Presidential Gifts Not Given
Thursday, January 28, 2010 at 3:55PM I bounced up and down, grinned like a fiend on speed, and whooped it up and hollered when Michelle Obama waved to me today outside the YMCA.
My three-year-old son cried.
"But Mama, I want to give her the pine cone," he said as large tears fell down his cold, red cheeks. He clutched three leaves in his hand - the ones he picked from the soggy garden as special gifts for her. He tried to blink away the tears.
How do you explain to a toddler that we can't chase after the President's wife? That even if we could, the men and women with wires peeking from behind their ears and from the tops of their coats, wouldn't let us give her "treasures" gathered from the ground?
I'm convinced my children think the Obamas are family friends they just haven't met yet. They see the photographs of the President and his wife hanging in different rooms. They hear their parents talk about the presidential family with first names: "Barack" and "Michelle", "Sasha" and "Malia."
They knew I ran into the President and his daughters outside The Dairy Godmother - the same place they frequent for custard cones.
The line that separates us from celebrities doesn't exist for them (never mind that it probably shouldn't for us, either).
So, when I told them after I picked them up from preschool that Michelle Obama might visit the neighborhood, they suggested matter-of-factly: "Maybe Barack Obama will be there too."
I got the tip from a friend in the parking lot. She walked up to the car before the kids came out. I rolled down the window and got the scoop: "Michelle Obama's going to the Y."
It felt like a scene from a cop show: she was the informant, I was the detective. Score.
To be honest, I planned to skip the celebrity sighting. I reasoned to myself that it was lunch and nap time. "The kids would need to use the bathroom," I thought. "Besides, we won't be able to get in to see her."
But then I mentioned her visit, and Josephine and Desmond started talking about the President and the White House and other things Obama-related so I skipped our turn and headed to the gym.
YMCA employees stopped cars as they pulled in and directed them to different lots. Secret Service agents milled about conspicuously. I thought the First Lady was inside so I walked the kids to the park to wait.
We twirled on the thingamajig that goes round and round, climbed ladders, took turns on the sliding boards, and hopped, jumped and chased. When we tired of the playground, we wandered through the gardens where Desmond picked up presents for Michelle.
I questioned a lady who walked out of the gym. "How much longer before Michelle comes out," I asked.
"Oh, she's not in there yet," she said.
Sigh.
It was getting cold. The troops were fading. And so was I. We played for a little longer before I walked them back to the car amid heated protests. "But I want to see Barack Obama," Desmond said. Over and over, despite repeated assurances by me that the President was not there. And never would be. It was his wife we were waiting for.
But you know toddlers. They either don't listen. Or listen selectively.
Anyway, I got all three strapped into their car seats before I saw the Secret Service agents darting about, eyeing their watches and moving safety cones in the parking lot. Godammit!
Clearly, a visit was imminent so I unfastened everyone and ushered them back out of the car. We walked to a spot directly across from the Y's front doors where a group of several mothers and their young children stood.
I wondered aloud if we'd actually get to see Michelle or if the car would block our view. The other mothers wondered too. Then a Secret Service agent kindly suggested that maybe, if we make a lot of noise, it wouldn't matter.
Ah.
Minutes later, a line of SUVs stormed into the parking lot.
Our helpful agent informed us that she was in the brown one.
Ah, yes.
He also kindly suggested, once it came to a stop at the front door, that we might want to start making noise. Like, now.
"WHOOOHOOOO!" I yelled. "YEAH!!!"
I don't know what everyone else shouted but it worked. Michelle got out on the other side of the SUV and likely would have walked right in, unaware of us, were it not for the "WOOT! WOOT!" and whatever else we yelled.
Instead, she turned. Looked right at us. Grinned. And waved.
I laughed and jumped.
Then she was gone. Inside the Y where she appeared with Surgeon General Regina Benjamin to talk about childhood obesity. And I was standing in the wind and cold with three kids, one of whom held a pine cone and leaves and couldn't help but cry.
"You're lucky," I told him. "Not many 3-year-olds can say the First Lady waved to them."
Tears filled his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. He turned his head. Tried to make the tears go away.
"It's OK," I said.
But it wasn't. Not for him.
Reader Comments (7)
I hear ya....it was a magical few seconds. It was hard to explain to my kids too so i equated it to the Princess Protection Program and Lucy was sold....we actually made it onto the news, though we never interacted with Michelle directly...Still, it was a purpose driven day for us and I think she is absolutely beautiful....even prettier in person.
You're never going to get close to the Obamas again: "They see the photographs of the President and his wife hanging in different rooms." Photographs? Rooms? Both plural? Stalkers-in-chief. By Saturday there will be a folder at the Secret Service with your name on it and the only way you'll see either Obama will be to dress spectacularly and slip into a state dinner like you owned the place.
What? You sayin' I can't dress spectacularly?
Great Story. I live in California and I am retired. I would have stood in line with my grand children to get a peak at our beautiful FLOTUS.
This is a fantastic story Dana! I love Momversation :) I am going to repost.
"Flowers Desmond, flowers...not pinecones, they never work...trust me!"
Just getting caught up on my Feast. This story reminded me of the night of the election. We had to head home from the election night' party before the results were announced. Even on those special nights, bedtime is a pretty consistent routine and the kids just really needed to get to bed. My daughter cried all the way home because she was convinced that Obama was going to lose and she'd never get to go to the White House to play with Sasha and Malia. Like your kids, Haley is under the impression that the Obamas are close friends. Her dad was so involved in the campaign that she's still waiting for a visit to the White House. She's under the impression that this will also translate to a playdate with Sasha and Malia, just like any other one. You know, somehow I think it might just happen one day. Shall we plan to carpool together?