David (after 15 hours with Spence & Nora): I am wayyy too tired to clean up.
Kristy (after 15 hours teaching): I am wayyy too tired to clean up.
Cue couch. Cue sweets. Cue "Rachel Zoe Project".
After a nice morning playdate with Rachel and little Ben at lake Harriet, Spencer wailed for 25 minutes, all the way to the doctor's office. Nothing helped-- not food, nor drink, nor distraction, nor sympathy, nor (shockingly) the calm, reasonable, even-keeled voice of Papa saying he's sorry Spencer is sad but we had to leave the playground and really I just think you're overtired. Nora decided to let him cry it out and didn't bat an eyelash-- in fact, she closed them and took a cat-nap.
An easily becalmed Spence perched on the counter at Fairview Children's Clinic as I navigated some very minor delays due to a switch in insurance. I thought about how hard it would be not to flip out if they actually said we couldn't get in to see the doctor, or that we'd have to pay a zillion dollars for the visit upfront... and felt just a fraction of the fear that must motivate the anti-"Obamacare" protesters who feel they'll somehow be put to pasture if the public option prevails. There are enough people really being sentenced to (preventable) suffering and death because of "pre-existing conditions", caps, and other rational market-based rules.
It's a dangerous way to enter into the political process-- an edge of desperation and vulnerability, easily exploitable fears; a willingness to dis-believe anything your opponents profess ("you lie!" as battle-cry).
But then again, so is cynical passivity.
So when does "Hope" get up off the couch in real numbers, and sprout wings upon its heels, or iridescent scales, or flashing prophet's eyes to fight like hell for the living?
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