Mother May I

Mother’s day is Sunday. In case you are a bad daughter/son you can still order flowers here and here. And if you can’t afford/ are too late to order flowers, at least pick up the phone and give her a call.

My mother has to work on Mother’s Day; she is a nurse practitioner working nights in a NICU and a hospital never closes and this year she has to work mother’s day. So instead of celebrating Sunday, my folks are coming up on Saturday and I’m taking her to lunch at the Cheesecake Factory (her pick) and shopping at Crate and Barrel (AKA: Mom’s crack). I wish I could do more, but I am still but a poor twenty-something living pay check to pay check. Maybe next year I can get her a trip to a spa, but for now pastries and throw pillows will have to do.

I wish I could say that my mother’s visit is what sparked this post, and I probably would have posted about the awesomeness that is my mother on Sunday, at the appropriate time, but an article on Cnn.com caught my eye.

Queen Nor of Jordan wrote a piece for CNN and I found it to be quite moving.

Nor represents to us something I think we all know, women are the peace keepers. Perhaps it’s inherent in our genes, a maternal instinct that makes us want to protect those around us. Perhaps it’s the way we are raised, encultrated to please and soothe, to find a non-confrontational solution to problems. Whatever the reason, women have been brokering peace for a millennia and I doubt we’ll stop anytime soon.

In her spirit of kinship and sister/motherhood I want to tell you a little about my mother.

I’m very proud of her. Unlike me, she didn’t have things come easy to her and she really had to fight to get her education. She worked when she graduated from high school, not able to afford college. She married young, supported my father while her earned three degrees and had two children. When I was in elementary school, she went back to get RN. She started working nights so that one parent would always be home. When I was in high school she decided to get her Bachelors, a life long goal that she would complete at the age of 44, two weeks before I graduated from high school. Still not satisfied, my mother went back to grad school in my senior year of college. This past December she graduated with a Master’s in Neonatal Nursing and just a month ago she passed her boards. She’s officially certified.

I’m so…incredibly …fucking proud of my mom. She sacrificed so much for her husband and children and more often than not put her own goals and dreams on the back burner to help us reach ours. I don’t know many women who can work 12 hour night shifts, prepare all the meals, get the house clean, and haul two kids around to football, ballet, music lessons, soccer, and sleepovers. My mother is miraculous and she is my greatest role model.

My greatest goal in life is to someday be half as amazing as she is.

Lova ya Mom!

 

 

 

 

True Tales of a Political Operative: Getting On and Off the Crazy Bus

I’m a Political Operative, which is a fancy way of saying I campaign for a living.

For the last four years I’ve bounced from campaign to campaign working 80-90 hours a week for six months at a time. It’s a crazy lifestyle of living out of a suitcase, sleeping on couches, chain smoking, and profound enthusiasm… or profound disappointment. I’m not quite sure how I got into it, or why I thought it was the life for me, but none-the-less, I sit here today, blogging about it.

Crazy things happen on “the ground” (i.e. campaign). I once shared a two bedroom apartment with 5 other people. At the time we thought we were geniuses, saving hundreds of dollars each month by simply turning back to our former lifestyles as college dormitory residents. It would be brilliant; we’d get bunk beds for the living room and double up in the bedrooms, share laundry and cleaning duties… just like a small sorority. Naivety is a theme in my life and, well, this is no exception.

Anyhoo, I could tell you hundreds of stories… and I probably will. But today I want to share one of my more favorite true stories from the campaign field.

I was in Alaska for the ’04 cycle, working for the Knowles for Senate race in Anchorage. It was beautiful when I arrived in the summer, 70 degrees, sunset after midnight… the most beautiful place you’d ever seen… until winter. Oh by the way, winter starts in September in Alaska. I have lots of stories about Alaska, but I want to take you to the end of the campaign, GOTV weekend, Sunday actually, 2 days before the election.

Let me paint you a picture, its floating around 2 degrees BELOW zero. The sun is coming up in late morning and setting in mid afternoon. We have maybe six hours of daylight. It’s snowing… AGAIN. I have 33 volunteers out canvassing. They have to wear reflective vests (think construction workers) because it’s already dark at 4:30 in the afternoon. I also have to make them take breaks every 30 minutes because, you know, it’s below zero and snowing and I really don’t want to read headlines about Knowles volunteers found frozen with walk sheets clenched in their fists. Plus I like most of them and didn’t want them to die…most of them.

So far that day, one volunteer had been in a car accident, two had fallen in ditches that were filled with snow and thus undetectable and had to go to the hospital, a republican volunteer harassed a young female volunteer when they ran across each other in the same neighborhood and I had been bitten by a dog (didn’t break the skin but took a chunk out of my jeans). I had handled everything with poise and grace, solving problems on the fly in a cool and calm manner. I was super Field Organizer.

The house had burned down? no problem; three volunteers were eaten by bears? no problem; an angry mob has gathered to burn us at the stake? no problem. I was on fire… until all my very tired and very dedicated volunteers began to show up at the staging area I had set up. I had ordered enough pizza to feed and army and had the place set up for each of them to come and feel welcomed and appreciated for all they were doing to help elect one of the greatest men I had ever met.

As they started to trickle in, I became worried. The pizza hadn’t arrived and my attempts to call and investigate were met with empty promises of a “soon” arrival time. My volunteers were tired and hungry and I didn’t have anything to feed them. What was a girl to do?

A rational human being would look at this situation and not see it as a big deal, but after months of working 13-15 hours a day, seven days a week I had lost most of my ability to think rationale. That particular day I had woken up sitting at my desk with my forehead on my keyboard, having been to the office so late it wasn’t worth the trip home to get sleep. I also had the flu and an ear infection and I hadn’t eaten since the day before. Thinking back on it, I’m amazed I was still able to stand.

I flipped out. The adage “the straw that broke the camels back” completely applies here. I went into hysterics locked myself in the bathroom, completely convinced that Tony was going to lose because I couldn’t feed my volunteers.

I sobbed and panicked, gone completely bonkers for now really solid reason. I was lucky though, a good friend/ volunteer was able to take over and get the pizza there only 15 minutes late while I disintegrated in a blabbering pile of goo on the bathroom floor.

Eventually, I pulled myself together and managed to eek out the day with everyone fed and back on doors. I completed my walking goals and dispensed all the literature I was supposed to. I got back to my office around 9:00 that night, ready to face another all-nighter of turf cutting and packet making. Maybe if I was lucky I could finish up first and get the couch in the front of the office before anyone else snagged it. So sitting at my desk (by desk I mean a cafeteria style table I shared with three other people) and plopped down onto my metal folding chair I was greeted by one of my desk-mates and fellow organizers.

“How’d it go?” she asked me looking equally exhausted.

“Ok, got everything walked,” I responded deciding not to share my complete breakdown over tardy pizza with her.

“Year me too. But I had to ream out the coffee place, they stiffed me on those little creamers and a couple of my die-hard vols were asking for more… I told the guy I’m trying to win a race and that unless he wants us to lose because he was cheap on the cream, he should suck it up and do his fucking part.”

I stared at her for a few seconds completely unable to say anything. I thought that perhaps we’d all gone crazy and that this was going to be my life, obsessing over the obsolete because I have completely lost my perspective.

“Yeah, suck it up and do your part.”

The next day, when the pizza dude was late… again… I gave him a twenty dollar tip. It was my way of making peace with the cosmos. And hopefully giving up my seat on the crazy bus.