"NEW WORLD WATER"

There are many - myself included - who have speculated that the next world war is not going to be over money, or oil, or religion.  It’s going to be over water.  A resource that none of us can live without. 

The title to this blog entry was “borrowed” from Mos Def, who writes in his song “New World Water:”

Tell your crew use the H2 in wise amounts since
it's the New World Water; and every drop counts
You can laugh and take it as a joke if you wanna
But it don't rain for four weeks some summers
And it's about to get real wild in the half
You be buying Evian just to take a fuckin' bath

For the last few months, the Trester has been extremely concerned about the world running out of water.  This concerns me, because I know only too well how pointless it is (and how harmful it can be) to worry about things that have not happened yet, and may never happen.  It also concerns me because I believe this to be a legitimate issue, warranting proper consideration and attention, and though I don’t want to scare him, I cannot lie to him either.  And so I haven’t exactly worked out the proper response to the question: “mom, will we run out of water in my lifetime?”

In the past, I have said, “I don’t know, Tre, but I really don’t think so,” or offered “I think they (whoever the nebulous ‘they’ are) are working on a machine to convert saltwater into freshwater.”  We have also talked about the water cycle, and if it’s a cycle, well, that would mean it just keeps repeating itself, right?!  

Tonite, however, I was feeling particularly surly, after another day losing the battle with a nasty head cold, then homework, then a nutritional meal within 20 minutes, followed by late t.v. night.  So it’s 9:15p.m. and I am tucking him in and now he wants to discuss the water crisis???  “Tre,” I said, ”I don’t know if we have enough water to last MY lifetime.”

To which he responded by breaking out in loud heart-wrenching sobs.  Never mind that the conversation began with discussing my eminent death, and how upsetting this already is to him.  Now I am actually suggesting that my death is looming ever-closer, the leaky faucet in the bathroom (which he pointed out to me last weekend) an ominous drip-drip-drip reminder that we are sealing our own fate.  

Well.  In the end, because I am indeed Supermom, I managed to patch things up.  And for the time being, we are good.  We have water.  Mom’s ok, dad’s ok, everyone he loves is ok right now.  “And so,” I said, bending down to kiss his check, “for that, we have gratitude.” 30 seconds later the child is snoring, and I say a silent prayer of thanks that he still has the capacity to pick up heavy objects, stumble around with them for a while, and put them back down.  Thank you, baby j.  Thank You.