I don't even know where to begin. Ever since I heard about the Sandy Hook Elementary shooting, I've been vacillating between anger and despair, relief and helplessness, heartbreak and confusion.
The image of neatly wrapped Christmas presents that will never be opened in Connecticut has made me shed actual tears. The thought of the victim's parents hearing the news and rushing to the school, scanning the crowd for their children, and realizing the unthinkable makes me sick to my stomach.
I'm pissed at our country's gun laws, at the religious zealots who are blaming this on the "systematic removal of God from our schools," at the way our society continually glorifies violence.
I keep staring at the TV, trying to understand why, even though I know that nothing a news reporter can say will help me make any sense out of it.
As a mom trying to raise honest, kind and caring children, there is no time of year more conflicting for me than Christmas.
Last year, I paid Target $30 for The Elf on the Shelf so that I could orchestrate an elaborate lie for Luki. I explained that an elf had arrived at our home from the North Pole - sent by Mr. Claus himself - to watch over him.
"Every night, he flies back to the North Pole and tells Santa if you've been naughty or nice," I told him. "He comes back really early in the morning and sits in a different place each day. You have to find him when you wake up."
We named our elf Juanillo and when he returned this year on Thanksgiving Day, Luki was ecstatic. Ever since, Tony or I move Juanillo to a different location each night and watch Luki's delight in finding him every morning.
I love to watch my son's excitement around Juanillo, but there's a little part of me that can't quite get over the fact that I'm straight up lying to my child.