I hope

I struggle to keep up with this blog. I honestly lose  motivation because I feel sometimes that I write to myself, but then when I really think about it... that is what I am doing. This is my journal of sorts. My public journal, but mine just the same.

My husband came in and told me about the bombs at the Boston race today during lunch. So senseless, painful and horrific. He was talking to me at dinner about it as we watched the news coverage. I often think about tragedy. I don't know if that is normal, but ever since having my son, I cannot help but try to think of bad things and how I would be able to protect my child.

I wonder if I am going to be at the park and something happen. I try to keep an eye out for bags or backpacks. I try to memorize people and stare people I don't know in the eyes. I read once that you should make certain that "they" know you saw them- That you could likely identify them and that makes you a less desirable target. Does it work? Who knows. But I will do anything that I can think of to keep my baby safe.

My guy is 16 months old. He is such a ham. He sticks his tongue out all the time when he laughs and giggles. He loves iced tea. He wants real cups with crushed ice. He is a climber. A couch racer and a runner at heart. There is an all purpose field by us and we take him there and boy does he run. He can run one end to the other. It's like a hunting dog that you just let loose. As the Robertson's would say, "He gone".

I hope that this case is solved quickly and the cowards are brought to justice. I hope that the next park I go to is safe. I hope that I am OK after the grocery store and the bank.

I wish that I didn't have to hope for safety.... Be safe my friends.