I would have posted this sooner, but it’s taken me some time to gather my thoughts after the tragedy in Vegas. When I was single (or just prior to starting a family), things like this would happen in the world, your mind tells you how horrible it is, and you react like any compassionate person would. But it’s like the minute you have a baby, you no longer think with your head. In fact, it’s as if all of the world’s emotions get sucked into your heart and BAM – you’re a mom. You no longer just fear for yourself, you fear for these innocent little people who you created, and your mission in life is to protect that innocence for all it’s worth. But the duality is that you still have that logical pre-mommy side of your brain telling you that it’s impossible. That they will get to an age where they will become aware of the bad things that happen around them, outside of this parental bubble you’ve created, and you come to grips that this “age of innocence” is over. You accept your job as parents to raise them to be good people who fight for what’s right. Period.
Let’s just set the record straight. I’m a sucker for anything old. Vintage cameos, antique decor, old towns – you name it, I covet it. It started with weekends spent strolling the quaint streets of Old Town Spring with my parents growing up, where the shops and restaurants make you feel like you’re living in an old west town rather than in the middle of the booming city of Houston. We’d spend hours at our favorite lunch spot, the British Trading Post & Tea Room, where my father bonded with a fellow Brit, Maureen, who ran the place with her daughters and quickly became like family. After moving away, I would plea for Grant to take me back any time we visited home, just to get a glimpse of my childhood memories.