I love Steven Pinker.

Steven Pinker, a professor at Harvard University, has an article about the evolution and purpose of morality in this week's New York Times magazine.

It's a must read for just about everyone. He's got it spot on.

Back in the saddle.

We're back and right back in the middle of the FRG crazy.

Our unit has been given their orders. We know when they are leaving for Iraq. And the response to this -- you know, this thing that we've all known was coming for ages -- has been no less than completely off-the-wall.

We have suicide threats, child neglect, faked injuries and all kinds of other random nonsense. I understand the the official order makes this all real but I guess I can't quite grok why it makes it so different than what was happening before.

Maybe I'm just naive.

My husband, the moralist.

"What are you doing?"

"Making Munchkin a peanut butter and jelly sandwich."

"Don't use the blueberry jam that's in there."

"Why not?"

"It's moldy."

"When did you notice this?"

"When we got back from the states. It was all kinds of furry. Utterly disgusting."

"So why is it still languishing in the fridge then, exactly?"

"Because I respect life. I'm a giver that way."

Stupid teenagers.

In Germany, setting off fireworks at the turn of the new year is not just tradition but a requirement. It's a lot of fun and CPT Dick and I had commented that we were sorry that we missed it this year.

What we didn't know is that some of the village teenagers took advantage of our absence to do their own combustible merrymaking in our backyard. Which, you know, would be all well and good. Teenagers will be teenagers and all that. I'm sure we expected to find the odd spent rocket and empty bottle of Jager somewhere on the premises. Hell, had we been here, they would have been ours.

But we didn't expect that the idiots would have thrown cherry bombs into our goldfish pond. Yeah, yeah, I know if the guys on "Jackass" do it, the masses are sure to follow. And when you equate for location, that means that the German kids will be doing it two to three years after that.

Their actions had the desired effect. There are now 30 odd dead fish floating under the ice in the pond.

It just infuriates me. I mean, I'd expect that kind of shit in the states. But for some reason, living in this small town where I can leave my wallet in the driveway over the weekend by accident and find it again untouched on Monday made me feel safe from that kind of thoughtless teenage bullshit.

So guess what I'll be doing tomorrow now that the rains have started melting the ice cover? You guessed it -- fishing out dead goldfish.

I'm seriously thinking about keeping them in a bucket by the front door to randomly lob at the teenagers when they are using my driveway to practice their BMX tricks.

A happy mistake.

Whenever you travel with a toddler, you are bound to forget something. I mean, with all the gear you have to lug around with a child, it's just gonna happen. We've found ourselves short of diaper wipes, the boy's woobie, enough juice, favorite toys, an extra pair of pants (always needed on flights) -- you name it, we've forgotten it at one time or another. And yes, we've survived. But often, barely.

But when I realized halfway to the airport that I'd forgotton Munchkin's Sesame Street Platinum hits CD, I was sure we were in for real trouble. How would we manage?

I think I've discussed how Munchkin will not travel by car without a demand for "Es-seet!" And since the sound of Ernie singing about his rubber duckie fetish for the 11 millionth time is far superior to hearing our son scream until he pukes, we have begrudgingly complied with his wishes.

But now we were in for a true test. We were going to be driving several hundred miles in a rental car without any Big Bird. Could we, as a family, survive the experience?

As it turns out, we could and did. Thanks to Sirius.

Our rental car was equipped with satellite radio. We don't have it and haven't heard much about it over here so we were curious. Mostly desperately hopeful that somewhere on those hundreds of music channels, there was an official Sesame Street music station.

And there might have been. But I never found it. As I flipped through, I had to stop at channel 24, Lithium, a grunge, 90's alternative rock station. And once the dial was fixed, it never strayed again for the rest of the trip. Luckily, Munchkin was so entertained by my reaction to hearing the music of my youth (and attempting to head bang a few times) that he promptly forgot about his Elmo fix.

When I first found the station, it was playing Sonic Youth's "Bull in the Heather." And throughout the rest of the trip, we were treated to songs we had almost forgotten. Porno for Pyros. Paul Westerberg. Godsmack. Alanis Morissette before she went to India and forgot she was angry. It was heaven.

As soon as I got home, though I knew I couldn't recreate the Lithium experience, I decided to download what I could to make my own playlist for the car. Here it is:

1. James - Laid
2. Porno for Pyros - Under the Tahitian Moon
3. Filter - Hey Man, Nice Shot
4. Nine Inch Nails - Dead Souls
5. Veruca Salt - Volcano Girls
6. Soundgarden - Outshined
7. House of Pain - Jump Around
8. Tori Amos - God
9. Paul Westerberg - Dyslexic Heart
10. Seven Mary Three - Cumbersome
11. Sonic Youth - Bull in the Heather
12. Marcy Playground - Sex and Candy
13. Cake - Sheep go to Heaven
14. Alanis Morissette - You Oughta Know
15. Alice in Chains - Would
16. Lit - My Own Worst Enemy
17. Harvey Danger - Flagpole Sitta
18. The Wallflowers - 6th Avenue Heartache
19. Cypress Hill - Rock Superstar
20. Lo Fidelity Allstars - Battle Flag

This is my youth. My years in college and right after, when I had some disposable income and no strings attached. And while I drive, I remember that I had my very own Wayne's World/Bohemian Rhapsody moment to "Flagpole Sitta" on the way to Mardi Gras with my friends. I remember the sheer disbelief I felt the first time I heard "Sheep Go to Heaven" -- I ended up snarfing beer out of my nose. And sure, this is bordering on TMI, but I had the hottest sex I can remember to "Under the Tahitian Moon."

It's amazing how music can recreate that heady feeling of freedom. If only for a moment, until your kid throws his sippy cup at the back of your head and screams for the muppets once more.

I kept my promise.

I did.

I went laptop-free for a whole 10 days. It didn't seem that bad once I got over the initial shock of leaving it behind -- a few cups of very strong tea helped with the shakes I got when I realized that I had no way to access the free (!) Wi-fi at the airport. I spent the 10 days much as anyone would while visiting family. I visited. I ate too much. And I snuck onto my in-laws' desktop when I was drunk enough to handle dial-up.

Like a faithful companion, my laptop was there waiting for me when I got home. And though I can't say that I totally missed it while I was gone, I hugged it for a whole 8 minutes after walking in the door.

Which, coincidentally, was the amount of time it took to boot up after such a long shut down period.

But anyway, I'm back. Hope everyone had a very happy holiday!

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

So we made it across the pond.

This morning, so my kid won't have that "just-had-a-haircut" look for the family portrait scheduled for next week, I took him to the barber shop that my husband has gone to since he wasn't much older than Munchkin.

Sure, Munchkin was completely uncooperative and there were tears and a helluva lot of shorn hair that ended up in my cleavage. But the woman who cut his hair offered him a "sucka" and comforted him in that comforting New England brogue that needs no "r's." And as she leaned in close to make sure the air around his ears was cut clean, the smell of clam chowder and freshly baked bread wafted into my nostrils.

It's good to be home.

Are you frickin' kidding me?

"Did you hear that Britney Spears' sister is pregnant?"

"Ummm, isn't she like 12?"

"No, she's 15 or 16."

"Oh, that's so much better!"

"And get this, it's by her live-in 19 year old boyfriend. I was surprised to hear it. I figured she was all set up to be the good sister. And you know, she always seemed okay. My daughter watches her on that Zoey 101 show."

"Not for much longer, I guess."

"They haven't said they are going to fire her. But I honestly hope they don't."

"Are you serious? It's a kid's show. How exactly are they supposed to spin the fact that their squeaky clean teenage star is pregnant?"

"But she's a role model for these girls. So many big stars run off and have abortions. I want my daughter to see that if you make this kind of mistake, you have to own up to it. She's not going to see that if Jamie Lynn Spears just disappears."

Let this be a lesson to you.

My grandmother, the most opinionated woman on the planet, liked to use stories in the paper or rumors she heard in her small town to illustrate to us grandchildren all the ways that we could fuck up our young and ignorant lives.

"Honey, that boy down the road died when he didn't wear his seatbelt. Wasn't even his fault. He was just driving down the road and when another car pulled out of a driveway, BAM!, he died instantly. Let this be a lesson to you."

"She ran around with all kinds of boys when she was just 16. And when she got pregnant, she had no idea who the father was. Now she's on welfare and she has four kids by just as many fathers. Let this be a lesson to you."

"He partied all through college. And guess what? He didn't graduate. All that money, all that opportunity just squandered and for what? Nothing. Let this be a lesson to you."

You get the idea.

Because of a few incidents this week, I've found myself in this Mama Bear role with a bunch of people. Getting wild at the bars, hanging out in the barracks, driving without a license, your basic young-wives-bored-guys-gone-behavior. And I gotta tell you, I must be turning into my grandmother because it was all I could do not to follow up my little lectures with her signature phrase.

When did I get so old and crotchety?

Salon names SGTs Mora and Gray as their persons of the year.

I know a lot of folks on the right have their issue with Salon's coverage of the war. But I found this tribute to SGT Omar Mora and SGT Yance Gray to be really touching.

An excerpt:

It is, of course, impossible to note in a single article the stories of each of the 892 American men and women who died so far this year serving in Iraq, or of the 3,895 who have died since the war's inception or the 28,661 who have been wounded. But in the story of Mora and Gray, we are given a clear glimpse of what our soldiers died for. They did not just die for the mission, as prescribed to them by their superiors. "We need not talk about our morale," they wrote in the Times. "As committed soldiers, we will see this mission through."

They died in service to a country where even the soldier in the field has the right to question the judgment of the commander in chief. They died in service to the idea that political and military leaders must be held to account for their failures and challenged on their facts. A month after their article ran in the Times, the soldiers words echoed through the halls of Congress, when the war's Gen. David Petraeus and its chief diplomat, U.S. ambassador to Iraq Ryan Crocker, came to testify.