Listen... if it weren't a friendly call... you probably wouldn't have gotten it.

Today was eleven hours of babysitting a busy four-year-old, most of it dashing around in the sun. I came home at 7:00 happy, and covered—no, really, covered—in scrapes (I cut up my knee nicely on the playground, diving to catch Aaron), sunburns, grass stains, chalk dust, sticky soap bubbles, and mud.


Here's what we did to earn those stripes...

- We assembled a jumbo jigsaw puzzle of the Solar System… Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune. No Pluto. This blew my mind a little. (Great, the “my very educated mother just served us nice pizzas” mnemonic device is obsolete.)

- Aaron kept grabbing a bunch of partially deflated birthday balloons and shouting, “Up: Coming soon to a theater near you!” XD.

- Aaron piled into his little red wagon and we went to the Wagen Waschen place to sit on a little green hill, eat gummy worms, and watch car washes in progress.

- We went hunting for a new mysterious park (the stuff of Fountain of Youth and Northwest Passage lore) with no luck. Aaron grew pretty frustrated after awhile so I said cheerily, “Let’s play ‘I Spy’ while we’re looking. What should we try to spot?” Aaron looked at me like I had lead for brains and exclaimed, “The PARK!”

- Lead for brains or Lifesavers for brains. Aaron called me a Lifesaver…brain…head several times. I’ll try not to take that too personally.

- We spent about an hour up to our knees in the creek catching frogs. Muddy, muddy, muddy.

- Come naptime, I couldn’t for the life of me persuade Aaron to lie down for even one minute. He was obviously tired and verging on a major meltdown, so I strapped him in his stroller and took him for the longest walk ever. He fell asleep within minutes and I kept walking until he woke up 45 minutes later because I was afraid he’d wake up if I stopped moving.

- We busted out sidewalk chalk and bubbles at three and those kept us happily occupied until his parents came home at 6:30. We drew sidewalk rainbows, fish, sharks, Nemos, Wall-Es, Eves, Lightning McQueens, Titanics, Bad Icebergs, Big Dippers, Broken Wrists (not my idea!), centipedes, and aardvarks (because ‘aardvark’ starts like ‘Aaron’).



Really, a beautiful day all around. I felt very lucky to spend most of it outside and active, in the company of a little person who proclaimed almost everything we encountered ‘G’MAZING!’ XD.

But no religion is inherently violent or peaceful; people are violent or peaceful.

Excerpts from How to Win a Cosmic War: God, Globalization and the End of the War on Terror by the brilliant, articulate, and really quite good-looking Reza Aslan.

To the extent that the War on Terror has, from the start, been posited as a war of ideology—a clash of civilizations—it is a rhetorical war indeed, one fought more constructively with words and ideas than with guns and bombs. The problem with the ideological War on Terror is that ‘terrorist’ is a wastebasket term that often conveys as much about the person using it as it does about the person being described….


It is easy to blame religion for acts of violence carried out in religion’s name, easier still to comb through scripture for bits of savagery and assume a simple causality between the text and the deed. But no religion is inherently violent or peaceful; people are violent or peaceful.



This book is, above all else, a proclamation: the War on Terror, conceived by the previous American administration as a cosmic contest between the forces of good and evil for the future of civilization, is over. It is time to strip this ideological conflict of its religious connotations, to reject the religiously polarizing rhetoric of our leaders and theirs, to focus on the material matters at stake, and to address the earthly issues that always lie behind the cosmic impulse. For although the grievances of the hijackers may have been symbolic, though they may have been merely causes to rally around, to the hundreds of millions of Muslims around the world who watched the towers fall—who were, in fact, the intended audience of that theatrical display of violence—they are nonetheless legitimate grievances and must be addressed as such. The Palestinians really are suffering under Israeli occupation. Arab dictators are in fact being propped up by US policies. The Muslim world truly does have a reason to feel under attack by a ‘crusading’ West. Addressing these grievances may not satisfy Osama bin Ladin and his fellow cosmic warriors, who sights are set beyond this world. But it will bring their cosmic war back down to earth, where it can be confronted more constructively. It will take away the appeal of the Global Jihadist movement and loosen the ties that have bound so many young, disaffected Muslims together under a master narrative of oppression and injustice. Most of all, it will deny Jihadist ideologues their principal argument that the War on Terror is, in fact, a war against Islam. Because in the end, there is only one way to win a cosmic war: refuse to fight in it.

Birthday girl.

Ask this one about dinosaurs.

So, I know it's been months, but this is still basically the best thing to come out of SNL since Dick-in-a-Box.

My twenty-second birthday is a week from Sunday. I don’t really care for my birthday very much. I haven’t had a birthday party since I turned thirteen, because I love parties, but not parties where I’m center-stage, you know? I like parties where I fetch people drinks and distribute generously-sized slabs of cake, and meet new people and get engrossed in conversations, parties where all the presents and attention are reserved for someone else. Even a party-free birthday can be an anxious experience for me. I feel like everyone’s happiness rests on the decisions I make—“It’s your birthday… what do you want to do?” I don’t know. Normal things, nothing special… what do you want to do?

But I do love that lilacs are always in full bloom on May 17.

Party pooper, I said.

I know quiet hours start at midnight, but that doesn't mean that you need to get drunk right underneath my window and blast god-awful rap music and scream drunkenly for three hours (with no end in sight) right now. Some of us actually have exams tomorrow morning. Early tomorrow morning. Exams we have not had time to study for or even think about because of other claims on our time. I am reading about Kang Youwei and trying to remember why I care about Kang Youwei, and this passage leaps out at me for some reason: "The Empress Dowager ended the 100 Days reforms and ordered Kang executed through death by a thousand cuts." The thought of ordering death by a thousand cuts holds strange appeal at the moment. I can't explain it.

I do not ask him to dance but to sit down.

I—who like all others want to be recognized—feel pure in you and am drawn toward you. I am drawn to where I feel pure. It was not my formulas nor my reasoning that taught you what I am. It was the acceptance of what I am that made you indulgent toward my formulas and my reasoning. I am grateful to you for accepting me at my face value. Of what use is a friend who sits in judgment of me? If I invite a friend to join me for a meal and he’s limping, I do not ask him to dance but to sit down.

ANTOINE DE SAINT-EXUPERY.