Tuesday, September 11, my very young children and I spent a languid, leisurely morning in the famiy room. We ate waffles for breakfast. The local PBS channel showed us "Arthur", then "Sagwa", then "Caillou". I folded laundry while they sat in a pile of books, pretending to read.

I casually clicked the channel button on the remote. Some local station was showing a movie about New York burning.
(click) Hmmm...another channel was showing the same movie.
(click) Wait a minute -- what the hell??
(click) Oh my God...realization dawned.

My thoughts were as chaotic as the images on TV: my brother's in New York where is he what about Washington oh my god who is doing this??? oh geez, time to go get Connor's hair cut his first day of school on Friday how can I even think of that now where is my brother what's happening oh I need another adult to talk to the boys are too young I don't want them to see me scared I shouldn't have snapped at them to be quiet but I need to know RIGHT NOW what's happening do they have their shoes on we need to go I want to stay we need to go I'm scared I'm shocked where's my purse how do I go do this mundane thing when a major city is being attacked and I don't know what's going to happen next.........................

We got through the haircut. The boys got balloons and were delighted. A rumor circulated through the salon that the White House was bombed. The boys got cookies and started to fight over the balloons. I numbly walked them to the local discount store where I mechanically picked up paper towels, apple juice and vainly searched for something else (I couldn't and still can't remember what it was I needed) and realized that no one was talking. The stero system overhead played Beatles music. The TVs in the front of the store blared CNN. Shoppers stood in tiny, tight knots, brows furrowed, expressions alternately glazed or confused.

Back home my house became Command Central for the family as the brother in Manhattan (safe, thank God) called with instructions for me to call his wife -- her cell phone wasn't working, his building's phones were shaky, while another brother in the Sears Tower called to confirm they were evacuated. Mom and Dad called; friends called; my hands shook and the boys made noise every time I got on the phone; I yelled at the boys for quiet and felt ashamed. How could they know? They couldn't. They shouldn't. They won't.

Downtown Cleveland was evacuated. There was a suspicious plane at Hopkins Airport. It was hijacked. No it wasn't, it had a bomb, though. No it didn't, it was just suspicious. On and on and on chattered the newscasters. My head began to throb.

Sleep did not come easily that night and when it did, I dreamed of heavy rocks and bricks falling on my head. I dreamed of trucks. I dreamed of my kids.