Just when you think that your life is terrible because you've run out of tonic water and are unable to make gin & tonics (a tasty treat for mummies everywhere), some crazed fundamentalist asshole goes and blows up the London transit system.
This is one of those moments that makes me wonder how on Earth can I ever explain to Adrian what this (terrorism, war) is all about.
How do you explain this less-than-lovely side of life without terrifying your child?
Right now his language comprehension is such that I can avoid the subject altogether. I envy the fact that his life revolves around bottles, walks, and the dreaded sleep.
Why do we have to grow up and make life so hard?