Planning a coordinated military offensive against an extremist organization while also trying to maintain normal parenting routines for a three-and-a-half-year-old was giving me emotional whiplash, and watching Hope eat breakfast surrounded by six armed guards was surreal in ways I couldn't fully process.
"I don't need this many guards for cereal." Hope's observation while one guard literally checked her milk before allowing her to drink it. "It's overkill."
"Someone tried to assassinate you two weeks ago." My reminder. "Overkill is the appropriate level of kill."
Overkill is the appropriate level. Right. That was definitely going in my parenting memoir under "sentences I never expected to say."
"But they're making it weird." Her complaint was valid. "I can't practice magic with six people watching. Can't teleport without someone panicking. Can't even freeze my toys without someone reaching for a weapon."
