prematurely grey

Just got off the phone with my brother-in-law. The director, not the rapper. He’s always been the family outlier when it comes to politics (recently found notes from 1992 that describe his distrust of Clinton). He’s basically a Howard Stern Democrat (an under-appreciated demographic if ever there was one). Last month in Montana, we had a heated argument about the relative ignorance of people in what finally boiled down to Dixie. He pretty much embodied every reason to not trust a Yankee Democrat that I can fantasize going through the mind of a guy with the Stars and Bars on his truck/hat/bicep.

Anyway, this morning we talked about Sarah Palin’s impact on me as a mother. Seriously. Sarah Palin has already changed the way I’m raising my daughters. Thanks to Sarah Palin, I am thinking about what it means to be a mother in a whole new light. Obviously, there’s the possibility that some day I’ll be running for vice president. I need to increase the hotness and keep growing my hair. (I’ve already got the glasses and my shoes are clearly better than hers.)

But there are other ways that Sarah’s started to affect me. It’s the little things, like wondering, “Which of the Amy’s Organic frozen dinners would Sarah Palin buy for her children to eat while she’s out at the local Democratic party forum on women’s issues that will include the now infamous paper ‘Forced Childbirth=Slavery’?” Or, while sitting in the middle school library for a parent meeting on homework and your child, considering just how much more room there would be on the shelves if Sarah Palin could go through the collection and remove all the offending books.

Now, when faced with one of those tricky mom moments, when I have to make a decision that might influence exacly what kind of people my daughters grow up to be, I have a wonderful new parenting tool. I simply ask myself:

What Would Sarah Palin Do?

I’ll share a couple of What Would Sarah Palin Do moments, so you can see for yourself the way that she’s already become an important influence on me.

First, there’s the video store last Friday. Tech Support Guy was out of town, so I was there alone with the girls. We had settled on Be Kind, Rewind, but when the video store guys went to get the actual DVD, it wasn’t there. We had to come up with another video. Any mother of two of more children will recognize this as a potentially disastrous moment. You had an accord. It was about to be ratified. And then someone say, “No, this won’t do. Palestine, Israel, go back to your people and tell them that this accord is shit.”

Well, every time we go to the video store, someone suggests that we rent Animal House. And I say no. The suggestion comes because their father got to see Animal House for his 10th birthday. And I cite this event to prove that my childhood in divorced 1970s Studio 54 New York was more moral than his Leave It To Beaver upbringing (if Beaver’s parents were a Upper West Side Russian Jew  and a Bronx-born Italian Red Diaper Baby in the movie business). No one took me to see Animal House at 10.

Last Friday was the 31st anniversary of Tech Support Guy’s 10th birthday. He was in Toronto seeing cool movies. I was at Vulcan Video (next to the newly expanded Dreams Adult Video Emporium conveniently located just blocks from UT) facing the complete breakdown in negotiations. Palestine was looking pretty pissed. And Israel had just thrown out, “Mom, how about Animal House?”

What Would Sarah Palin Do?

Would Sarah Palin let her children be spoiled by seeing this movie? Would she permit them this glimpse into pre-Reagan America, where sex was funny and everyone wanted to have it? Even the girls?

No, Sarah Palin probably believes that Animal House is inappropriate for kids.

So, we rented Animal House.

And then yesterday, when it looked like Hurricane Ike was headed straight for Austin, I realized that we were scheduled to have a house full of seventh grade girls on a day with 50 mph winds. Pick up might be a problem.

What Would Sarah Palin Do?

The answer came instantly: Let them have sex and marry their boyfriends.

So, I’m not going to let them have sex and marry their boyfriends. Problem solved. The sleepover’s going to be fine, since I’m pretty sure no one’s going to get pregnant. (Now Ike is headed away from the ATX and much closer to Houston. The dance is cancelled, so I have no idea of where we’re headed with this sleepover, but I’ll keep you posted about any late breaking WWSPD situations.)

The years of self-doubt are over. My daughters saw Animal House. If they’re lucky, they’ll grow up to be as smart and levelheaded and funny as their dad. They’ll know that going to college is the goal and that anything short of that is going to be a serious fucking problem. (And that no matter how much they love their boyfriend, he’s not going to be on stage when I give my acceptance speech.)

Next movie on the list: The original Bad News Bears. I’m not interested in raising daughters who don’t think Tanner is a comic genius. And if you don’t agree with me, too fucking bad.