A number of mom bloggers, myself included, have been reaching out to presidential candidates asking for time on their schedule to meet with them–to discuss the issues that are important to us as voters. As I mentioned in my invitation to the candidates, the concerns of our nation are OUR concerns. We care for our children. We care for our parents. We care for spouses. Anything that affects them affects us. It’s as simple as that.

Now I have yet to receive any RSVPs, but one of my colleagues on the Chicago Moms Blog did receive a response to a similar invitation she issued to the Obamas.

SERIOUSLY?!

Talking to mothers (mothers with blogs no less) is so unimportant to the Obama campaign that they can’t find time for the wife of the candidate to meet with this group for one hour some time in the next 13 months? What’s with the Women for Obama page on your site? We certainly seem important there.

And we’re supposed to think that you’ll listen to us once you get into office?!!!

Don’t even get me started on my whole “it’s mommies we can send the wife to cover this one” tirade.

I just wonder. Have any your consultants looked at the voter files lately? Have they missed the fact that women are more likely to vote on Election Day? That, as Mr. Obama put it just last Friday,

“Women have always made the difference in every election, and this year, your voice, your hope will be the deciding factors in forging a new future for America.”

My offer still stands to all the rest of the candidates. My house, mom bloggers and snacks.

Just let me know when. I’ll see if I can fit it in. Don’t worry though, if I can’t maybe my husband could stand in for me.

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Until the candidates figure out that we’re worth talking to, I decided to go and see what they had to say about issues. This exercise alone was informative, entertaining and, in some cases, down right horrifying.

Some of them get it, and some of them don’t.

I give you the Issues sections (or the closest thing I could find to it) from the Presidential candidates of each major political party currently registered with the Federal Election Commission.

Joe Biden (D)

Sam Brownback (R)

Hillary Clinton (D)

Chris Dodd (D)

John Edwards (D)

Mike Gravel (D)

Rudy Guiliani (R)

Mike Huckabee (R)

Duncan Hunter (R)

Dennis Kucinich (D)

John McCain (R)

Ron Paul (R)

Bill Richardson (D)

Mitt Romney (R)

Tom Tancredo (R)

Fred Thompson (R)

You, who shattered my heart so completely that I never thought it would mend itself. You, whose voice I knew immediately even though it had been almost twenty years. You, who thinks only old women garden, are the one who came to my mind today as kneeled over my flower bed.

The sense of smell is so strong that it hurdled me back twenty years in a nanosecond. There I was again standing in front of my parents’ house on a humid summer night with the scents of mangroves and night jasmine and freshly mowed grass swirling together in my nose. And of course the butterflies were there just as they had been then –not in the air, but in my stomach and in my chest rapidly fluttering their wings.

You’re still hung up on the first sentence. I know you have not processed the rest. We’ll probably never agree. I hope some day you will understand.

Why is it that some memories won’t die? There is so much to remember from day to day. Oh the times my wallet was left at home…or my keys. A birthday missed, an errand not run this happens all the time. So why is there still room for those memories? They’re so vivid and equally bring such pleasure and such pain. Would I miss them if they did disappear? Maybe that’s why I haven’t let them go. Is it possible to let them go? Will they go? For good? Should I?

What a night of correspondence!

First, there was this comment from the CEO of this sex toy company that demanded my attention. Of course, I had to reply. It would have been rude not to.

I do wish she had read more carefully. I wasn’t dissing the toy. I was merely shocked by the price, which I’ve subsequently discovered is in line with other toys of its caliber. I offered to try out some of their other fine products and review them. Who knows if they’ll take me up on my offer. I will say the Jollie is far more fun that it first appears.

Then it was on to organizing a little get together at my house. No RSVPs so far, but I might vacuum if they take me up on the invite.

Shakey walked through the room as I was composing the invitation. I thought I should give him the head’s up that I was inviting all of the viable presidential candidates to the house. You know, since he lives there and all. I got the typical response: head shake.

It stinks that I can’t surprise him anymore.

Tonight the Southern Living at Home invitations go out. They have a great deal for hostesses on their fireplace screen this month. I’m such a sucker. Sorry to any of you who get the invitations. I swear you don’t have to buy anything!! Just come over. I’ll have drinks!

So that’s what’s been on my writing desk. Can you imagine if I had had to do this all with quill and ink? Yet another reason to be glad I wasn’t born in the 1700’s.

That’s right. There’s a big party going on in these parts and I’m cordially inviting you all to attend. Hop on over to the new cool site–DC Metro Moms.

Today was the big launch with a press release and everything. The cool chicks behind the Silicon Valley Moms and Chicago Moms blogs decided that DC offered some unique challenges to parenting and asked some of us if we would like to start one up here.

The collection of women who are participating is just too much for a little ole blogger like me to ask for. I’m still not sure how I got invited, but they haven’t figured out yet that they asked the wrong girl so don’t tell them, ‘kay?

The blog is sure to offer a number of interesting perspectives on living in the DC area and parenting in general. I hope you’ll stop on by and say hi.

Here in Northern Virginia school follows the old time traditional calendar. Classes don’t begin until after Labor Day and they let out in June.

Here at Mamma’s house we have a guy starting Kindergarten next week. And while it took some time before our friend was convinced he’d actually attend, I was completely unphased as a seasoned mom convinced that everything would be fine. J has an older brother who will be a sixth grader, and we’d been through this all before. I’m on the PTA, I’ve been the class mom, I survived Colonial Days (yes it required me dressing up in period dress) and I’ve spent more money at fundraising auctions and on wrapping paper than I care to admit.

But the oddest thing happened this evening.

I was filling out all of the paperwork and questionnaires tonight and when I finished I decided to read the Kindergarten teachers’ newsletter. It was filled with much of the usual talk about “our community of learners” (oh that’s too sweet) and all kids reacting to beginning school differently (yadda yadda yadda) and then I reached this phrase: “we’re here to help them as they make their transition into the big wide world.”

And tears welled up in my eyes.

Guess I’m not so seasoned after all.

Check out where I’m staying tonight.

It’s that time of the year to rearrange the furniture. Typically, I do it late at night when I can’t stand the current digs one minute more, but here on the interwebs I’m forced to rely on the help of friends.

Say hi to Geff. Geff’s making room for more real estate on the site. And all out of the kindness of his heart–and the fact that he feels bad that he didn’t call me the last time he came to town.

Some day I may actually treat this blog with tender-loving care and put it in the hands of a professional, but for now it’s stuck with my mad paint.net skillz and poor ole Geff.

So sorry blog.

No time to post. On page 525 of the final Harry Potter. Should be able to go to sleep before dawn. Thanks all for not revealing any of the secrets.

Oh, and about yesterday? I was the one on the right. Though lord knows I wish I could have claimed the boobs on the left. Must remember to ask for the name of the doctor next Bingo night.

I had the following conversations with my sons.

A, The eldest: My breath stinks and my teeth feel like rocks.
Me: Why are you taking my toothpaste? You have three tubes in your bathroom.
A, The eldest: I need manly toothpaste mom.

Yeah, he’s not eleven yet.

And then in the bath:

P, the small: Look at my pickles. (Grabbing his testicles)
Me: Your what?
P, the small: My pickles.
Me: Oh no. You know what those called. Those are your testicles.
P, the small: My teckles. This one’s Oodie and this one’s Chonk.

I fear for the women who will date my son.

J, the middle has yet to regale me with any of his wisdom, but the night is still young.