I can’t wait until Tuesday night.  If I were the praying type, I’d be praying obsessively for an Obama victory.  Instead, I’m obsessively following the news on the Internet, scouring the pages for any and all signs of a Democratic victory.

Although I am confident, I’m also very nervous.  It would be heartbreaking if McCain and Palin won – he’s too unpredictable and hot-headed, and she’s plain dumb, and it would be shameful for her to become vice president, let alone the first woman vice president.  I mean, did you hear the recording of her speaking to the fake French president Sarkozy?  I don’t know what’s worse – the fact that her handlers are idiots who didn’t screen the call, or Palin, for being so gullible that she had a seven-minute conversation with the impostor (we learned from the prank that she doesn’t know who the prime minister of Canada is – which is extremely grave, considering she can also see Canada from her window).  

The next years are about my children’s future.  If all goes well, Chloe will be a sophomore in high school and Sophie fifth grader, when Obama leaves office.  When I think about the opportunity the next eight years present – I would be crushed if they were squandered by a man who doesn’t even know how many homes he and his wife own, and his sidekick, who thinks that as VP she’ll be in charge of the U.S. Senate.  

Here are a couple of photos taken at a local farm today – where the girls had fun among the animals, the bales of hay and the rotting corn maze.

Happy November 1.

Cleopatra and Minnie House hauled it in big time today – the candy you see in the photo represents only half of their loot.  I think families were feeling overly generous this year – with the economy in the pits, everyone needs some extra sweetness in their lives…now we have enough to last until next Halloween, if not until the 2012 elections…

This was, of course, Chloe’s idea the other night.  The girls piled up on my husband’s butt with gusto. And Sophie jumped onto Chloe’s butt with glee.

Tomorrow is Halloween – the first Halloween that Sophie is excited about because she finally knows what it is.  She can’t wait to put on her Minnie Mouse costume tomorrow.  And get lots of candy.  I’m not sure how we’re going to control the sugar booty this year.  Sophie is too smart for us to surreptitiously go through her bag, hide the bulk of the sweets and give her the remainder.

I hope the girls bring home some good loot tomorrow.  I love Halloween candy, and I’m glad I have two girls who will happily, if unwittingly, collect a whole bunch of it for us (let’s face it, they’re ignorant of the fact that if they don’t voluntarily give some to us, we’ll steal it from them while they’re sleeping).

Chloe was proud, too.  She enjoyed teaching Sophie this morning.  The problem was that after those 3 As, Sophie had had enough.  Wasn’t interested in the B or C.  She just wanted the stickers that Chloe had promised her if she wrote her letters.

Chloe took it all in stride – I was afraid she’d lose patience with her little sister’s lack of stick-to-itiveness.  But we’ll get there.  I’m liking the potential here, I must say.  Who needs to pay for preschool when you have a big sister like Chloe?

This photo was taken almost two years ago – during Christmas in Paris. Sophie was still a baby – barely one year old, barely walking, and barely curly.

Chloe was missing some teeth.  She still makes silly faces, though.

This photo was taken during our first full day in France – Maxime was at lunch with some former colleagues, and I decided it was high time to introduce the girls to cafe life.  

Chloe and Sophie were, of course, the only children in the cafe.  The waitress was nice – although she and the bartender kept glancing over to make sure the girls weren’t doing anything they weren’t supposed to be doing.  At one point, Sophie was wielding a fork.  That made the adults a bit nervous.  And Sophie made a mess of those chips.

Chloe then had the opportunity to discover the bathroom – down a set of spiral stairs.  It was very tiny, of course, with a light that turned off automatically after a couple of minutes.  I always wondered about those lights – who in the hell determined how long it should take the average person to pee?  What if the average person needs to do more than pee?  Having to relieve oneself in an unlit bathroom is no fun, if you ask me.  Anyway, I digress.  Chloe was less impressed with the bathroom light than she was with the spiral stairs.  

And forget about changing a baby’s diaper in French restrooms – the bathrooms don’t come equipped with a changing table (except if you’re at DisneyLand Paris).  They’re barely big enough for an adult, let alone an extra piece of equipment.  I recall changing Sophie’s diapers on floors, or while she was in her stroller – even though it was December and freezing cold outside.

Time flies – we don’t yet know when we’re going to return to France, but I hope it will be sometime in the next year or two.   Last time, Chloe repeatedly said she felt “squished” because the buildings were relatively small and the streets narrow.  I wonder if she’ll feel even more squished the next time around – she’ll be bigger than she was in 2006 – and therefore take up more three-dimensional space… 

As the little one in the house, Sophie often needs to fight a little harder than the rest of us to make herself heard.  On a good day, she’s the only one talking, and there’s no problem.  But most of the time, she’s eclipsed by Chloe, and sometimes her mommy and daddy.

A couple of months ago, I noticed that she was starting to use a new tactic to get our attention.  Her new ploy was stunning in its simplicity.  

Whenever she senses that we aren’t listening to her, she exclaims, “Mommy, talk to me!” or “Papa, talk to me!”  If we do not respond to her fast enough, she exclaims, “Mommy, talk to me!” or “Papa, talk to me!”  She doesn’t whine in saying those four magical words; she’s actually very matter-of-fact and calm about the whole thing.

By calling us out on our inattentiveness (whether legitimate or perceived), Sophie basically succeeds in refocusing her parents on her.   She has pretty incredible antennae for a three-year old – and refuses to be ignored.  She’s a firecracker, our little Sophie – and she keeps us our toes.

After making fantastic progress – she’s at the penultimate level in the YMCA’s program – she experienced a somewhat disheartening session these past few weeks.  A class with lots of kids, all of whom stronger and bigger than her, and a revolving door of instructors.

She didn’t like the fact that “she had no one to talk to”  in class and that she was the smallest. When I tried to explain to her that the fact that she was the youngest was a good thing because it meant that she was a great swimmer for her age, she shrugged it off.  The rationalizing didn’t impress her one bit, no matter how true.

We don’t want to force her to do anything she doesn’t want to do – because I am still hopeful that after a break, she’ll want to get back to it.  We’re thinking of giving her a few private lessons when she’s ready, to build up her confidence and her strength.  I’ve really enjoyed watching her swim every week, but it’s not a good sign when the parent is enjoying it more than the child.  

I took lots of breaks from activities when I was a kid – and most of the time, I never went back to the activities I had started.  I flittered and fluttered about, from Brownies to soccer to piano lessons to gymnastics to tennis, and god knows what else – I have a vague souvenir of taking clarinet lessons at some point, but maybe I’m just making up that memory.  I was as fickle as could be.  So who am I to begrudge my dear Chloe a break?