We are at the store and Clem tells me she has to go pee. We go to the bathroom in the store, which is very cluttered, and she’s a little scared, but she sits down and goes. I tell her “I’m so proud of you for being such a good pottyer” and she says, “Yes, Mommy, but I’m also a good spitter!”
Chris and I are talking about the funny things Clem does. I mention that I love how she mispronounces words like “girl” and “school,” and I ask Clem “How do you say school, honey?” Clem looks at me and says “What, in French?”
I wish I wrote everything down. I know no one really wants to read about every little thing someone’s kid does, but I don’t give a rat’s ass who reads this blog, and I like having some record of Clem’s antics. I have stuff for a scrapbook for her but I’ve never put it together. She’s growing so fast; I wish I kept a daily diary. I guess I wouldn’t subject everyone to that, but I wish I had it. She’s precious and time is precious.
I heard this woman on NPR today and her eloquence really got me, so I went and grabbed the interview off the website.
(Mindy Kleinberg’s husband, Alan, was a securities trader with Cantor Fitzgerald, working on the 104th floor of the north tower of the World Trade Center. Kleinberg has watched some of the Zacarias Moussaoui trial on closed circuit TV, at a satellite courtroom in Newark, N.J., set up for victims’ families.)
What my family has gone through and the impact that it’s had on us will be the same whether he’s put to death or not. For me he’s never been my proxy.
You know, it’s almost like a scapegoat — we’re going to hold this man up and put him to death so you can all feel better. It doesn’t work for me.
If you catch Osama Bin Laden, I will feel better. If you fix the FBI, I will feel better. If you fix the CIA, I will feel better. If you get radios for the firefighters in New York that work, I will feel better. Putting Moussaoui to death has zero impact on my life and he is not my proxy.