When Rose and David started fighting over who was in whose room without permission, I did not calmly get them a snack. I gave them to the count of three to get downstairs. When Rose tried to read me logic problems--Mrs. H has a red hat and a dog named Spot. . ., I snapped at David for making too much noise, Rose for giving me clues before I was ready and myself for not being able to concentrate. When David started spitting his raisins, let's just say, I did not handle it with patience and humor.

Osama Bin Laden has made me a bad parent today.

I cannot honestly tell you what is bothering me--that people are rejoicing at the death of a man, no matter how bad a man; that he is a "bad" man and not a man who makes bad choices, and I have been training myself and my children not to think that way; that I have to think about the Twin Towers and the war and our vulnerability; that someone is going to want to retaliate and no one is safe, not really; that we entered another country's sovereign territory and conducted a military operation there without permission; that despite my discomfort with how the operation was conducted, I am grateful that it was successful and not another downed helicopter in an Iranian hostage crisis; that the fact there was this huge compound in the middle of an affluent neighborhood implies someone knew something and they weren't telling us--we were betrayed; that instead of thinking about the big ethical questions and issues of identity and power, I find myself wondering how this will help Obama's approval ratings; that despite my attempts to be cynical, I am impressed by Obama's leadership as commander in chief; that one human being, as commander in chief, can have so much power; that this is a significant turning point, and I don't know what's coming next.

Whatever it is, my stomach is in knots.