Put them in the back of the closet and pray for them to metamorphosise into a pair of Docs?

The princess was reading about the presidential candidates the other day, and mistakenly read John Kerry’s wife as “Teresa Hiney-Kerry.” She wasn’t far off.

In an interview with USA Today, Ms. Heinz-Kerry showed what she thinks of moms who don’t have a paying gig outside the home:

“Well, you know, I don’t know Laura Bush. But she seems to be calm, and she has a sparkle in her eye, which is good,” Heinz Kerry said. “But I don’t know that she’s ever had a real job — I mean, since she’s been grown up. So her experience and her validation comes from important things, but different things.”

She has since retracted that bit about not having a “real job,” since Laura Bush was a teacher and librarian. No word yet about motherhood being worthwhile.

Mmmmm. Raisins. Teresa Heinz-Kerry, the mistress of misspeak and queen of wicked quips, has a plan. Maybe she’s had more than her fair share of miracle healing. I know I wouldn’t be feeling any pain – arthritis or otherwise – after ingesting enough gin soaked raisins. (Tip o’ the Swiffer: Drudge.)

After 18 months of being gone, Mr. MamaGeph – my own personal Popeye – will be home from the boat. None of us are sleeping now. Sunday I mowed the lawn after church and steam cleaned the carpets after the kids were in bed. But I’m not excited or anything.

Such a long haul! When we signed up for this ship, we had no idea the timeline would be extended this far. He left a very pregnant wife and a preschooler at home, but he will be coming back to his regularly shaped wife (and we’re not going to discuss that shape…), a first-grader, and a toddler. So many moments we’ll never get back. He missed the Bear’s birth, his first foods, first crawling, walking, and running. His first of many words. The Princess starting school, her first six teeth coming out, the first dance recital. He missed middle of the night feedings and snugglings. He missed helping our daughter cope with not being the only anymore. He missed my braces coming off. He didn’t get to say goodbye to his puppy. Birthdays, holidays.

Marrying into the Navy is like that, yes it is. That’s okay. I can share. God is so good to be there, even when it’s a dark, bitter day. Especially then. But He is also good to be there when the light is back. And my light on Earth is coming back, indeed.

We knew when we adopted her from the shelter, we wouldn’t have her for long. At ten years old, and with the curse of being a black dog, she had already been there for three months. But so quiet. And gentle. Even my princess, who was intimidated by dogs at the time, loved her the day we signed the papers. Half lab, half German shepherd, and getting a bit of gray around the muzzle. Our dear, sweet Sara.

She was so patient and undemanding. I excused her stinky dogginess, and she forgave my love of cats. She loved to chase us as we chased Princess, and threatened to take off our back pockets if we got too rambunctious. (A hollow threat, since her teeth were mostly broken off from chewing rocks as a puppy.) She carried around her rawhide bone and slept with it like a wubby.

Slowly, eventually, the ACL got too painful to bear. She hobbled up to the back door each night and just stood there. Even a full supper dish was not worth having to climb over the 6″ threshold to come in.

I’ve never put an animal down before. The vet was very kind, and gave me a talk that was meant to be comforting. But the fact remained that he was there to kill my dog, and I was paying him to do it. She didn’t like being there, and didn’t understand why I was crying. They gave her a nice, warm blanket to lie on, and I sat with her and told her I loved her and would miss her so much. In the end, she just relaxed and lay her head in my lap. And then she was gone.

Goodbye, sweet Sara. Till we meet again.