But Seriously, What's It Gonna Take to Get Andrew Jackson Off of Them?

The P-Dawg and I had an opportunity to observe V-meister's Montessori pre-school class yesterday morning.

We were sitting as inconspicuously as possible in chairs towards the back of the room and taking in the work going on around us, when I overheard the following conversation between two little boys as they prepared to count out change from the pretend cash drawer:

Boy #1, picking up a five dollar bill: "Hey! Is our new president on this?"

The two of them inspected the five spot:



Boy #2: "That's not him. He's on the One."

A one dollar bill is extracted from the cash drawer and intensely scrutinized:



Boy #1: "That's not him, either. He's must be on the Twenty."

Two small heads bend studiously over a miniature twenty dollar bill for a solid minute before the following conclusion is reached:



Boy #2: "That is definitely not him."

Boy #1: "Yeah, I guess they didn't get a chance to put him on yet."


(Maybe tomorrow, kids.)

Obamarama*

Even though the P-Dawg and I went to sleep way past midnight, I sprung out of bed like a toddler on Christmas morning today.

Watching the celebrations on TV, it struck me that America may have been clinically depressed for the past eight years, but didn't realize just how bad it was until we went and filled our 'script for some Barack Obama, already.

(And Canada whispered, "Thank God she finally got help.")

I zipped around town with a goofy grin and a spring in my step all day.

Considered calling my old frenemy, France, and being all, "Check out my new PRESIDENT, b1tch!" (Je rigole, cherie! Kisses!)

The J-dog toddled about clutching his "O" fridge magnet and periodically shouting "Obama, mama!"

The V-meister, completely unbidden, decorated the wall of her bedroom thusly:


And when the J-dog and I were out playing in the fierce autumn leaves this afternoon, the world, for the moment, looked technicolor bright.

*How could I resist?