Thanks to Becky, we can now turn our anger over a mother being kicked off a flight for breastfeeding into action. Join me in causing them some pain:

Gerald Grinstein
Chief executive officer
(404) 715-2600, gerald.grinstein@ delta.com

Lee Macenczak
Executive vice president and chief of customer service
(404) 715-2600, lee.macenczak@ delta.com

Daiquiri Gleaves
Director, customer care
(404) 715-1402, daiquiri.gleaves@ delta.com

General info:
http://www.delta. com
DELTA, Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport
1030 Delta Blvd. Atlanta, GA 30354-1989

customer-care@ delta.com
(404) 715-2600
(800) 221-1212
How to get through to an operator: press “0” three times or say “agent.”

I’m at the Huffington Post today. Don’t be scared. Go read me.

Go Tigers.

Gunky is afraid of the wackos. The Kaiser and Sarah are afraid of Oprah. So I’m graciously posting my Huffington Post piece from this week right here on QofS. Enjoy. Comment at will. And a special note to Sarah, my longtime, real-life friend who’s wedding my husband made an ass of himself at-Barack is MY boyfriend.

Mine.

When my pot roast is simmering in the oven and my husband’s suits are sufficiently pressed and hung, I occasionally take a break from teaching my children bible verses and the evils of baby killing Democrats to catch a few minutes of Oprah.

Sorry, the laughter overtook me there for a minute.

Actually, after I’ve finished blogging about my fantasies of killing Elmo, whipped up yet another “I don’t think this has transfats, but it might have mercury” dinner, and wrestled the remote from the SpongeBob addicted 3-year old, I catch a few minutes of Oprah.

Today’s guest: superstar Senator from Illinois Barack Obama. Oprah is talking to Obama about the possibility of him running for President in 2008. And I’m ignoring the cries of “WHERE IS SPONGEBOB!” to hear the answer.

A daytime talk show host is pushing politics on her show…and this mother is not only listening intently, but sitting on the edge of her seat to hear the banter.

Welcome to the new spin on campaigning, and the new breed of Mom voter. Get used to politicians and their wives on Oprah being watched by educated homemakers with tattoos and outspoken opinions. Get used to this making many people uncomfortable.

Just like my use of swear words gets me hate mail, I expect this down to earth Senator, and hopefully our next President, will get attacked for sitting on Oprah’s couch and chatting about kids, mothers, and politics.

What many may not understand, or refuse to accept, is that things are not what they used to be. Mothers can be former reporters turned naptime activists hell bent on changing the word through swearing on their blogs and energizing voters. Future presidents can be mixed-race Jr. Senators, talking about the “Audacity of Hope.”

I can be passionate about the PTA and defeating the GOP. I can be educated and have tattoos. I can be like many, many other mothers I know and not fit into your box.

And it seems, so far, a rookie politician with a “funny name” may not fit into that box either. He can make appearances on Oprah and travel to Africa. He can reach across race barriers and seem to have the charisma to give hope to the mother of two in California and the urban, minority male in Chicago.

It is time to forget the box. From homemaker to lawmaker not only do we NOT fit inside, we’re forcing YOU to rethink your stereotype of mother and of politician. We’re forcing YOU to not only think in black and white, but the many, many shades in between.

According to Women’s Voices. Women Vote. 20 million women did not vote in the last election. That’s 20 million women.

I’m guessing Oprah can reach a few of those 20 million women. I’m guessing Mommybloggers can reach a few of those 20 million women. I’m guessing the honesty and hopefulness of a young Senator can reach a few of those 20 million women.

I’m guessing YOU had better redefine that tiny box of yours to include 20 million different kinds of woman. We’re not clear cut. We’re not all Donna Reed. We’re not all what you think a woman should be. What a mother should be. What a sister should be. What a daughter, aunt, girlfriend, or Oprah watcher should be.

But we sure as hell can vote.

Poke.
Poke.
Poke.

…and it was over.

I jammed my little fake pencil through those holes, watched the chads drop, got my sticker, and then proudly walked out of the local elementary school. I was 18. And I had voted.

As part of Women’s Voices. Women’s Vote. I’m telling you all about MY first time.

Just as important as the first time I voted, was what lead up to that vote. The foreplay, if you will…
I turned 18 on December 10th, 1992. I woke up that morning and registered to vote. Then I went and got a tattoo. No lie.

I couldn’t wait to vote, all revved up watching Clinton win that November and just missing my big chance to make my vote count in a presidential election. I was editor of my high school newspaper, and I thought I knew how to change the world with just my vote.

Ok, bad example. But my point is I was psyched. And, xxxxxx years later (you do the math, I’m tired) I’m still psyched. Because as much as I’m disgusted with the current state of politics in this country, I still have hope. I still know my vote will mean something. I am still making my voice heard.

Make yours heard this November. 20 million women DID NOT VOTE in the last election. That can not happen again. Spread the word and blog your first time.

…not really, of course. Just in the writing sense, Mr. Nice Secret Service Men and Women whom I know will burst through my front doors any moment now.

I want Tony Snow’s head on a platter is up at Huffington Post. Go leave your two cents. You too Dana…;)

In other news, my 18-month old will BE President one day, because she’s already pooping in the potty. And this time I had witnesses. So take THAT Tony Freaking Snow. Oh, and she’s cuter than you too.