By Daphne Biener
I am jazzed for Tuesday. I say this with all the authority of someone who turned 21 in
Now before you go and poo-poo us for celebrating public inebriation and shirts over our heads and plastic beads, hear me out. That’s not what matters. It only seems superficial now that we are high and mighty parents who want what is best for our superior children. Our children, who would never deign to jeopardize their educations by dropping a shot into a draft beer and setting it afire, sending flames down the length of the bar.
Nope, not our kids.
Sorry to disappoint those of you who knew me when I liked to shake it shake it, but I got all turned on for this Tuesday before I even realized it’s Fat Tuesday. Every atom in my aging body is vibrating, not with the beat of the big parade but with the promise of a better future for my children. This Tuesday is not only Fat. It’s Super. Super Tuesday. And I really am jazzed.
Yesterday I woke up in the dark, before the children were awake, and headed to
Inside the crowded arena, my toes defrosted but as Senator and Presidential Candidate Barack Obama spoke the goose-bumps came back. He gave a speech that I swear he stole directly from my own spinning mind. He spoke of taking back responsibility for our collective future. He spoke of inspiring a nation to come together for a common purpose. He spoke to me, addressing my own concerns about raising kids in a world grown sour on disillusionment and fixated on all that is not possible.
I sat. I stood. I clapped and I screamed. And I got a buzz. Not like I used to get after mixing too many jello-shots and spicy crawfish, but a little tingle in my gut like the one I got when I first met my husband Dave. I didn’t know what to call it, but even then I knew that it whispered of my future, and that it promised to be good.
This new tickle is fueling a passion in me that frankly I had written off as hung-over and tuckered out for good. All the coffee in the world and it still takes too much energy to get through each day, feeding, bathing, dressing everyone and worrying about their safety. There’s not much left over to study the big picture, let alone concern myself with what colors it should be painted.
I feel as if that guy from biology class finally called and we have a date set for next Tuesday and I am the luckiest girl in school. I’m all a’flutter, busy choosing not which jeans to wear but between the dreams that seem suddenly within reach.
I am re-energized.
On Fat Tuesday this year I’ll keep my shirt buttoned up and the beer un-ignited. I’ll put boots and hats and gloves on myself and the children and we will go out and caucus. (Look at me, Ma, I’m caucusing!)
I’m going to stand up and be counted. Just thinking about it makes my heart race.
You can read more of Daphne’s work here on the mama bird diaries or visit her site, Sestina Queen.