Bush rants and letters

Finally, all my anti-Bush diatribes while driving my boys around from sport to sport have paid off.

At first, once I got going on my rants, the boys kind of rolled their eyes and gave me that "Mom, you're an idiot, you KNOW we're not listening to you" look. I launch into these things nearly every time I have them captive in the van. We'll roll by the tank farms, and that leads to a discussion about W's past as an oil baron. A trip past the house with the solar panels inevitably leads to a discussion about W's failure to commit to other clean sources of energy, and his sorry record on the environment. At the baseball field, they get to enjoy the story of W's attempts at blackmailing Texas Rangers fans. A ride to the liquor store always merits a mention of W's alcoholic past, and an aside on Laura's tragic, uh, killing of another driver. (Not because she was drinking, of course, but because she was--as we all are, at some time or another--stupid teenagers who sometimes grow up to be severely misguided, delusional First Ladies.)

So, through no fault of their own, they have obtained by osmosis Mom's highly cynical, bordering on--well, hatred is too strong a word, I don't hate anybody (except litterers and cart deserters)--very intense contempt of our president and his current administration. And Congress in general. And probably 95% of politics.

So I was filled with pride during the last presidential election, when J made this drawing. W as Satan. Nice, huh? It hangs in my kitchen still, and I don't see it ever coming down.

And, I was thrilled to pieces tonight when E said he wants to start a letter-writing campaign in his school. To: George W. Bush. From: all the kids at the elementary school. Re: your stupid mishandling of the Iraq war.

He's a good kid, my kid. Yup. Saw me standing in his doorway at bedtime, I'm a little teary-eyed...there was this picture in today's paper. The wife just looks so empty, resting her head on her husband's coffin. So he asks why I'm teary-eyed, and of course I launch into this rant about the war, and oh, great, Mom's crying again, I HATE it when she does that...but he sits there on the side of the bed, quietly taking it in, processing my obvious bitterness and upset...and that is his answer. A letter-writing campaign. He hopes that will make me feel better. We'll tell HIM a thing or two, won't we, Mom?

Yes. I imagine you will. I don't dare tell him that W won't even see them.