Ups and Downs, Ups and Downs

When I was in elementary school, a teacher read my class a book that followed the pattern "Fortunately. . . Unfortunately." It was like this one--and maybe it was that one, but the copyright date doesn't seem right. Anyhoo, cribbing from Amazon's description of that book, the plot went something like this:

Fortunately, Ned was invited to a surprise party.
Unfortunately, the party was a thousand miles away.

Fortunately, a friend loaned Ned an airplane.
Unfortunately, the motor exploded.

Fortunately, there was a parachute in the airplane.
Unfortunately, there was a hole in the parachute.

Lately my life has seemed to be a big, disjointed narrative of Fortunately. . . Unfortunately. . .

Some episodes:

I get a nasty head/chest cold. I begin to recover. Then I get a second round. Then I begin to recover again, but with a twist--my head and chest are clear but I have all the tiredness of a mononucleosis victim. Plus: insomnia! Today, in fact, is the first day in a while that I've had enough energy to make it through the day intellectually and physically intact.

Today I turned in a grant application I've been working on for months. Yay! I've even come to grips with the university's indirect cost rate scaling down the project to the point where it's a bit embarrassing. I even found the strength to correct the grants guy when he called the $50,000 grant proposal "small." (Those of you in the sciences may not realize that a grant over, oh, $3500 is pretty damn big for a humanist.) And then, just as I think I have all my ducks in a row, I learn there's another form specific to my university--a big, complicated one--that I need to get filled out and double-signed. And no, my first thought was not, "What the fuck am I paying indirect costs of $19,500 for if the grants folk aren't going alert me to the fact that I need to fill out this friggin' form?" Fortunately, the grants folks are actually quite nice, and this was in the big scheme of things a small oversight, and they'll help me get it filled out quickly.

Lucas starts kindergarten in the fall. Unfortunately, our local elementary school is kind of sketchy. I'm not one to look at test scores, but let's just say a 50% drop in boys' reading proficiency between kindergarten and first grade raises a red flag--especially when that decline isn't mirrored throughout the district. Fortunately, Lucas earned lucky #13 (of ~150) in the lottery for one of the area's best-regarded charter schools, the one to which local hippies and commies (read: the professoriate) long to send their kids. Unfortunately, through the whims of fate (read: large Idaho families + priority for siblings of current students), even #13 might not be a good enough number to get him into the school. We'll know within a couple of weeks. Keep your fingers crossed for us, OK? As Fang has detailed on his blog, Lucas has been running into a number of budding sociopaths in his preschool, and we'd really prefer that he fall in with the kind of kids whose parents are serious about sending them to a great school, even if it's in what's widely acknowledged as Boise's armpit.

Then there's Utah. That post was a way for me to come to grips with the fact that a doctor found a giant tumor in my 87-year-old grandmother. In her colon. Because her primary care physician is (literally, alas) in a coma and thus no one had pointed out to her that her symptoms might indicate a cancer-scale problem--which means she hadn't had a colonoscopy in, well, ever. Fortunately, the surgeon thought he could excise the tumor, do a temporary colostomy, and reconnect the remaining parts of the colon. Unfortunately, he found the tumor is cancerous, the cancer has metastasized to her liver and pancreas, and the primary tumor is inoperable because of scar tissue from an apparently botched hysterectomy from 40 years ago. The surgeon gives her two years to live.

I'll write a blog post about my grandmother when I have the emotional strength to do so. For now let's just say that I've always marveled at her strength and good humor, and that my grandmother has not just been a caretaker and adviser to me, but also a very good friend. Even today, just a couple days after her surgery, even though she'd had family and doctors and nurses and physical therapists visiting her all day long, she was chatty and even optimistic. We talked and laughed for 25 minutes--and this is a woman who recently found out she's terminally ill and had just hours before learned how to empty the colostomy bag that she'll use for the rest of her life. I love the woman dearly, and I'm having a very difficult time being so far away from her.

This geographical angst has been made even worse by Idaho politics. I love my job dearly, and what little I've seen of this state is achingly beautiful in that wind-scrubbed arid intermountain way. I do plan to stay here for a long time. Yet recent events have made me regret, just a little, putting so much distance between me and California.

Share your own Fortunately. . . Unfortunately. . . scenarios in the comments. It's good to know I'm not alone on this roller coaster.

Corrupting Idaho's preschoolers, one classroom at a time

Lucas has gotten waaaay into spelling lately. Since the letters of the week at his preschool are "O" and "Q," on the way into school this morning, he was asking me how to spell "Q" words. We spelled "queen," and then Lucas spelled "queer."

"Mommy, what does 'queer' mean?"

I explained that queer has a couple meanings he should know and provided the definitions, emphasizing once again that some men love men, and some women love women, and that some kids have two mommies and some have two daddies.

Fast-forward 9 hours. I walk into his preschool classroom to find Lucas sitting at a table with two other little boys and a classroom aide. One of the little boys flashes a peace sign at me.

"Some dudes," he says excitedly, "love dudes, and that's OK."

My work is done here. I can move back to California now, yes?

You're welcome, Idaho.

RBOC, Reflective Late Summer Edition

I'm putting all my intellectual effort these days into course planning and harvesting articles from my dissertation, so all I have in me are random bullets:

• Lucas and I were pulling dandelions from the lawn yesterday, and a bee or wasp stung me right in the middle of the palm of my right hand. Thank goodness the critter didn't get Lucas. If I recall correctly, this is only my fourth bee sting, but hoo boy is it by far the worst. My hand has been swelling over the past 24 hours, and I can't make a fist, plus--oversharing alert!--the hand just started breaking out in hives. I almost went to an urgent care clinic, but in light of our new high insurance deductible,* I'm going the Benadryl route instead.** The pharmacist said not to take Benadryl until the evening because it'll knock me out, so I'm waiting until Lucas goes to sleep, but meanwhile I can't use my right hand for anything but typing, and even that is a stretch. It's made me VERY grumpy, but it also means I haven't had to grade papers. :)

• Someone who matters tremendously to me just let me know she's pregnant after trying for what seems to me to be a reasonable amount of time, but which I'm sure to her felt like for-ev-er. I'm very excited for her and her husband. As soon as she's told a few more people and is into her second trimester, I'll blog about it more openly.

• Lucas's development is proceeding in leaps and bounds. His drawings are becoming more and more complex--check out Fang's blog if you're interested, as he's been posting several pieces of Luke's art--and his language, too. Today he wrote his last name flawlessly, without any prompting. We're also getting a bit more insight into how his mind works. For example, on Friday, Fang told Lucas they would watch an episode of a Batman cartoon at 5 p.m., and he showed Lucas a clock with hands on it. Fang reminded him when the small hand was on the 5, they would watch the show. Lucas pointed out there was a dial on the back of the clock, and they could turn it right away to make it point to 5 so that they could watch Batman immediately. Ha!

• We had to administer a series of questions and exercises to Lucas for his preschool teachers. One of them required us to ask Lucas to "Draw a boy or a girl." Fang did this exercise with him while they sat across the desk from one another, and Lucas proceeded to draw a person, only he drew it upside down, so that it was right-side-up for Fang.

• These latest developments, coupled with others, worry me--I fear we might have a gifted child on our hands. Oy. I'm not sure I'm ready for that, particularly in a state not known for funding quality public education.

• This weekend I took Lucas to the local birds of prey center. The folks there don't rehabilitate birds, as do many raptor centers; rather, they breed, raise, and release endangered birds. They have a very intimate bird show--the hawk's feathers actually brushed repeatedly against my legs, and the crow took a dollar bill from Lucas (the bird can't have quarters because they're shiny and he hoards them)--and some raptors that can't be returned to the wild for various reasons, including a couple of California condors and some really neat eagles. Despite all the bigger birds, Lucas was really taken with the crow.

• Jacob has finally noticed the five or six squirrels that frequent our backyard, but still has a pretty sedate reaction to them. He's recovering nicely from his neuter surgery, which he had last Thursday. He's tipping the scales at more than 85 pounds now.

• Tomorrow afternoon Fang will take Lucas to observe a martial arts class to see if it's something Lucas might want to try. Meanwhile, I'm plotting to take the boy to Friends meetings and First Day school. Would having ninja-level martial arts skills disqualify 18-year-old Lucas from conscientious objector status with the Selective Service?

• This conversation just transpired between Lucas and Fang:

Lucas: Daddy, will you do something with me? We can do something you like.

Fang: Sure. What do you want to do? (thinking he'll get out the guitars and play some music)

Lucas: (very sweetly) Well, you like to watch superheroes on the TV, right?

The boy knows how to work his dad, that's for sure.

• Fang is trying hard to be more social, which he admits has always been a challenge for him, even though he's very good with people. He was waitlisted for a guitar class offered through the city's community education program, and he found out today they opened up an additional section of the class. He starts next Wednesday, and he's enthusiastic about meeting some like-minded people. He went to a Smashing Pumpkins concert with one of my colleagues last week, and they seemed to hit it off; they seem to have plenty in common to gripe about, if nothing else. (Waves to colleague, who sometimes reads this blog.)
  

• Overall, I'd say what has most characterized our first two months in Idaho is resilience, and really, we're not a resilient people. (The phrase "highly sensitive" is a more apt descriptor.) I'm really happy about that, as these are the times that try a family's souls--a big move, a new job, pay cuts, new social circle, no support network to speak of, a new preschool, a Cliffordesque lab who thinks he's still the size of a shoebox. My colleagues and new friends here have been a huge help in easing our transition, and for that I am exceptionally grateful.

*Thank you, State of Idaho, for lengthening the new-employee health insurance waiting period from 30 days to 90. Much appreciated!

**I've never taken Benadryl, but I'm going to take my first pill in a few minutes. Fang is a little too excited about this prospect--he knows I can react strongly to new meds, and he's crossing his fingers for a good show. Will it include further crankiness, slurred speech, or giggles unbecoming a bee-sting victim? I'll keep you posted. (As if.)

Lucas's latest

Lucas has been drawing a lot of people lately--our dining room table is drowning in sketches--and tonight he drew this one for me:


Pink dude came first, drawn upside down intentionally.

Then blue dude came along. According to Lucas, blue dude thinks he's happy, but he's really sad. Hence the tears coming from his eyes.

I don't know what the story is with green dude. Maybe he's feeling some schadenfreude for blue dude?

(Fang also received a drawing from Lucas; his features an "invisible guy" drawn in yellow. Fang acknowledges my new acquisition is superior. That's why I'm looking so smug in the photo.)

I will now take a moment to remind Fang that Lucas has never drawn a portrait of me, but Fang has merited several, including this recent one, which is a damn good likeness:


Of course, there's also the famous "neckchin" drawing, and this next portrait, done at age 2 years and 4 months, is definitely among his greatest hits, and an amazing likeness of Fang:

I'm worried this means the boy is going to suck at left-brain thinking. (Who am I kidding? I know it means exactly that--he's cursed by genetics.) Time to save up for math tutors!

A morning with the boy

Wednesday is Fang's craziest workday, so it's considerably easier for him if Lucas and I leave the house for part of the day. As I spent most of yesterday finalizing a big syllabus for a new course, I was happy to go adventuring with the boy today.

We took a little walk around a Boise park that features a hill. After a decade in Davis, being able to see an entire city from the top of a hill seemed downright miraculous. I took a ton of photos, but my iPhone camera skills are not strong when it comes to landscapes. This will teach me to carry a real camera. . .

Lucas, as usual, was happy to serve as a photo subject:

Lucas loves Idaho

One thing that has absolutely astonished me throughout our move from California to Idaho has been Lucas's resilience. He's announced on more than one occasion he wants "to live here forever" and "never move again."

Part of this comes from a new friendship he's struck up with my friend Lisa's son, who is 8. His first playdate with M prompted Lucas to announce that his "best friend in the whole world" lives in Idaho. Both Lucas and M are about the same size, so I think they forget that M has 3.5 years of sophistication on Lucas. This is going to work out well as I try to nurture Lucas's nascent interest in reading: "Lucas, M reads at a third-grade level. Why can't you?" (I kid!) (Sort of!)

Lucas also started two weeks of swim lessons yesterday; his class consists of Lucas and one newly four-year-old boy. In just two half-hour sessions, Lucas has grown considerably braver; he's always liked going to pools, but never been a fan of putting his face in the water. I think it helps that the instructor has a ton of toys that distract Lucas from the fact that he's getting his face wet. Here's a glimpse from today's lesson:


Last week I took Lucas to the local state history museum, and he adored it. Really, truly adored it--and it's not particularly geared toward kids. After seeing so much of Fang emerge in Lucas, it's nice to see a little bit of me awakening in the boy's genes. In the museum's gift shop, we bought a couple geodes for him to smash open, but I have to admit I was also tempted by these:

Seriously. Click to embiggen.

He's not just interested in history, but in natural history as well. At one point on our drive to Idaho, we pulled over in northern Nevada or southern Oregon to stretch our legs, and we encountered thousands of grasshoppers. Lucas was fascinated by them (as was our puppy), so you can imagine his delight when he was able to capture a couple at a playground the other day:


He kept trying to shield the insect from us, as if we'd try to take it from him, though I can assure you I've never snatched a bug from the boy's hands, even though I may be quite fond of certain species.


Lucas really likes this particular playground, though he hasn't explored most of the equipment, which is of the increasingly trendy EVO type I'm seeing on more playgrounds. Here's one of the most conventional pieces on the playground; I'll try to get more photos on our next visit.

I was worried about raising Lucas in an overwhelmingly majority-white city, but I'm learning that there are places to go to expose the boy to more than just WASPs. We went to get him a library book today, and the children's section is packed with multicultural literature. And if we go to a particular WinCo supermarket at noon on Sunday, after the churches have let out, there's an amazingly diverse cross-section of Boise society there, in terms of both race/ethnicity and class. (Alas, the food there is not as ethnically interesting. You should see the number of fried potato side-dishes available in the freezer section!)

So far, Idaho is for Lucas a nature park, a science center, a history museum, a zoo, some nice parks and playgrounds, a new friend, a couple of pools, some grasshoppers, some backyard dirt to dig in, a bigger bedroom, a badger, twin fawns, and an armload of books checked out on his new library card. Fang and I may be hitting some bumps in the life-shifting road, but Lucas is cruising happily along.

More scenes from our new life

The past two weeks represent the first time in years that Fang and I have spent so much unbroken time with the boy, as his next preschool term doesn't start for another couple of weeks. We've both noted how much we've learned about Lucas, and we're seeing huge leaps forward in his development, and particularly in his imaginative play, creativity, and helpfulness.

One example: Lucas has always wanted me to help him make little sculptures out of pipe cleaners. Last week, however, he took matters entirely into his own hands, shaping and reshaping an elaborate sculpture so that it was first a hat for him, then for Fang, and then something to go over his shoe and trail behind it:


I've begun to worry that the boy is gifted in a right-brained way. I worry that he'll test just shy of gifted and won't get the challenge he needs in a mainstream class. I'd like him to be bright, but solidly mainstream, or clearly gifted, so that it's clear what kind of educational path we should set him on. His favorite things right now are stickers, tools, drawing, writing the letters of his name, and being read to--especially poems by Shel Silverstein. He's just starting to get the jokes in them, to pick up on their various ironies, which is a lot of fun.

The dog is also growing--and growing on us. Jake is alternately zen and puppy-crazy-dumb, and he's learning to negotiate the house's many hardwood floors. He often sounds like he's tap dancing. Here's a photo I took of him yesterday; he's about six months old now, and really turning into a lovely dog.

If you need some scale, that's a large Kong dog toy at the left of the picture, and a men's size 13 shoe in the foreground. He's a big pup!

Boise blogging

Some scenes from our first several days in Boise, as seen through my iPhone. . . (A bit prosaic, but I know family will appreciate the Lucas photos.)

Our first full day in Boise, we saw this sign downtown. (I thought the tiny red shoes on the doorstep were a nice touch.) Welcome to Idaho!

Mmmmmm. . . Lunch at P.F. Chang's.


Boise has irrigation canals running all over town. This one--being explored by my dad and Lucas--ran behind the motel where we stayed until the movers showed up with our stuff.


This statue of Lincoln--sculpted by Idaho native Gutzon Borglum--was recently installed in a Boise park. The local media bragged that it is "the third largest seated Lincoln statue in the world." Go Boise! ;) Fang has recently developed a fascination for all things Lincoln--he just finished reading a book on Lincoln's use of the telegraph--and I suspect he's brewing another novel, this time with Lincoln as a central character.


In the Boise Zoo parking lot. . .


Boise is very, very, very white. Like more than 90 percent white. I very much feel my whiteness here in a way I haven't since I lived in Iowa. It feels like an itch that won't go away.

The Boise Zoo is kind of old school, but it did have one of those tiger windows that I've seen at many larger zoos.


Lucas has discovered boxes in a big way. He keeps packing himself up. Here he is in the box for our new push mower:



I haven't explored much of the city yet, but Boise apparently has a ton of nature parks, including this one not far from downtown:



Next to the parking lot Lucas and I spotted twin fawns!


Their mama was on the other side of the parking lot:


I haven't seen urban deer since I lived in Iowa City, so I enjoyed the sighting.

Regular text blogging will resume shortly. . .

An accounting

Pounds loaded (thank God not by us) onto the moving truck: Approximately 14,000 (damn books, comic books, and CDs)

Cars driven from Davis to Boise: 2

Hours spent on the road between Davis and Boise: 11

Wrong turns taken on that trip: 1

Nights in motel rooms: 3 so far, likely to be 4

Toys and gifts my dad brought with him for Lucas: at least 4

Number of said toys the dog destroyed while we were out: 1

Toys purchased by my dad for Lucas on the trip: 2

Number of hours I spent today listening to Lucas prattle on about "germ scrapers" he made out of Legos: 6, going on 7

Number of times Lucas asked me if his redesigned germ scrapers are "cool": too many to count

Motel coffee tables consumed by dog: 0.1

Motel coffee tables for which we'll have to pay: 1

Muzzles purchased for dog: 2

Dog hair in this motel room because I was too embarrassed to allow it to be cleaned with the coffee table chewed up: 3 cubic feet?

Times in my life UC Davis has issued me a physical paycheck instead of direct deposit: 1

Miles I am from said paycheck: 565.3

High temperature the day we left the crazy hot Sacramento Valley: 95 degrees

Current temperature in Boise: 101

Times divorce narrowly avoided: 4?

Blog posts I've written during the move: 1

Blog posts Fang has written during the move: 5

Debt we owe to my dad for helping me drive a car 575 miles, walking the dog, buying all our meals here, handing us an anniversary card brimming with cash, and entertaining Lucas at a time of great physical, emotional, and financial stress for our family: God only knows

Window the moving company gave us for delivery: 3 days

Day on which our stuff will be delivered: day 3

Movers due to arrive: in 15 hours

For Mother's Day

A letter to my mother

Dear Mom,

This week my therapist grew a bit exasperated with me. "I've never met anyone who is so protective of her mother!" she said.

Which made me giggle a bit. Because one of the words I've never really applied to my relationship with you is "protective." After all, parents are supposed to protect their children, right? Not the other way around, unless the parent is ill or otherwise needs assistance. And while I have certainly defended you on the rare occasions when someone misunderstands your actions or intentions, I can't say I've ever felt the urge or need to protect you.

For that, I owe you a debt of gratitude. Having such a strong, smart woman for a mother—one who chose such a kind, smart man to be my father—has allowed me to focus (selfishly, perhaps) on my own growth, my own goals.

At the same time, I wouldn't call you protective. You pushed me—usually implicitly, sometimes explicitly—to work very hard toward my dreams. You have always been the realist who anchors—without derailing—my idealism. For this, too, I'm grateful.

Although we haven't talked about it much, I imagine you're ambivalent about my impending move to Boise. On the one hand, I'm realizing a dream of mine—to teach public history—but on the other, I'm moving your only grandchild out of driving distance. I'm sorry about that. But I think you've known from the time I was a little girl that, despite my deep love for our family, I would be moving far from Long Beach. I'm deeply appreciative that a family that has lived on the same block for four generations has been so accepting of my perambulations, of my crafting a life outside the neighborhood. I know such acceptance has come at a cost—financial and emotional—which makes me all the more grateful.

Despite the fact that I've taken a different geographical path from others in our family, your influence on me has been immeasurable and invaluable. Your love of literature and of good books—you quoted Robert Burns and Geoffrey Chaucer at the dinner table—set me on a path deep into the humanities. Your passion for the natural world—we spent part of every summer in Yosemite and ventured into other landscapes around the American west—has led me to live in smaller, more sustainable cities surrounded by, or at least in proximity to, natural beauty, even when that beauty can be difficult to discern.

Maybe your greatest gift to me—beyond your fierce love—is discernment. You've taught me to see what matters and what doesn't. From you, directly and indirectly, I've come to value environmental causes, all manner of civil rights, and a broad spectrum of arts and culture. Even while you encouraged me to set high standards for myself in education and life, you taught me to be—as one mentor once labeled me—democratic to the bone.

Thanks for that.

I could go on, but my own little family here insists that they celebrate this Mother's Day with me, so I'm off to join them. I wanted to spend this time with you—even though we're more than 400 miles apart—to let you know how much you've influenced me, how much I appreciate your love, and how much I return it.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

Love,

Leslie

At 4 years old, he's already a fanboy

I blame Fang.

Ah, Humor, Thy Name is "Anonymous"

A bit of backstory:

In 2006, I wrote a post that included photos of Lucas, who had fallen and hit his head, both before and after my husband took him to the ER.

Fang Bastardson left this comment on that post:

Your husband is obviously a bad, bad man and an unfit father. If I ever run into him, I'll kick his ass clear on back to last Thursday on principle.

I swear to God, you have to have a license to have a dog...

Have you alerted CPS, or shall I?

Here's the funny thing: Fang took those photos. He's my husband.

If Fang has mastered one quality, it's self-loathing. And he's terribly witty about it.

Fast-forward to the present day. My beloved Fang just received this comment on his blog:

[A]s for the nasty comment you left about a post on The Clutter Museum wherein you castigated a dad for taking a picture of his son's bleeding head before taking him to the ER, not only are you illiterate you're mean spirited and hateful. I happen to know the gentleman in question and he is an attentive, devoted father.
You, on the other hand, are a poser and a jerk.

This kind commenter (who I hope was writing with tongue as firmly planted in cheek as Fang originally was) also pointed out that Fang misspelled "dewclaw" in his bloggy bio. Let me assure you all--including Anonymous, if s/he is reading--that Fang is an immaculate speller, and that "doo-claw" is an homage to his favorite dog, whose nickname was Doo.

Ah, blogosphere, how I love you.

Lucas the Photographer

On Christmas morning, Lucas decided he wanted to use my digital SLR to take some photos. I have yet to look at his pictures, but here's one of my four-year-old photographer in action.



That's me he's trying to photograph. Also on the couch with me is my "little" (almost 6' tall) sister, who I recently learned is not just a dean, but rather supervises the dean, at the vocational college where she works. (She's 31. Gah.) Between Lucas and me is my grandmother, who doesn't look even close to 86 years old, and my youngest aunt.

Lucas reacts

Lucas has been enthusiastic about the prospect of going to a new school, but he didn't understand that going to the preschool means leaving Serena's daycare/preschool. He insisted, "When I go to my new school, I will see Serena a lot."

I explained the reality to him--that we'll still see Serena occasionally, but he won't be seeing her every day--and he took some time to process it. Then tears began to well up in his eyes: "But I like Serena." He swallowed another tiny bite of yogurt and then added, "My kids will be sad."

(That's what he calls the other children at daycare; apparently they're his posse.)

The boy's lower lip started to quiver and his chin to wrinkle. I called Fang out into the living room and we comforted Lucas, who was even more upset about the impending transition than I am. And we all cuddled together. Even the dog (the damn dog, another post in itself) showed empathy for the first time since he arrived 16 months ago, resting his head quietly on Fang's arm and Lucas's lap, absorbing our sadness and resignation.

Even as I understand its growing necessity, I hate this change.

Still a 3 year-old. . .

Fang sent me this photo from his day with Lucas. Look at the size of that boy!



I just measured, and he's 43.5 inches tall. Freakishly tall.

Growing up too damn fast

I've been horribly remiss in my mamablogging. For friends and family, here are some recent photos of Lucas, who is still 3, believe it or not:

Mowing the lawn

Guess what he'd love to have for his birthday? (Versus what he's actually getting: one more 12¢ goldfish to go with the big ol' fish tank and 4 fish we already bought him for as an early birthday gift.)


Checking out the polar bear at the San Diego Zoo. This is one of the few exhibits where he actually spent some time really looking at the animal, though I suspect it had less to do with the polar bear and more with that awesome little ledge he was standing on.

And now for something completely different

In this video, Fang caught a pretty typical two minutes in the life of Lucas. The boy is just a joy to live with these days.

Another note to JetBlue

I confess: Even after my previous righteous indignation at JetBlue, when I saw them unjustly eject the only African American passenger from a flight for talking too loudly, I've been flying with them because, well, their flights are affordable and practically deliver me to the door of my parents' home.

But.

On my flights earlier this week, I ran across another problem--not as big as the earlier one, but still troubling. My note to them is below.

On both of the JetBlue flights my 3-year-old and I took this week, I was incredibly disappointed to see that it was impossible to tune away from the early in-flight commercials for Dark Blue--especially since the commercials are violent, with one man clearly aiming a gun at another person, then firing the gun and (presumably) killing the person. The first time the commercial was on, I was dismayed that my 3-year-old was exposed to this mandatory programming; after all, I monitor all his interactions with media. However, on the return flight, things were worse, as when I saw the same commercial start, I immediately went to dim his screen--but the brightness controls on the arm of his seat wouldn't let me dim the screen at all. That's appalling.

There were many other small children on both flights. Families appreciate JetBlue's affordability, but we don't need to have our children exposed to such violence. Please consider asking sponsors of this mandatory viewing time to tone down violence for the youngest audience members. At the very least, have the flight attendants provide a warning to parents that the mandatory viewing contains violence, and they should dim their screens (which should be possible at *any* time during the flight, by the way).

Many thanks for your consideration. I'd appreciate a response.

Has anyone else had problems with this kind of forced viewing, when you can't change the channel or dim the screen? When we're on JetBlue flights, I monitor Lucas's channels; when he was younger, I dimmed his screen altogether, but now he knows how to turn it back on.

If I get a response from JetBlue, I'll post it here.

While the cat's away. . .

This is what happens when I leave my boys home alone:

Assorted weirdnesses

Weirdness the first: Lucas has scarlet fever. No, I am not making that up. Yes, he will be OK. But WTF. (Thank goodness we live in an age of antibiotics.)

Weirdness the second: Mr. Trillwing v. the kite:



And yes, that is me cackling wildly in the background near the end of the video.

Feel free to go comment about the incident on his blog.

Weirdness the third: Today my therapist referred to me as her "Leonardo da Vinci patient." I'm trying to figure out if that's a promotion or demotion from "Renaissance woman." (I'm thinking there need to be therapists who specialize in overachievers because seriously, my therapists always seem to become fans as much as elucidators, and I assure you I'm not inflating my deeds during the sessions.) Also, she tells me she is forever in my debt because I introduced her to the TV show Life. I'm here to help.