As a blogger, I walk a fine line between hiding my head in the sand and leaving major events unacknowledged, and having absolutely nothing profound or helpful to say because there's just...nothing profound or helpful that anyone can say.
This is one of those times.
I feel like we've all spent a lot of time this year crying about things that happen to people we've never met.
The Batman Massacre. The Sikh temple shooting. A shooting at a Pathmark less than four miles from my childhood home in NJ.
I can't make sense of it. No one can. All those babies.
My child starts kindergarten in the fall, but she's been going to school since she was four months old. Last night at a holiday party organized by the mom of one of Zoe's classmates, I realized something: those kids in Zoe's class? I love them to pieces. Really love them.
Their parents? They've become my friends. I love them too.
The teachers who've cared for my child over the past four and a half years? Yeah. Love.
I looked around this party, and I couldn't help imagining....what if?
And I had to shake the thought away, and instead focus on them screaming and shouting as they ran and played and rode bikes and visited with Santa.
Because while we mourn the loss of all those innocent babies and heroic teachers, we can't live our lives expecting the worst for our own. That'll just make us all insane, and that won't help anyone.
So we have to hope for the best, while we work ensure that things like this can't keep happening. Because something has to be done, or else these shootings will never stop.
Anyway, later in the night Charles and I got caught up watching Pink on VH1 Storytellers. I had no idea how much I like Pink until I saw her...and when she sang this song? Well, it seemed apropos for this weekend.