You Sir, Are A Moron


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Bluey, the Unreliable Narrator?

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  Currently there is no bigger thing in our house than a fun little cartoon out of Australia called "Bluey." Emmalyn (my nearly four-year-old) loves it. Marieta and I laugh and cry at it frequently. Even Elliana (our five-month-old) loves the music and steals a glance every now and then. Beyond being a lot of fun, it is incredibly heartfelt and emotionally spot on. Currently all 50+, seven-minute episodes are available on Disney Plus and needless to say we have watched them all, multiple times. Marieta identified immediately how much the show's ethos lines up with our style of playful and attachment parenting. Bluey is the six-year-old playfully curious first born kiddo, Bingo is the four-year-old Bluey doppelgänger with a very big heart, Chilli is the too-smart-for–her–own–good, cautious, free spirit Mom and finally, the father dog "Bandit" is very much a variation of me; fun-loving, down for all kinds of silly games and adventures, and maybe cutting a corner h...
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As I type this two drastically different things are happening; I'm in California for a film festival and my mother, Linda Boberg, is lying in a Des Moines hospice bed. In fact she started hospice care the day I flew out here. As you can imagine, I'm experiencing quite the emotional tug of war. When you have a kid you commonly examine where they get certain traits. I've always been able to parse that I get my emotional, empathetic tendencies from my mother and my pragmatic, compartmentalizing skills from my Dad (another raging tug of war at the moment). This list could go on forever, but one thing I've never fully understood is where my creative drive came from. Now with the writing on the wall, it's obvious my mom flipped the creativity switch. It wasn't until my Mom self-published a novel at 65 years old that I understood how creative she is. In the last three years she's self published half a dozen books and written many more. Her first bout of cancer in 2...
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