Mimosas? Check! Pearls and Chuck Ts? Check! Ready for Inauguration as I can Ever Be!

I’m giddy with excitement. The orange juice and sparkling wine are cooling in the fridge. I have a baguette ready for breakfast or maybe I’ll go all out and get fresh bagels. It’s time. Tomorrow morning I’m going to dig out my pearls and see if my teenagers’ Chuck Taylors still fit their small-footed mother. Heck, I’m ready to join any inauguration bandwagon. Its our day. We’ve been waiting four long years; four long years that I’ve spent in the dark ages during which a gray cloud followed me around on days that I dared read the news reel. And lately, not even my favorite late night hosts have offered comic relief. I know why historians have called the middle ages, the dark ages. The age of Trump may have been comparatively short as far as presidential terms go but for me it has dragged on for eternity.

I’ll never forget election night four years ago. With three young kids and a husband out of town, I couldn’t join any of the pantsuited election parties that were planned for a potential first Madam President. There were some dark rumors, some reasons to be worried but I trusted the polls and the editorials and common sense. That evening my seven year old came up to me before bedtime and said, “Mom, I hope Trump isn’t going to win. I heard at school that he would kick out some of my friends from America.”

“Oh no, that’s not true my love,” I said. “Go on to bed now. In the morning we’ll celebrate Hillary Clinton’s win. There is no cause to worry about your friends.”

Hours later, while she slept, I stayed riveted to the screen. Holding my hand over my mouth, I watched as the map on the screen turned red, and then became more red. I thought only about what I would tell my little girl in the morning. After everything we had come to know about this man, how could he have been elected to be her new president. I had no words.

When I dialed my husband, the tears came. I ignored the fact that he was in a packed room, in the middle of a business meeting in Uganda. I’m sure they all heard my sobs through the speaker.

“How could this happen, “ I cried hysterically, “How could this happen.”

“Don’t worry, “ I remember him saying. I could hear the polite laughter in the background as the Ugandans heard a husband assure his hysterical wife that, “there are too many checks and balances for Trump to mess up. It will be fine, you’ll see its a democracy after all.”

“Give him a chance,” my relatives, those who voted for him, stated on Facebook. As if trying to assure me that, like some sort of magic fairy, he would surprise the “nevertrumpers” if everyone could just let him do his job. In the meantime I quit facebook and turned off the news. And then it all became so much worse than we had ever imagined.

And so on January 20th, 2021, I will seize the day. Despite living through the most difficult year in memory, I will watch the inauguration, every minute of it, with a permanent smile plastered on my face. I’ll be fingering my fake pearls, grooving to the Biden-Harris playlist, and getting on with my virtual inauguration party! Warning to friends- be ready to take my video call with a mimosa in hand!