Election

Call me Mother of the Year.

It's the night before the election, and I find myself pondering. Again. About who I'm going to vote for. Again. I have changed my mind more times than I can count, and I'm certain I'm not alone. On one hand, I really wanted to like Obama. But I'm not sure about his policies or his experience (or rather, lack thereof). I wanted to spend my time snarking about McCain, but I find myself agreeing with a few of his policies. As for Palin, well, there's a reason the pit bull costume stayed in my closet. Lipstick didn't match. Drat. So I'm stuck.

As I search for my voter registration card, polling place, and lucky quarter (hey, gotta make a decision somehow), I realize there is a candidate I haven't considered. He's young, but able to make tough decisions. No problem with cutting taxes. Good with foreign relations. Has firm opinions about energy options. In short, the perfect candidate.

Peanut for President.

Partner-In-Crime for Vice-President.

Peanut is excellent at deciding snack time and outdoor play. Peanut has no problem cutting taxes because he doesn't know what they are. Does not know strangers, and considers everyone his friend. Objects to nap time with furious vigor. And, well, he's short. Plus, his Vice-Presidential candidate is six months older, and does his best to tell Peanut what to do. The perfect ticket.

So I've got big plans to vote for the Dastardly Duo ticket on November 4. Except the age thing caught up to me. And the lack of education. And the likelihood that those two would turn the White House into their playground at taxpayer expense. Maybe this isn't such a good idea. Where'd that quarter get to?

Call me Mother of the Year.