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It was a wonderful day yesterday. I spent the morning and afternoon with N icholas. We walked to the park, played with blocks, had a nap (is there a better feeling than a baby sleeping on your chest?)

Then I came to work. And we had to cover a double homicide in which a young man apparently is accused of killing his parents, according to neighbors. This kind of thing is never easy, though of course the reporters who actually have to work the story have it much harder than I. But now that I have a baby, it's different. I couldn't help but wonder about this family. I'll bet this woman took her little boy to the park, and played with blocks, and had him sleep on her chest. What happened? How can all that go so horrifically wrong?

So I did what I always do these days - when I got home, I kissed my son.