Election Day, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the #Pantsuit

You would be forgiven for thinking this is a political blog since two of our four posts so far have a pretty obvious p.o.v. 

While we don’t intend to hide our opinions — particularly when they intersect with the rest of the subjects we cover — we don’t anticipate using this space as a political soap box. It’s just that this time, it is So. Bloody. Important.

Today, I was proud to send the older GaGas off to school in pantsuits. In support of Hillary, natch, but also in gratitude to Pantsuit Nation, the invitation-only secret Facebook group that has helped me and more than two-and-a-half million others sleep a little bit better this past week. 

 Pantsuit proud

Pantsuit proud

 Pantsuit optimistic

Pantsuit optimistic

 Pantsuit legacy (When you have thigh rolls like these, you don't cover them up with pants. Millie's wearing suffragette white instead. #legwarmernation)

Pantsuit legacy (When you have thigh rolls like these, you don't cover them up with pants. Millie's wearing suffragette white instead. #legwarmernation)

That’s not hyperbole. I have literally been losing about two to three hours of sleep several hours a week for the past month or so, thanks to this election. I was beginning to think I was in a solo spiral until I got an email newsletter from Doctor on Demand about Election Stress Disorder, which is totally a real thing and has been affecting 52 percent of Americans.

Things got a little better when I got invited to join PsN. I actually did get a little sleep over the weekend (plus the extra hour!), simply from reading posts by others who are not only terrified of Trump/Pence — and not only excited about a woman president —  but actually inspired and galvanized to vote for the most qualified person to ever run for office.

Of course, that’s now all moot. I can barely type for being glued to MSNBC and Rachel Maddow looks like she’s waiting for the firing squad. I’m still optimistic, but not gonna lie, pretty damn tense. By the time anyone reads this, we will know for sure. Until then, I have a freshly made batch of Saint Germain margaritas and I’m gonna ride out the night.

 After the GaGas' gymnastics, I put together a quick taco truck dinner then sent them to bed so I could watch the election coverage with a victory (which soon turned to utter defeat) drink.

After the GaGas' gymnastics, I put together a quick taco truck dinner then sent them to bed so I could watch the election coverage with a victory (which soon turned to utter defeat) drink.