The XX Factor: What women really think.

The Mother(s) of All Elections

I‘m afraid I hear “Sarah Palin’s not going anywhere” as more of a threat than a promise. But I’m with both Rachael and E.J. when it comes to the glory of voting. In fact, after casting a ballot at my local public school (which had a Sesame Street-level vibe of picturesque diversity and neighborly goodwill), I walked to a nearby hospital and gave blood, just to keep that vaguely civic buzz going.

And as long as we’re pitching cornballs, Melinda, I might as well hurl this one out: Now that I’m a parent—and this is my first presidential election since becoming one—I have a whole new investment in this process (like I’m voting for two now, and whoever wins had better goddamned well not wreck the future for my kid). I also, to my surprise, find myself identifying less with the candidates on this excruciating last day than with their mothers. (This happened during the Olympic Games, too; I’d see Nastia Liukin’s mother watching from the stands and nearly faint from anxiety.) Can you imagine the pride, the love, the fear (for their physical safety), and the sickening suspense you’d feel if it was your kid occupying this role on the public stage (even if that “kid” was 72 years old)? It occurred to me when Obama’s grandmother died that, of the four presidential and vice-presidential candidates, Obama is the only one without a living mother, someone to cast her vote for him, hold his hand if he loses, and kvell like nobody’s business if he wins. The fact that his grandmother, who played that role in his life for so many years, missed this election by a matter of hours will surely be a sorrow he’ll carry forever. If my daughter ever runs for president, I’d drive a bargain with the devil to be there to see her win or lose.