TGIF Turns to WTF

I get home with my new present to myself and set about assembling it.

Let's be truthful. This is not my strength.  I can't even figure out how to open the box. Darn Europeans. Leave it to the good people at Dyson to have a fancy schmancy box folding technique that leaves me scratching my head. My head with its throbbing headache and its little voice saying "You will never be able to assemble this thing. It will be nothing more than a modern sculpture when you are done with it and have shredded the directions out of pure frustration."

I pry open the box, leaving it in unrecognizable pieces. So much for returning it. That option is right out the window.

Aside from all the little tags and plastic bags and protective pieces, it is really not a lot of pieces to assemble. The pictures are baffling, and I did a few things backwards and upside down at first, but eventually I am reasonably convinced that I have finished the job.

Time to plug it in. The moment of truth.

And it sucks!

That is to say, it does not suck at sucking. Just like the box had read. The box that is now in shreds. It noted that this model will never lose its suction power. Very sucky indeed.

And at that very moment, the first of my children comes in the door.

And I am overwhelmed with relief. 

You see, while I was eating a high fat breakfast and tooling around town with Joy, and nursing my hangover and bitching together two different vacuum cleaners with a trip to the department store in between, a tragedy was unfolding.

A few states away, in a serene little affluent town in Connecticut, a mad man hatched a plan.

He took a high powered assault rifle from his gun-enthusiast mother's collection, took tons of ammunition, dressed to menace, and went about executing an insane plan.

He shot and killed his mother.

He drove to the local elementary school.

He overpowered the principal and killed her. He had the run of the building and had a gun.

He went calmly into classrooms and methodically killed children  - all grade school ages - and any adults who dare stand in his way.

Twenty six people in all. All shot multiple times with a high powered assault rifle. 

All the world over as people heard the news, they imagined the scene. Imagined the horror. Looked into the faces of their own children and tried to imagine hearing such unimaginable news about them.

And I had begun the day hungover but grateful for the rate opportunity to greet my children at the door as they returned from school. Now I was simply grateful that they were returning to me at all.

I took Pat a little by surprise. My "don't kiss me at the bus stop" kid was a little taken aback at the zeal with which I greeted him. I smothered his cheeks with kisses and hugged him so long and so tightly that he thought something might be wrong.

Oh something was wrong, alright. But all was right in that moment in time when my son's sweet face was next to mine and I could drink in the sweet smell of his hair. Still here. Still mine.