I watched Zero Dark Thirty last night for the first time. Next on my list is some movie called Titantic. (Please don’t ruin the ending) I went to bed thinking Thank God Osama Bin Laden is gone.
I felt grateful today. (Talk to me in 6 or so days when PMS kicks in and it will be a different story.) I was grateful for my family. I marveled at the crystal blue sky and sunshine. It has been awhile since the two visited these parts. The temperature reached 72 degrees which was perfect weather to wear my new miniskirt and stilettos. (If you believe that let me sell you some magic beans.)
I took my two younger children to McDonald’s to get an ice cream cone while my eldest was at practice. Cones are 99 cents and they have coffee. Win/Win. It was the perfect day. Then, I got a text message. “There has been a terrorist attack in Boston.” What? No way! I watched the movie. This isn’t supposed to happen. I logged into the network news sites and saw the graphic images. My heart sank watching a ball of fire shoot out into a crowd of spectators. I thought of a friend of mine who trained for her first marathon a few years ago. Her young children waited at the finish line to congratulate their Mommy. It turns out an 8-year-old boy is among the dead. Was he waiting there to root on his Mom or Dad when the bombs exploded?
Dozens more people are said to be seriously injured, many missing limbs. Once again I find myself struggling with what to tell my children. My 13-year-old wanted to know every detail. I vowed to say nothing after the massacre inside the Colorado movie theater. I wanted to protect him. Kids shouldn’t be afraid to go to see a Batman movie. He found out anyway from his friends at school. I decided to tell him what happened in Massachusetts. We needed to pray for the victims and their families. My 5-year-old overheard bits and pieces of our conversation. (It’s funny how they never hear you when you are telling them no.) “Mom,” he said. “I wish there wasn’t any bad people.” Me, too buddy. Me, too.