So me and my princess fairy wing girls tore up the streets on Halloween.

I tried to jump on the princess bandwagon (because frankly there are just not enough opportunities in life to wear a tiara)…

But there’s such a fine line between looking all fancy and regal, and looking like you’re heading out to a bachelorette party.  Don’t you think?

See what I mean? 

After trick or treating all afternoon at the shops on Bleeker Street, the girls traded in their day tulle for night time princesses attire. And Rick swapped out his suit for his world champs attire. Yes, the New Yorkers still coughed up the candy for a Phillies fan.

And after a long, grueling day of candy collecting, Dylan is already thinking ahead.

“So what holiday comes after Halloween?” Dylan asks.

“Thanksgiving,” I reply.

“What are we going to do?”

“We are going to go visit family in Connecticut. We’ll eat yummy food, see lots of people we love and be grateful for all our amazing blessings,” I explain.

“Will there be lots of candy there?”

Oh Dylan, we can only hope.

By Contributing Papa Rick Folbaum

I know our economy’s in full-on meltdown mode.  And believe me, I know we’re days away from electing a new president (perhaps you’ve been reading my wife’s blog).  And then there’s the matter of finding a suitable school for our 4 year-old to go to next year.  And our almost two year old must be in dire need of something besides a new pajama shirt because the one she’s been wearing for all of four minutes is a teensy bit wet on the left sleeve.

But com’on, people.  My Philadelphia Phillies have just won the World Series and I’m going to just sit back, bask in that, and ignore all the rest of this stuff for a little while, OK?

Being a big sports fan can sometimes feel so juvenile.  So nerve-wracking.  And so hopeless, especially if you’re a Philadelphia sports fan.  Perhaps you’ve read that Philly hadn’t had a championship team to call its own since 1983.  That’s right.

While every other big time pro sports town has gotten to enjoy being called #1 over and over (and I don’t want any sob stories from those Cubs fans in Chicago who had something like a gazillion NBA crowns while Michael Jordan was playing), Philly has had to sit on the side lines and watch.  And wait.  And wonder if it would ever come to us again.

The last time there was a parade down Broad Street, I was in 8th grade.  The last and only other time in history the Phillies won it all, I was 11.  I’m damn near 40!   Could that be right?  Um, apparently yes.  I just checked my driver’s license.

So, I know it’s silly.  I know it’s just sports.  I know there’s a ton of stuff I should be focusing my energies on.  I just can’t.  All I can think about are all those years spent going to Phillies games with my dad and mom, brother and sister.  My grandmother, Sylvia, even took me to a game back in 1984 one night when I couldn’t convince anyone else to drive me.

We scalped two tickets out in front of the old Veteran’s Stadium from a kid who didn’t look to be too much older than I was at the time.  “They’re on the third base line right behind Mike Schmidt,” he promised us, as my grandmother looked at him skeptically and began to reach into her pocketbook.

“Does your mother know you’re out here?” my grandmother asked him, before she’d hand him any cash.

“Com’on, Mom Mom, the game’s about to start!”  I said, a little scared.  And very excited.

And wouldn’t you know it, if Sylvia and I didn’t sit right on the third base line, a few rows behind my hero, Michael Jack Schmidt.  I don’t remember if they won that one (probably not) but I’ll never forget the pre-game transaction.

My grandmother called me to congratulate me on the Phillies’ victory.  She said she’d been getting updates on the score during her nightly card game in Delray Beach, Florida.   This win’s for you too, Mom Mom!

And to all of you: You may not be a Phillies fan, or a baseball fan, or even a sports fan period.  But this win’s for you as well.  Because this win symbolizes a lot more than just one team’s success.  This year, this very important year, the Philadelphia Phillies’ triumph symbolizes what’s possible for all of us.  Anything.  Everything.  No matter how unlikely.  No matter how improbable.  It can happen.  It has for one baseball team and its long suffering fans, who today get themselves a parade.  And it will for everyone.  Soon.

So last night, I went to bed at a ridiculously late hour because I had to watch Obama’s infomercial, and then Obama on The Daily Show and then Obama do a stand up comedy special on HBO (oh, maybe that’s not quite right)….

After my Obama-thon, I still had to fill out a school admissions application for Dylan (with essay questions) and then fill it out again because I smudged it as I was putting it in the envelope.

But before I finally turned in, I checked on the kids and as I watched Summer’s beautiful, hypnotic breathing, she started to stir.

So I froze.

And then she moved around some more.

I held my breath and continued my motionless vigil.

Then her eyes popped open.

And I squeezed mine shut, pathetically hoping to prevent her from actually seeing me, which as you might have guessed was an enormously ineffective tactic.

So Rick and I spent the next half hour trying to get her back to sleep. Am I a master at waking my kids up or what? Wow, it’s like a whole new, untapped hobby for me.

My point is… standing motionless and squeezing your eyes shut doesn’t usually accomplish much of anything in this world.  So this weekend, if you have a passion for one of the candidates, do something.

Pull up their campaign website and get involved. This election is positively NOT over and there are a million things you can do to help your candidate win.

And it will make you feel energized, passionate and engaged in our democratic process.

So get out the vote.

And then vote yourself.

I’ll be phone banking for Obama here in New York if you want to join me on campaign hysteria lane.

My best kiwi gal Lucy is on board too.

As for my friend Liz, she was trying to convince me to go hear an alternative country band in the East Village tonight.

Hmmm… Although I had a somewhat fierce Garth brooks/Billy Ray phase in my early twenties, I’m not much of a country girl or very alternative either. But we bartered. I’m going to the concert. She’s phone banking on Saturday.

I have relatives getting out the vote in North Carolina.

My dad is making calls from Cape Cod.

All campaign rhetoric aside, this really is our moment.

Because in life, we can squeeze our eyes shut, blocking out the injustices and wrongdoings, or we can stand up and do something about it.

mama bird notes:

If you haven’t alread read it, check out Daphne’s beautifully written post, “Where’s My Kid?” Click on contributing mamas to read more.

And Contributing Papa Rick Folbaum (yeah, that’s my husband) finally weighs in just days before the election. Of course, he only wants to talk about the Phillies. Click here to read more.

By Contributing Mama Daphne Biener

Today, for about 20 minutes, my heart stopped.  Or rather, it jumped through my chest and up my throat where it got stuck and thumped hard enough to block the tears that were threatening but not ready to fall.

20 minutes.  That’s how long Kira, my seven and a half year old, was missing this afternoon.  I will tell you this: for those 20 minutes, plus the five hours following them during which I did a whole lot of shaking, screaming, crying and hugging, during that time I did not once think in terms of blue and red.  I did not wring my hands about being away from the polling stats of CNN for half a day.  I did not stress about the future of the country or even the future of my family beyond getting my hands back on my missing kid.

This is the plan we’ve been following for two years:  Four of five days, Kira rides the bus.  One of five days, Mondays, I pick her up.  That way we can not only make it to swim lessons on time, but coming up to the school allows me a tiny opportunity to be a somewhat social mommy; schedule a play-date, plan a cup of coffee or a gripe session, the typical stuff of after-school at the schoolyard.

This afternoon I was on my game. Blog written. Dinner prepared. Bathing suits packed. Snacks in the bag.  On time at school for pick-up. Problem? Kira never showed up.  Her best friend, the one she has been almost physically attached to since kindergarten, showed up.  The rest of the rambunctious second grade, they showed up.  No Kira.  I started to freak.

With her classroom teacher and I running the halls, Kira’s friends combed the building while the moms outside searched the playground.  The office staff started making calls.

Going through my head was that third-grader in the next town who fought off her would-be abductor.  Going through my head were the reams of paper sent home on Election Day Sickos voting at the polling place in our school. Going through my head was the sane thought that maybe she somehow got passed me and boarded the bus.  Then again, if she wasn’t on the bus…. I couldn’t even complete that thought in the circus of my own head.

Twenty minutes.  It’s not a long time if you’re trying to get kids to eat breakfast and brush teeth.  It’s not long at all if you are cooking up dinner with one hand and correcting homework with the other.

It is interminable if you don’t know where your kid is.

Kira did get on that bus, and once the dispatcher tracked her down and confirmed her location I hauled ass to make it home, flying through the neighborhood with pictures of my kid, scared and sitting alone in the street by our house.

When I arrived the school bus was sitting there, waiting for me.  I grabbed Kira, too angry and relieved and terrified to speak as I manhandled her into the car.

Then I leaned in to thank Sammy, the angel of a bus driver.   And Sammy said, “Oh, it’s nothing.  I just wanted to make sure she was safe until you arrived.”

It’s nothing. Yeah, right, nothing. I started to cry.

You can read more of Daphne’s work on the Rocky Mountain Moms blog or visit her eco-fabulous blog, A Greener Biener.

If you are looking for calmness in the last week of the campaign, keep moving because you won’t find it here. I actually specialize in hysteria these days. It’s sort of an underrated, niche field.

I am sick to my stomach about the new polls showing Obama only 4% points ahead. So I decided I was tired of all the Reauters/C-SPAN/Zogby polls and damn it, I’ll just do my own polling.

Now I didn’t actually talk to anyone (with my weekly phone banking, I’ve sort have gotten my fill of “Hi Stranger” contact). But as I passed folks on the street, I did really focus on their political vibe.

Based on this scientific analysis with perhaps a slight margin of error, Obama has about a 97% lead here in Manhattan’s West Village.

Do the rest of you have to vote?

I keep emailing my friends and asking… So is Obama going to win? As if they have some kind of magic, insider knowledge that I’m just not privy to.

And it’s not like I don’t have other crap to worry about.

For example, I’ve really slacked off when it comes to worrying about Jimmy Kimmel and Sarah Silverman. Are they really back together? I mean, I just love that couple. They belong together, don’t they?

Or I could be troubled by conversations like this with 4 year-old Dylan:

“I’m the mommy. And Summer is my baby. Ok?” Dylan says as we sit down to play.

“Ok. That sounds good,” I respond.

“And you can be the grandmother,” Dylan explains.

“Do you think I’m old enough to be a grandmother?”

“Yes, I do,” Dylan insists.

Hmm…

Or I could be concerned about these two guys who suddenly appeared without any notice on my 5th floor balcony.

They looked pretty legit with their brushes and goggles. I figured they must be fixing something.

But how did they get up there exactly?

No, no I didn’t concern myself with any of the details. I just waved and went back to cleaning up the apartment and checking polls on Real Clear Politics.

Ok, there’s only one week left and after the election, I positively, absolutely promise you that I will end this nonstop political obsession. So hang in there. We just gotta close this deal.