No one can find the rewind button, girl. So cradle your head in your hands. And breathe.

So we hug our babies tight and spread the love we can.

Tuesday night I drank a lot of gin and stayed up too late.

It was clear where the election was going, but I refused to believe it. Nick, usually the voice of moderation in the house, was gone. I rely on him to stop me from binge-watching a show until 4 am and being a zombie the next day.

So I kept pouring more gin and more tonic and slicing more lime. And serving my friend Andrea more beer.

This wasn't really happening, was it?

And then at 1:30 am, we threw in the towel. It was actually happening.

I woke up with that sick feeling in my stomach. I looked at my phone. It really happened.

The kids were all excited when they asked who won. And I had to say, "Trump."

Their first question? "Where are we moving?"

And I had to explain that that had been idle talk. Because Daddy's job is here. It was easy for us to say, because we never, never thought Trump would win.

Yesterday DC seemed like a post-apocalyptic town. It was strangely quiet. People were out, but very subdued. 

At school drop off, everyone looked traumatized. India clung to me in her classroom.

I started talking to another mom who said they were going to move to Colombia. Her parents are Colombian, and her husband is black. They don't believe they are safe under the new regime.

I started to cry.

I stopped to talk to a couple moms out front. They'd been crying. One friend, who is Turkish by birth, joined us. She feels particularly vulnerable as a Muslim woman.

We got a letter yesterday from the principal saying that they had assured the kids that they are safe, and that the adults in their lives will protect them. That all students regardless of religion and documentation status have the right to an education and protection within a school.

What. The. Actual. Fuck?

When have we ever needed language like that after an election?

I certainly joked about fleeing to Canada if McCain or Romney won. But I had not been made to feel unsafe during the election just for being a woman.

I am a blond haired, blue eyed white woman. I am not a person of color. Nobody's eye stops on me for racial profiling. I don't wear a hijab and fear that someone will threaten me for it.

I'm married to a WASPy white man. We have white kids. We don't fear that someone will bully them, or worse, for the color of their skin or their religion.

Nobody is telling us to go home. Although for me, born in India, I am tempted.

(Actually, though I was not, all four of my grandparents were born in the U.S. So I'm a legitimate voter in that evil Anne Coulter's fantasy world.)

Friends are saying we need to dig in and work hard in our communities and promote kindness. We need to volunteer for the social services we think are so important.

We need to stand up to bigotry. We need to point out racism, even if it makes us uncomfortable. We need to be on the lookout for bullying and stand strong against it.

I agree.

But I also think, hell, let's just walk away. I get that it's an elitist viewpoint to consider this option, because most people can't just walk away even when there's a hurricane approaching.

And the truth is, Nick's work is here. It is not portable. He supports our entire family.

But in my fantasy world, we all walk away. We take our talents and our brains to Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Portugal, wherever else.

We leave the country to those who voted for Trump. They can have what they deserve.

In fact, he doesn't give a shit about the bulk of them. They will get what they deserve in voting for him.

But we'll be stuck with it as well.

For now, I hug my kids every chance I get. I remind them that everyone is equal. I tell them they are safe and loved.

I tell my daughter she can do anything, anything. We're not talking about a woman presidency right now, because when we talk about the presidency I feel sick to my stomach.

I feel like I should be looking for the good in the world, but right now I feel hopeless.

And I can't seem to help myself: I'm having arguments with creeps on Nick's FB wall. They've crawling out of his past, out of the basket of deplorables. They are white, male, and angry.

They refuse to acknowledge that white privilege exists. They work hard! They're not privileged!

And they are so rude. Hateful and rude. And this from people who are ostensibly old friends.

They're defensive. They call us the "liberal elites" who think we're smarter than them. One felt the need to point out that he got an MBA from Wharton. So don't tell him he's not smart.

(So I didn't. I just pointed out that he was white, privileged, angry, and rude.)

There's no grace from the winners.

And it says to me that, at least for the next four years, we are all losers.

And I am really fucking angry. And don't know quite what to do about it.

She doesn't know statistics, or really even math, but she is 100% certain that Hillary will win

My daughter is four years old.

(And she unfortunately has a mother who can't figure out why the video is so narrow.)

She has only ever known one president: Barack Obama.

I took her with me to vote four years ago.

Ready to head out and vote for Obama!

She doesn't understand what a big deal it was that we elected a black man as president eight years ago.

For her, it's normal. He's always been president, and we wish that he could have another four years, but the laws are such that he cannot.

And now we're going to have a woman as president.

Of this she is absolutely certain. And it is also not a bid deal. Because in her world, this has always been a possibility.

Women are strong and smart and bold and can do absolutely anything. My daughter is strong and smart and bold, and if she wants to be president, she can be.

Of course it is like this.

For that unwavering belief, and for us to finally have gotten to this point in U.S. history, I am very, very happy.

OK, so now you know

Last weekend I took Betty and the kids out to Leigh's farm. She has a big Halloween party every year, and this is the first time we've been.

It was amazing. Her silo bar is the photo backdrop. The barn was filled with skeletons and corpses and cobwebs and other creepy things.

I let Jordan and India eat as many treats, including cupcakes with disgusting gummy eyeballs on top, as they wanted. They were absolutely delighted with the whole affair.

And also cracked out of their minds on sugar all weekend.

I arrived without a costume. Luckily, Leigh has a stash. She lent me the Batwoman costume in the picture above.

It felt fantastic. I absolutely loved it.

Hand to God, I'd wear it all the time if I could.

Seriously. I would wear it to Target. To pick the kids up at school. I'd walk the dog in it if I had one.

So, I just saw this article that said that electric eels sandwich their prey to double the shock. And I was thinking, you know, that's a superpower I'd really like to have.

Which, I guess, is more villainous than hero-y.

Unless I was shocking bad people.

Would that be a cool thing to be able to do? I mean, if I could be invisible, or read minds, or fly, I might choose those over shocking people. But I certainly wouldn't turn this ability down, if offered.

Which superpower would you choose if you could?

I've said before that it would be terribly useful to be able to puke at will. So when someone is being hugely malignant, you could "accidentally" vomit on them.

It would be so satisfying.

You'd apologize profusely, of course. I mean, unless they were a mugger or rapist. Then you'd scream and run away.

And you wouldn't actually hurt them. Not physically.

Also, I want to start taking Krav Maga. I've only been mugged once, but you never know.

I'm not sure what it says about me that I'd like to have the ability to really hurt someone. Because as much as I joke about stabbing my husband, the truth is, I'd never do it.

I'm opposed to violence.

But I'm also small, and a woman. I'm very careful if I'm walking alone at night. But I still think it might be good to acquire some skills.

On a related note...this election, man.

Nick has discovered the joys of Facebook, and he's posted a couple times about politics.

From these posts I have learned that he has a couple smug, Trump-voting childhood friends. Who have no good pro-candidate arguments. They mostly respond with insults and references to "Killary" and stupid memes.

I've told Nick that he'd better never introduce me to these men.

Because I will dickpunch them for sure.

How not to get invited back

As you may know, DC is kind of extreme in terms of politics, and that pretty much everyone has a stance on every issue, or is expected to.

This is sometimes hard for me, and particularly lately, when I'm even more unplugged than usual. So if I've missed the Daily Show or Nick is gone for a period of time, like this past week, I have no idea what's going on in the world.

Sometimes I rely on Facebook to tell me what's new, like yesterday, when everyone I know was rejoicing about the Supreme Court ruling on the Affordable Care Act.

Just about all my friends are Democrats, and very into politics. And as I recall from our single days, none of them would date a Republican.

It was one of the screening criteria during the dating days. Republican? No way. I have friends who have never dated a Republican.

Whereas I dated a number of them. I mean like actual boyfriends, not just the cheese-hating not-date date.

It must be admitted that during the height (or perhaps abyss) of my online-dating frenzy, my therapist did suggest setting the bar fairly low. And sometimes I'm sure it seemed like professional circus freaks were really the only absolute nos.

Which is not to say I'm putting Republicans in the low-bar professional or even non-professional circus freak category. I'm just trying to explain myself. Basically, you can't be as attracted as I am to conservative-looking men without winding up with a Republican or seven.

But among my friends, I am in the minority.

So my dear dear friend Ann, the only friend I've kept in close contact with since college, came to visit this week with her lovely - and very non-Republican - daughter. They live in Richmond, not DC, but their family is just as focused on politics as my friends here.

We were talking about the upcoming election. And our hopes and fears. And how why aren't Democrats focusing on the Mormon thing with Romney in order to make the rabid Christian voting populace twitchy?

Ann said that she'd recently met a Mormon and she asked him about the special underwear. Her daughter said, "Can you believe it? She didn't even know him and she asked him about his underwear!"

Ann defended herself with, "He was wearing a tag identifying himself as Mormon. Don't you think that's inviting questioning?"

I do. Yes, I do.

And anyway, this is just who Ann is. In fact, she and my dad horrified family friends when they talked about underwear at the dinner table. There are huge reasons we're such good friends.

She told me that some years ago a friend in Richmond had invited her and her husband over for dinner. She'd gotten seated next to a guy who turned out to be a speech writer for Dick Cheney.

Ann expressed her horror and the guy said, "He's actually very nice."

To which Ann replied, "I'm sure Hitler's friends thought he was a good guy as well."

At the risk of opening myself up to huge criticism

I can't rejoice at the death of Osama bin Laden. I can't get behind the celebrations.

And I know this is unusual for me, and I almost never write about current events. It's not that I don't think about them, but so many other people write about them better than I can.

But this feels very emotional to me.

It's not that I'm opposed to capital punishment; I'm not. I do think there are things that people do that are vile enough that putting them to death is acceptable. In fact, if someone did something to my son, I would probably have to be restrained from murder.

Being pro-death penalty is not a popular viewpoint among my friends, but it is mine.

And this isn't a death penalty issue - this is war.

Osama bin Laden was a terrorist. He masterminded the tragic and horrendous deaths of thousands of innocent people. He was a popular figure, and clearly one who could both plan strategically and emotionally incite others to mass murder.

I believe he deserved to die.

It's not his death that bothers me. It's the dancing in the streets. It's the delight at an execution.

Would I have rejoiced almost a decade ago, when 9/11 was fresh and raw and everything was terrifying and it seemed like capturing/killing him was the solution to terrorism? It's hard to see myself dancing at the news of a death, but maybe then? I don't know.

Would I rejoice if I had lost friends in this war? If I were on the ground in the Middle East?

Possibly. I don't know.

It just feels wrong to me. An execution isn't winning a football game. Taking life isn't light. I don't understand the revelry.

Mind your own uterus: The reason that stupid minivan is still on my mind

I was raised pro-choice. There's never been a moment in my life where I thought that abortion should not be a personal choice.

But having been pregnant, and being a mother, and being a mother who wants to be pregnant again, I have never, ever been so vehemently pro-choice as I am now.

I grew up knowing that if I found myself pregnant young or in the wrong circumstances, I'd have an abortion. It was just kind of a fact.

It was also a fact in our household that condoms were the solution to everything: poverty, world hunger, STDs, overpopulation...and of course, on a personal level, avoidance of finding one's self all knocked up.

So fortunately, I never found myself all knocked up. Until, you know, I wanted to be.

But for all those years, I don't remember getting so violently angry about abortion. I mean, I felt strongly enough to march and give money to Planned Parenthood and get into arguments.

But not so strongly that I'd want to ram into the back of an anti-abortion-bumper-sticker having car. But now, now I do.

I was pro-choice because it just seemed fair to be able to have control over your fertility. Because friends of mine had gotten pregnant accidentally, and made the choice, and gone on with their lives. Lives that would've been dramatically different had they been forced into teen and early 20-s motherhood.

But I didn't give it a lot of thought beyond, "Fuck you, don't tell me what to do with my body."

And then I got pregnant. And I realized how pregnancy takes over your entire body, mind, soul. It affects every cell of your being. I learned how fucking hard it is.

And I had it easy. I'm not a manual laborer. I have a desk job. I have an accommodating workplace. And ample leave. And a supportive husband. And good health care.

I whined about it a lot, but comparatively, pregnancy was not so hard for me.

Then I had the kid. You know, the one I talk about all the damn time and love like crazy.

Having a kid you hoped for, one you want and have the means to provide for, one you and your spouse and your mother dote on, it's amazing. It's also amazingly hard.

And once again, we have it easy. There's more than one of us. We live in a comfortable, safe house in a nice neighborhood. We can afford to meet all of our needs. We rush to meet his, and we revel in him. He has it easy.

But forcing someone to go through a pregnancy they don't want, just because you think it's wrong? Feeling like you have the right to force the birth of an unwanted child?

Life is fucking hard. Why make it harder? And why make it harder from birth? My ass these people are actually thinking about the child.

I get so infuriated by the smug self-righteous fucks pushing an anti-abortion agenda. I'm not telling you what do to with your body (except occasionally to stick your agenda up your ass); don't tell me what to do with mine.

And I can't even get started on men with an anti-abortion stance. Men! The ones who will never, ever be pregnant! I get apoplectic. If you have a penis and I'm not married to you, stay the fuck out of my uterus.

(Although actually, now that I'm thinking about it technically, it's not like the person I am married to could actually get into my uterus. Because of course my cervix is in the way. But that's anatomy, not politics. You know what I'm saying.)

Yayyayyay! Sparkles! Rainbows! Hope! Yay!

I never thought I'd say this, but Fox was my channel of choice last night.

We were at Rustico, and they had CNN and Fox and MSNBC (I think?) on. Plus football. It was more TV than my brain was equipped to handle. Plus they kept doing all this animated analysis of stuff, and it made me a little dizzy.

Fox, however, Fox worked for me.

The state information on Fox was the easiest to understand. I suppose it's because it's TV for dumb people - and simplification of the information worked in my favor.

It was also deliciously excellent to see Karl Rove up there eating a shit sandwich as they called state after state for Obama.

Suck it, Evil.

And, to be filed under wtf? - what was the deal with Anderson Cooper and the hologram man? The sound was off on that TV, and I really didn't understand what was going on. Way too "Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi" for me. But maybe this is because I am old.

I listened to McCain's speech and thought, wow, this is the man I used to respect. Lucky for us he turned into such a huge sellout, but I did used to respect him. Then I noticed Palin looking like she was holding back tears. And I was maliciously delighted.

And when Obama spoke, I cried. It just couldn't have gone better.

Bush can go back to Texas and ride his bicycle or whatever it is he does. Palin can give back the $150,000 of campaign clothes and get back in her Carharts and negotiate trade missions with Russia from her porch. And McCain can use the time he now has on his hands to figure out how many houses they have.

And Obama can start to repair all the damage wrought during the past eight years of mega-greed-fueling asswipe loseriness.

I feel like we've redeemed ourselves in the eyes of the world. I feel like things will really start to change for the better.

The world is just a warmer, friendlier, rosier, more hopeful place today, isn't it?