I overheard Hanna, our nine year old, talking to Greg last night just before bed.

Our bedtime conversations with our kids usually involve randomly assigning blame to someone for chewing the lid off of someone elses Chapstick that nobody would admit to, or what makes spagetti taste so unbelievably good, or why would Daddy want a bagger for the lawn mower for his birthday or how does a bill become a law?

This time though, I heard Hanna ask, “Daddy, have you ever heard of the twin towers? What about a hurricane called Katrina?” Do you know anything about a huge ship that sank called the Titanic?”

It was as if every horrible, natural disaster and/or news story/terrorist attack we had tried to protect our kids from ever knowing about because the ugly truth was simply too sad to burden them with was being upchucked all at once atop a paisley, purple duvet.

Greg did his best to explain all of Hanna’s questions honestly. The end result, expectedly, had a lot of “You know I just don’t know the answer to that. I don’t think anyone does.”

When Hanna finally settled in bed I was sure it was going to be one of those nights she would ask me to stay with her a little longer or talk a bit more or stall pretending she wanted to show me something or share some news she would make up as the words started to flow.

But she was really tired.

I asked her if she was okay and in an exhausted yawn thinking she might ask me something I really did not ever want to openly discuss with a sweet, innocent, young girl she whispered, “Mom, do you know what we need?”

Me stroking her hair (world peace? better weather trackers?): What’s that sweetie?

Hannna: A motorboat.