·         There's something a little therapeutic about talking about the actual event of 9/11.  Just as people remember where they were when Kennedy was assassinated, we all remember where we were during the attack on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. 

Jeff and I had moved back in with my parents to pay off some debt and put money aside for a down payment on our first house.  I was working at Rockrimmon Elementary while Jeff was already working at Hewlett Packard.  Being a hardcore insomniac then, as now, I was fast asleep when the first plane hit.  The only reason I knew anything was wrong was because my frantic mother came downstairs to tell me we were under attack.

At first I misunderstood her.  My brother had just had an altercation with a car-full of teenage boys in June and we'd been getting harassed off and on since then.  Something had happened within a few days of September 11, so I assumed they had done something to attack our house.  Being abruptly awakened, my mother and I just confused each other until I shook the sleep off, got dressed and headed upstairs to see what she was actually talking about. 

As soon as I rounded the corner, I saw it on the big screen.  I got upstairs just in time to see the second plane hit.  I remember the shock, terror and grief as it registered.  I thumped woodenly down on the sofa and just stared at the TV, watching repeated footage of each plane crashing.  Tears filled my eyes when they focused on people leaping from the burning buildings.

And then they collapsed.

I hope to never see a more horrifying sight as I did that day.  Over and over again, they showed the most terrible things.  Over and over again, my senses were battered with the horror that followed.

Yet, they didn't close the schools down.  So mom and I still had to drag ourselves from that sofa and from that house to go work as playground monitors at our respective schools.  I went directly to the playground, preparing for the elementary schoolers to come out in their usual rush.  They trickled out more slowly on that sickeningly fateful day, many of them having seen some of what had occurred with their parents before coming in.  Some had no idea, but the mood of the adults in the school was still exacting a toll.  They knew something was wrong, sensed it, but they had no idea what it was.

We live in the shadow of Pikes Peak, just south of the Air Force Academy.  It was an overcast day, though sun trickled out through holes in the cloud cover.  All in all, it was a lovely day, but the effect was lost on those of us down below.  Above those clouds, our Air Force was flying planes we could not see, but could clearly hear.  Children who had seen footage on TV knew that planes were grounded, so I had a huddled group of silent and fearful children clumped around me as each grade came through.  I didn't know what was going on, why there were planes flying overhead that we couldn't see, but I assumed it was military and therefore safe.  Still, I had to swallow my own fear and unease in order to present a calm face to all those children whose parents had allowed them to watch something so dismaying, tragic and full of horror, only to send them to school to be with other frightened people.  I told them those planes were up there to keep us safe, so it was good that they were up there.  I had them wave up at the invisible planes.  Reassured, each successive group ran off to play, only to have another grade filter out and start all over.

Once inside, teachers and paras gathered to talk in hushed tones whenever we passed each other.  One teacher was carrying on with her class while worrying about the four siblings who worked in the towers.  We later found out (though not the same day) that they had all made it out safely before the collapse.  All of us knew someone who worked there or in that basic area.  All of us knew someone who knew someone who worked there or in that area.  It was surreal, the entire day.  We had no way to get updates there at the school except when a teacher had a way to get to a radio without the kids hearing, so we lived in an isolated bubble, unaware of what was happening outside the walls of the school. 

One shadow I forgot to mention is that of NORAD, buried deep in Cheyenne Mountain.  There was an undercurrent of fear within all of us that maybe NORAD would be next.  Maybe there was a plan to hit there in some way.  Rather than feeling safe because we were surrounded by military, it made us question our safety. 

Once my kindergarten class went home that day, I headed home, eager, yet reticent, to hear any further news.  There was no music on the radio, just more panicked reports coming in of the horrors still unfolding in the Trade Centers, the Pentagon, and that desolate field.  I believe those two occurred while I was at work, but I don't remember for sure. 

I don't think I will ever forget this, nor will it ever be lessened in my memory.  So here's a tribute to the victims of September 11th.  To the heroes who helped or tried to help.  To the families who lost their loved ones.  To the soldiers who fight for us now or who have fought or lost their lives in the battle since then.  And to a nation that withstood such horrors and joined together instead of letting it rip the country to shreds.  It did not make us weaker; it made us stronger.  Though the memory will be burned into our minds forever, it will only serve to remind us why we, as a people, go on.

As an aside, my three-year old brought me The Man Who Walked Between the Towers ( http://www.amazon.com/Man-Who-Walked-Between-Towers/dp/031236878X/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1221115369&sr=8-1) to read to him tonight.  He knows nothing of the anniversary occurring today, yet somehow that is the book he chose for me to read to him tonight.  I find that...astounding, and yet so right.

I have a bunch of things I've been wanting to blog about, but just haven't had the chance.  But I signed on to write something and promptly forgot it!  Instead, I'll talk about my good mommy day.

I think today was as close to a perfect balance as I ever get these days.  I got the satisfaction of getting things done that didn't have to do with being a mommy, but with being a housewife.  I had some "me" time to entertain myself on the computer and do a scrapbook page.  And I had some good play time with the kids and a family dinner out on the back porch to enjoy the wonderful weather.  And hubby and I spent a nice relaxing evening together without night terrors interrupting the evening.. 

To me, that is a good day.  A perfect day, really.  For once, I didn't feel like I hadn't spent enough time with the kids.  For once, I didn't feel like taking time to clean up a bit and then taking time to myself for relaxation took away from spending time with the kids.  For once, I didn't feel like playing with the kids insured no mommy time.  For once, I didn't feel like it was do my own thing OR spend quality time with hubby.

Yes, my house is still a bit of a mess.  No, I didn't play with the kids every moment, but they had plenty of good play time.  No, I didn't write the next Great American Novel, but I had time to write a little.  I even took time to exercise, though there were two kids climbing all over me while I did it. 

Mmmmmmm, it feels truly satisfying and relaxing to have a day like this.  A day of perfect balance.  As moms, wives, employees and people, we constantly dance an intricate, yet delicate dance that involves so many working parts.  Rarely, do all those parts come together in such a way as to leave me without regrets come bedtime. 

Perfect.