Sunday, August 31, 2008

Kaelinisms: Tithing Edition

(opening the English-Spanish translator that she thinks is a Bible)

Kaelin: And God said, “Bring me some money so I can buy candy at the mall.”

Friday, August 29, 2008

First Day of School

Yesterday was Kaelin’s first day of school for the year.  It went about as expected.  There were tears when I dropped her off but by mid-morning she had gotten over it.  Fortunately, they keep those kids so busy they don’t have time to be upset.

Let’s Talk VPs

I typically don’t pay much attention to Vice Presidential candidates, but after experiencing Cheney for the last 8 years, I’ve decided it’s more important this time around.  Don’t get me wrong, I think Dick Cheney was probably the best VP choice Bush could have made, because he’s probably the single biggest reason Bush hasn’t been assassinated. 

But I’m hoping the candidates this time around have bigger goals for their VP selections than “insurance policy.”

So Obama picked Joe Biden.  Makes sense to pick someone with experience, particularly in foreign affairs.  And he’s an excellent debater.  But I wonder if Biden’s tendency toward political incorrectness will be a liability.  Obama has already had to forgive him publicly for a verbal misstep. 

And I’m not sure how much “experience” will make the difference when we’re talking about someone who thought an appropriate response to 9-11 would be to send Iran a check for $200 million, “no strings attached,” so that we can “show the Arab world we’re not bent on destruction.”

But I find the Republican VP nomination to be far more interesting.  Today, on his 72nd birthday, John McCain picked 44 year old Alaskan governor, Sarah Palin.

Ok.  Didn’t see that coming.

It makes perfect sense on some levels.  She’s young - perhaps that’s an attempt to balance out John McCain’s age, but I wonder if it will just end up making him look older. 

She’s a woman.  An attempt to out-minority Obama?  Probably.  An attempt to win over Hillary Voters?  I hope the GOP isn’t that naive.  Although I’m told there is a group of Hillary Revenge voters who are planning to vote Republican out of spite (in which case they don’t need a woman on the ticket), I’ve never met a Hillary supporter concerned about the issues who would ever consider voting Republican.

She’s attractive.  She’s very popular in her state.  She’s intelligent.  She’s a mother.  She’s likable, which John McCain is not.

But she’s also inexperienced.  Her resume tops out at two years as Governor of a state with one of the lowest populations in the country.  But hey, John McCain has enough experience for two people, right?

She’s a lot of things that John McCain needs.  At first glance, I like her.  But ready to step in as Commander in Chief should something happen to the President?  I’m not convinced.  And I’m a little worried about how she’s going to hold up to Biden in the debates.

I’m also wondering how seriously John McCain takes his own VP pick.  Obviously it’s a political move to win votes but I wonder if a 72-year old, dyed-in-the-wool politician who loves nothing more than touting the fact that he’s been in politics since the Civil War would ever listen to a 44 year old woman with 2 years of Governor experience.  Or did he just hire a pretty face to do as she’s told, “inquire daily as to the health of the president, and ... attend the funerals of Third World dictators.”

I guess only time will tell.

However, I must say that I find it pleasantly ironic that after all the fighting, back-biting, twisting and money spent by the Clinton campaign, this lady is closer to getting into a presidential capacity than Hillary ever was.

Monday, August 25, 2008

Trauma

“Is it the doctor that gave me stickers?”
“No, Dr. Seibert isn’t working right now.  We’re going to see a different doctor that we haven’t met before.”

She chattered cheerfully on the way to the after-hours clinic.  The bleeding had stopped and the pain had subsided.  It was past her bedtime but she was wide awake.

“What’s the doctor’s name?”
“I don’t know.  We can ask when we get there.”
“Is it Rosa?”
“Probably not.”
“Is it Dora?  It might be Dora, but it wouldn’t be the same Dora.  And there might be a doctor named Boots but it wouldn’t be the same Boots.”

When we reached the clinic, she marched in with her Little Lamb and her enormous blanket.  The staff was immediately taken with the bouncy little girl in pajamas, and I heard, “Oh, you ought to come look at her, she’s adorable.”

She looked around with interest at the colorful room and the large TV as I spoke with the receptionist.

“I called a little while ago about having someone look at my daughter’s chin.  She tripped and fell into a chair and it seems to be a fairly deep cut.”

When we were quickly ushered into Room 8, her demeanor changed.  Her well-founded suspicion of doctor’s offices was aroused, and she suddenly became very clingy, trying to hide behind my legs.

She struggled and cried through the rinsing of the wound and the doctor’s examination, despite the sweet words and “magic wand” offered by the nursing staff.  The verdict was as I feared: she needed stitches.

They had to strap her down.

She cried.  I held her hand.

She screamed.  I stroked her hair.

They stuck a needle directly in the wound again and again to administer the anesthetic.

The screams turned into sobs.  “Please stop hurting me… Please, please stop hurting me...”

I offered useless words of comfort and tried not to look away as the needle made the blood flow again.

As the anesthetic took effect, her hysteria lessened.  But the fear of pain, the fear of the unknown, did not.

As the doctor stitched, she whimpered again and again, “Is it over yet?” And each time everyone would tell her “Almost.  We’re almost done,” followed by a question for the sake of distraction.

“How old are you?”
“Two.”
“Do you have a brother or a sister?”
“A brother.”
“What’s his name?”
“Koren.  He fusses all the time.  Ow, you’re poking me!”

The anesthetic hadn’t sufficiently reached that part of the wound.  The tears came flowing out again.

One, two, three, four stitches.  It felt like entirely too long to have only been four stitches.

The moment when I could answer “Yes, it’s over now” was like reaching the surface and taking a breath of air a millisecond before drowning.

She got a popsicle.  And a toy.  And four stickers.  And a lollipop.  And she got to sit in the lobby and watch Lilo and Stitch while I filled out paperwork.  By the time we left she was exhausted, but smiling.  On the way out the door she asked all the doctors and nurses what their names were.

We climbed in the car and I buckled her in the back seat.  I kissed her on the head and told her what a good girl she had been and how proud of her I was.  She smiled and closed her eyes.

As I started the car, I exhaled for the first time in an hour.  There, in the safety of darkness, I wept. 

I’m still weeping.