G.I. Joes lie scattered across the floor after their latest battle in the never-ending war against the Barbies from the neighboring room. It was a fight of epic proportions. Tanks, guns, planes, little plastic army men, and a few stray cowboys all played their part in keeping the forces of pink at bay.

There is a real war going on in a country far away, though. How do I talk to a boy about real war when the make believe one dominates his life? How do I talk to a daughter about the average Iraqi's meager living conditions when she is focused on picking all of the little onions out of her dinner?

History is being made right now as I write this. The world is holding its breath, watching and waiting for the war's outcome. My children are living in interesting times, so to speak. I feel that it is important that they understand what is going on in the world around them, but how much do they need to know?

At least I have a fresh start. We rarely watch television news in our home, and apparently the elementary school classrooms are staying focused on good ol' reading and writing. Over dinner one night, I asked my kids what they already know. The most my daughter has heard in class about the war is that we are attacking the people who bombed the twin towers. My son knew even less; he had heard something on the radio about some soldiers being taken prisoner.

I took a deep breath and kept in mind that short attention spans will dictate the depth of any conversation we have. Weapons inspections, the United Nations, protesters, and freedom fries will have to wait.

First of all, I corrected my daughter. I explained to her that some people in Iraq may have helped plan the New York City tragedy in some way, but they were not the actual people who did it. I briefly explained that Saddam Hussein is Iraq's president and that it is believed that he is hiding really bad weapons in his country somewhere, and that he is cruel to the people in his own country.

So far, so good. The kids seemed to understand what I told them and I started feeling very smart. I was safely guiding my children through the war maze. But before I could pat myself on the back, my daughter took the conversation off into a minefield.

She had heard about how sometimes the army will take people from their jobs and give them guns and make them fight whether they want to or not. My little introduction to war class had suddenly been sabotaged. I had no clue what she was talking about. I figured that maybe she had heard that the Iraqi's will make their people fight against their attackers, and I told her that maybe that does happen there, but it doesn't happen here.

Wrong! She said it does happen in our army. I blinked my blank eyes a few times and then explained that in the army a person might be a cook or something, but when it comes time to fight, everyone in the army can pick up a weapon and do his or her part.

Wrong again! She didn't mean people in the army; she meant people not in the army being told to join the army. A few eye blinks later, it finally dawned on me. She was talking about the draft. I quickly explained that our country used to do that, but not anymore.

Whew! Five minutes into the conversation and I found that I was the one with a short attention span. But I plodded on, determined to make a few important points before quitting. I made sure to let them know that war is serious; it's not a game. We talked for a little while about what chemical weapons are and how we here in America are doing everything we can to keep everyone safe.

And then a big grenade was tossed into the conversation. My daughter asked, "Do we hate the people in Iraq?"

Wow, you can't get much more basic than that. I abandoned all thought of trying to talk about "shock and awe," and Marines, and the president. This is the one "big point" that I was searching for.

"No," I answer. "Most of the people in Iraq are a lot like you and me. Our army is just trying to get the few people in control who are hurting everyone else."

Dinner and the little lesson were finally over. G.I. Joe regrouped his army. But a few Barbies were invited to ride around in the beat up tank before bedtime.

March 31, 2003