Veni, Vidi, Ventus --
The randomly chaotic and crafty scribblings of a deranged, wannabe artist allowed too many colours in her Crayon box.

Surgeon General's Warning: Some content of "From Pooka's Crayon" may not be suitable for: work, blue-haired little old ladies, the politically-correct, rabid moonbats, uptight mothers, priests, chronic idiots, insurance claims agents, Democrats, children, small furry quadropeds from Alpha Centauri, or your sanity.

Thursday, September 08, 2005


Dateline: September 11, 2001

The first plane hits. DG wakes me up, in time for me to see the second plane strike the WTC.

After some deliberation, and a sheer mental and emotional need to have them with us, DG goes and brings the kids home from school.

Dateline: September 8, 2005

Thing 2: Mama?
Me: Yeah, rabbit?
Thing 2: You remember that day when the bad guys attacked? And you came and got us out of school and brought us home? And I held your hand while you cried?
Me: (quiet hug) Yeah, baby, I remember.

She was in kindergarten. Four years. She still remembers. Not all of the details, of course, but she remembers.

Time passes, but is not forgotten.

(while watching CNN video)

Thing 2: Mama ... is that from the hurricane?
Me: Yes, baby.
Thing 2: Oh. My. God. I HATE hurricane Katrina. (note: I wasn't aware how much she even knew about it.)
(long pause)
Thing 2: Mama? What about all of the little kids down there? What happened to them, and the babies?
Me: (sighs) Some of them managed to get out with their families. But not all were able to. A lot of people died down there, and some of them were kids.
Thing 2: It's not FAIR!

You can only shield them from so much, and even when you do, they are going to find out. And some things shouldn't be forgotten, or glossed over, or ignored.

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