I TRIED to Tell You: Why OPRAH Matters

Back in October of last year I posted a piece here on HuffPo after I had watched a then, undeclared, Senator Obama sit with Oprah.

“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.”

Now we see Ms. Winfrey and the candidate stumping and it’s working.

Go ahead and shake your head that some talk show host is making a difference in the ’08 election. Go ahead and roll your eyes that these mothers and women care.

Fellow BlogHer Morra Aarons-Mele writes, “If you follow politics, you’ve no doubt heard that unmarried women represent a holy grail of voters: 50 million or so likely Democrats that year after year, flirt with voting and political activism, but don’t commit. This cycle, they’re dubbed the ‘Sex and the City voters.’ To woo these women, the establishment provides celebrities, and catchy spots laced with sexual innuendo–ooh, winking about their first time! Voting, that is.

My friend and Democratic pollster Margie Omero sent me the post about the Single Anxious Female frame. She noted to me, ‘Women, across marital status groups, vote at a higher rate than do men. But the coverage stemming from concern about ‘Single Anxious Women’ (even called the ‘Sex in the City Voter’) not only doesn’t reflect the data, it trivializes women.’ Even in 2007, women are pitched civics lessons as if we can only relate to global affairs if the issues are dressed in sexy shoes, just folks style dishing, or are at lunch with Samantha, Carrie and the girls.”

I suppose there is an argument to be make about gimmicks and celebrities being busted out for votes. I also think there is an argument to be made that Oprah is trusted and speaks to most women.

Marty Kaplan writes, “…Oprah may actually be the twenty-first century’s de facto national anchor. She really does channel — and change — Middle America.”

A national anchor that has the ear of just about every American woman I know.

Go ahead and laugh if you want, or be disgusted by “some celebrity” making a difference. Maybe you don’t care for her charity work or maybe you don’t like that she is wealthy and powerful. Maybe you don’t like that she does it with women top of mind. Whatever the reason, I suggest you take notice. As I mentioned in October,

“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.”

I caution you to realize this does not only apply to Obama. As BlogHer’s Catherine Morgan points out, there are over 300 women discussing politics in blogs. Even my much-ridiculed Mommyblogger circle is educated and in on the act.

I’m tired of the snickering from those who find this less-than-serious politics. I’m tired of the feeling women voters are “cute” and entranced by Oprah or Hillary’s new hair-do.

I suggest the main stream media and other writers, political campaigns, and candidates themselves learn a lesson from the Oprah effect. As I’ve heard BlogHer Co-founder Lisa Stone say many times about many different things, “ignore us at your own peril.”

*cross posted at the Huffington Post, Erin Kotecki Vest also blogs at Queen of Spain blog and BlogHer.com

Dear 8lb 6oz Baby Jesus,

A few years ago my brother-in-law and sister-in-law gave us a nativity scene for Christmas. It was made in Poland (I’m Polish) and it’s very nice. I store it right next to the Bible we also got as a gift. Because anyone who knows this royal family knows we would just love nativity scenes and bibles as gifts….cough cough.
The past few years at Christmas I’ve actually unpacked the stuffed nativity (they are like stuffed dolls) because the kids have found them fun to play with, and we’ve had family over who may or may not notice we may or may not be displaying said nativity that was thoughtfully picked out.

Princess Peanut likes the donkey, the lamb, and of course the Baby Jesus. She hasn’t ever played with Joseph or Mary or the angel. Don’t ask me where the wise men are…apparently they were not present at this particular birth or the Polish nuns who sewed them got tired.

Lately we’ve been playing with the donkey, the lamb, and a puppy dog . They talk. They go on little trips to other rooms together. They pretend to eat fake food. All well and good.

Enter Baby Jesus.

Suddenly the donkey and lamb have been labeled “bad sisters go away!” and the puppy and Jesus have formed a bond. The Baby Jesus gets to walk the puppy (using one of my headbands) and Jesus tells the dog “you’re such a good puppy” and so on and so forth.

Somewhere along the lines puppy stayed in the other room and only Baby Jesus (with or without his manger, depending on her mood) has been clutched in her tiny hands. Baby Jesus had breakfast with us this morning. Baby Jesus came to the mall. Baby Jesus is the new Elmo that must be carried at all times.

Of course Baby Jesus also needs to eat, and since Mom is catching up on a million things around here what with the recent illnesses and all, a cup or two of milk might remain on the table longer than need be.

Enter Princess Peanut feeding Baby Jesus milk while Mom wasn’t paying attention.

I heard something about “here you go baby” but wasn’t really listening.

About 20 minutes later I found Baby Jesus floating face down in a bowl of milk on my kitchen table.

“Honey, let’s not feed the baby your milk, ok?”

“But Mama...she was hungry.”

Cue brother-

“That’s a BOY, not a girl!”

“No it’s not! It’s a girl!”

“No, it’s a boy!”

So now I’ve got a Baby Jesus floating face down in milk and two kids having the argument I like to reserve to really piss off some right-wing fanatics.

I fished Baby Jesus out of the milk, and at the kids’ request he was towel dried and bundled much like they are after a bath.

My youngest then put him in his manger, hooked my headband back around the neck of her puppy dog, and proceeded on a walk around the house.

“Do you feel better after your bath my little girl? I’m so glad…here puppy, let’s have some peanut butter…”

We’re so going to hell.

Cause for Celebration

I may throw a party, I’m not kidding. We went from this:

To this: (with the most memorable portion of her ordeal being an oatmeal bath)

CastleGate 2007

*not to be confused with the Turkey Riot of 2004 or the Teacup Riots of 2005

@#$%&*@#$%#%$@

I’ll swear more, for real, in a few paragraphs, but first let’s travel back several weeks to this family’s brush with the Southern California wildfires.

We evacuated. We hung out with Nana and Gramps. We came home.

Somewhere in between hanging out and coming home, we made our way through Orlando International Airport.

Orlando International Airport has TWO Disney Stores. Not one, but TWO. One in Terminal A and one in Terminal B. I’ll give OIA two. I mean, Mickey lives in that there city…I’ll give them TWO.

Anyway, on our way back to Los Angeles (which was no longer ON FIRE) I hastily stopped in Terminal A’s Disney store to buy a few small things to occupy my children on the very long flight home. A nice Princess set. Maybe some Mickey coloring books. A few Goofy cookies. You get the idea.

Princess Peanut Punk as Fuck entered said Disney store and IMMEDIATELY flipped out over this:

Mind you, in real life, this box is rather large. About as BIG as she is. There is no way I’m getting this on the plane and certainly no way I’m forking out $80 for plane ride distractions. Cue Princess Peanut meltdown. Of EPIC proportions.

I try and explain this won’t fit on the plane. I try and explain she’s NOT getting this toy. Maybe Santa can bring it? Maybe Christmas is coming and this can be on her “list?”

There is no getting through to her. At all. She’s on the floor screaming and we have to get through security like NOW.

Always thinking, I ask a nice saleswoman if they have a smaller castle. Maybe a picture of one. Maybe some little trinket. She calmly (which was pretty good considering the screaming child on my leg) says there is another Disney store in Terminal B, and they have a castle bank.

A bank. That might work.

So with both kids, and two carry ons, we run to Terminal B. Go ahead and stop and imagine what that looks like. No no, don’t stop to see the fishies…come on…we have to go…no, hold my hand….I see the big Mickey, yes…but we need to get down this hallway…

We make it to Terminal B’s store and low and behold Princess Peanut thinks the castle bank is SHIT and won’t even look at it. Now I’m thinking it’s time to get ugly. It’s time to just grab a random coloring book and the screaming toddler and the 4.5year old and the two carry-ons and run back to Terminal A and through security and onto our soon-t0-be departing plane.

Instead my daughter, aka Sybil, decides she really likes this Little Mermaid backpack/doll set and happily skips to the check out. Happily skips to Terminal A. Happily skips through security and onto the plane.

Let’s catch up to present day, shall we? Our little peanut watches her Disney movies until we can ALL recite each line. And as many of you know, they all begin with a very nice animation of Cinderella’s castle. And each time, our little girl proclaims ” MY castle! MY castle!”

Yes, HER castle. Not Cinderella’s. Hers.

If asked about HER castle, she’ll tell you Santa is bringing it. It’s #2 on her Santa list (right after a HORSE) and she just knows it will come. Just knows.

Now Princess Peanut’s Nana, being the NANA she is (that’s capital N-A-N-A) says she will find said castle and get it for our darling. Turns out houseboy (my brother) and his girlfriend have a connection at Disneyland who can get said castle at a discount.

Said connection checks out the situation in Anaheim. Guess what? They only sell SLEEPING BEAUTY’S castle there. And they are ONLY selling these castles at the PARKS THEMSELVES (or ebay) and it’s Cinderella’s in Orlando and Sleeping Beauty in Anaheim.

Motherfuckingsonofabitchbastards.

Now, I really can’t ask my Mom to pay $115 on ebay for a play castle. I’m still hoping we don’t have to pay admission to the park in ORLANDO (um, hi, mom, can you drive to Disney World for me?) but we’ll see. Of course I’m calling the airport store in the morning to figure out how the fuck THEY got them and if they can SHIP one.

Bottom line here…Santa is trying to deliver. Maybe Santa should just go ahead with some doll or coloring book and not get caught up in making sure we get the Castle. Maybe the castle isn’t meant to be. Maybe the castle is a lesson for Princess to learn.

Or maybe I need to get on the phone and online.

What say you? Castle? Or No castle?

Message To YouTube

On behalf of the League of Maternal Justice breastfeeding montage “banned” by YouTube, I give you my Message to the Asshats at YouTube. Apparently they prefer this over letters to the editor, so here goes…

and I’ll have you know I did this quick video despite this from the other day:

and THIS today: (look familiar?)

Yup, different kid, same couch. This one came with bonus hives!

There’s So Much That We Share That Its Time We’re Aware…

…it’s a small world after all.

Now, once you’re done cursing me for sticking that song in your head…last night something amazing happened, and it hit me how big this whole “web 2.0, social media, blah blah blah” stuff is.

My Sister-in-law had a baby. On the surface, not such an earth shattering thing. I mean, yes a miracle and all that, but not exactly unheard of in this day and age. The thing is, she’s in Germany. Her husband, my brother-in-law, is stationed in Iraq. My father-in-law and mother-in-law were en route from West Virginia to Germany and my family and I are in California.

I might need a diagram for that.

Somewhere around lunchtime the West Virginia contingent landed in Germany and somewhere around dinnertime they were off to the hospital. Somewhere around desert time my phone rang and a baby had been born. Relatives needed to be alerted and a father needed to be found in Iraq. Mind you I was online with a Canadian and on the phone with a Bostonian.

So emails were sent, calls were made, skypes were attempted, and twitters were pushed out into the universe because I was too excited to remember what the time difference was in Iraq or, apparently, how to google.

By bedtime, I was congratulating Dad the soldier via webcam and getting a tour of his room in the Middle East.

I had spoken to people all over the globe over one tiny little girl.

I wasn’t doing business. I wasn’t blogginig. I wasn’t connecting with old friends or reading techie news. I was simply celebrating life.

So I’m done with talk of ‘what is web 2.0?’ and ‘what is social media?’

It’s life.

The end.

I Hate Winter

And preschool germs

And cold weather

And kleenex

And cool mist humidifiers

And vics

And inhalers

And prescriptions

And popcicles

And night sweats

And a sick Mom and sick kid and trying to take care of him and me while we both lay in bed

And everything else…

Fuck Winter

Protest Delayed

Sick boy. Back with anti-YouTube and Facebook fun when he’s better.