Jackson is moving us steadily through the dark realm of NO and into that peculiar circle of hell where children hold pointy sticks they found outside to your forehead and say WHY? over and over without waiting for a response. To be fair, Jackson is a good listener, so now Jack has decided that if I were a superhero my superhero name would be The Explainer. I am one of those hovering moms who hates to see her child parked alone in front of the television, no matter how happy he is to be there by himself, and I feel compelled to sit down next to Jackson and watch Justice League or Clash of the Titans or Bugs Fucking Bunny, narrating even the most obvious bits of action. I mean, forget about that sweater that was supposed to be done by Christmas, these shows require my full attention and all sorts of mental hijinks to make Jackson understand that Solomon Grundy used to be a bad guy but he switched sides to help Hawk Girl and Aquaman save Atlantis, which is this big city that sank under the ocean a long time ago, and then Solomon Grundy died, and dying means gone forever, not just sleeping, and Superman and the Superfriends are sad because they're looking at that rock, which is called a tombstone, and the rock says "Solomon Grundy, Born on a Monday," which is a rhyme, when words sound alike at the end. I mean, it's exhausting. But also, now I have a two-year-old who wants to go to the toy store and look for Perseus, Medusa, and Pegasus dolls.

Update: And the symbol of The Explainer shall be the schwa:

Yes, that's me, protector of unstressed neutral vowels, slowly hurtling your sentences nearly soundlessly through the sort-of dark.