The inauguration moved my spirit like nothing has in a long, long time. I gathered my children in my lap and sat in front of the television to watch President Obama deliver his inaugural address. With tears streaming down my face, I dreamt big dreams and tried my hardest to impress this memory on my heart forever.
When Evan, in an uncanny impersonation of a teenage girl, said, "Is this guy, like, ever going to be done? He's getting annoying."
So. Ruling out the chance that my four-year-old son is in fact a pubescent female, I can only surmise one of two other things.
The first possibility is that Evan, at the age of four, is a Republican. sigh
Either that, or in four years, the Inauguration Planning Committee (or whoever puts this shindig together) needs to seriously consider the timing of the inaugural ceremony, possibly going so far as to actually consult with me, so it does not conflict with my preschooler's lunch hour. Because I don't care if world sentiment is shifting and wrongs are being righted and the nation is joined in harmony for a few precious moments. When it's time for peanut butter and jelly, everything else must wait.
Everything, dammit.
Now that we've clarified our agenda, carry on, Mr. President.
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