I’m a bad American.

I completely forgot that Friday was September 11. 

See, I was in Ensenada, Mexico, building houses for Youth with a Mission/Homes of Hope.  My little brother’s company sends people down several times a year to do just that, and since they didn’t have enough folks on this trip, he called and asked if I wanted to go.  Since I hadn’t seen him in two years and hadn’t met his girlfriend, who was also going on this trip, I said yes.

I flew into San Diego by way of Dallas early on Thursday morning, met my brother at the airport, and took a bus a couple hours south across the border.  Friday and Saturday we built a concrete-floor, two-room house wired with electricity for Jose and Rebeca.  (Jose is a carpenter who makes $1,000 pesos a week, about $83.  Rebeca is a stay-at-home-mother.  They have been married for sixteen years but have been unable to have biological children.  They have had physical custody of nearly three-year-old Isaias since he was five months old.  Isaias’ biological mother, Rebeca’s cousin, was a drug addict who abused him.  In order to legally adopt their son, they needed a house that was both up to code and to pay quite a lot of money in court costs.  Doing both at the same time would be impossible to afford on Jose’s salary.)  And on Sunday I left Ensenada at 6:30 am, caught a ride across the border to San Diego airport, flew to Memphis, and then flew into New Orleans at 9:30 pm. 

My brother Eric and I waiting to cross into Mexico.  Yes, he's still my little brother, even though he's 6'3" and well over 200 lbs.  And he was a very good sport about all the teasing and outright abuse he took from both me and his girlfriend on this trip.

Painting one of approximately 8,000 pieces of wood siding.  I'm the white girl in the picture.

Doing touch-up painting on the edge of the roof.  I did a little bit of roofing as well, but for the most part, I decided it was best for the structural integrity of the house if I stuck to painting.  Hey, it has to be done or else the wood will rot when it gets wet. 

I can also put together furniture like nobody's business.

A little video of our project, set to a completely inappropriate Grateful Dead tune.

The girl showing the children videos of themselves on her camera is my brother's girlfriend, Angela Eads.  She also took the still pictures.

ANYWAY, so it wasn't until I picked up a copy of USA Today at the Memphis airport that I found that Michelle Malkin had a hissy fit over President Obama declaring that the best way to remember the victims of September 11, including the hundreds of firemen and aid workers who lost their lives trying to evacuate people from the second tower, would be to go out and do something that actually helps someone.   Now, I didn't plan to go to Mexico to work on this project because it would fall on 9/11; it just worked out that way.  But anyhow, Ms. Malkin, I can personally attest that wielding a paint roller leaves you exhausted, sore, and with blisters that sting like hell when they break open and Sherwin-Williams Port-o-Potty Turquoise (not the real name of the paint color) drips into them.   Oh, and if you do it for hours on end in the direct sunlight, you get dizzy and nauseous and have to sit down and dump cold water on your head so you don't pass out or throw up.

So what did YOU do on your September 11, Ms. Malkin?