It took me a while to figure out what was so different about us compared with the other families in church on Sunday. Unlike most of the children in the surrounding pews, my four children didn't eat Cheerios. They didn't ask to go out for a drink. They didn't kick their siblings or tug on our sleeves or have to be taken to the bathroom. In fact, they sat still and listened to the homily.

OK, so they're mostly teenagers. But still. It was nice to be reminded that time passes in ways that make family life a bit easier, at least in certain situations.

What's the price of love? That's the question I've been asking myself lately as I don my rubber gloves and prepare to administer a dose of antibacterial ointment on the business end of my dog, Scotty.

Of course, he can't help that his current malady requires an unpleasant application of medicated ointment.

It's time to pull out the blood pressure cuff, and I'm not suggesting this as a do-it-yourself health care solution, though by the looks of things, it could come to that. Given the reforms suggested so far, "DIY" may be a viable alternative.

As if there isn't enough political news to elevate our national blood pressure, a new study released this week in the Archives of Pediatric and Adolescent Medicine says the blood pressure levels of America's children are elevated thanks to - drum roll, because you're going to be shocked by this - TV and screen time.

Just when you thought it was safe to park your child in front of a television set for six or eight hours on end to watch every manner of questionable - even depraved - human behavior (MTV's "Real World: Cancun," anyone?), it turns out it's not just media content that endangers child health but the very act of consuming media.

"You'd better get over here," the school secretary said. "Something's up with Katie." "Something" turned out to be a post-tonsillectomy bleed that began 11 days after surgery. It continued on and off for four days and included two ambulance rides, several long nights in the emergency department and, eventually, a 3 a.m. emergency surgery, a blood transfusion and a week in the hospital to recover.

Most families would look back and recall kindergarten. We look back and remember "Katie's tonsillectomy."

That was 15 years ago. There have been countless episodes before then and since involving my four children that brought me into the health care system to varying degrees. As any parent will attest, most of us mark time with medical stories, as in, "That was the summer Jimmy had staples in his head" and "That was the year Betsy had a stress fracture and couldn't run."

"What are you doing? I love that song," I say to my daughter as she reaches over to change the radio station in my van. "That's Darius Rucker. He was born to sing country music."

Best known for his lead vocals in the pop group Hootie and the Blowfish, Mr. Rucker's first country solo album debuted at No. 1 on the country charts. Obviously, I'm not the only one who thinks he's meant to sing country.

"I just think this song promotes mediocrity," Betsy says. "It bugs me."

It says something about the times in which we live that my husband and I decreed "no news" on our vacation. It's the only way we figured we could relax.

It's not easy to avoid all that's happening in the world, but it turns out a few ground rules do the trick: no free newspaper at our hotel room door, no Internet surfing on our laptops, no TV news. Nothing that might connect us -- even superficially -- to the world beyond the beach. The only exception to our "no news is good news" pact is my scheduled foray online for the purpose of filing this column.

So here I am, quickly checking to see what newsworthy events have happened in the world while I've been busy reading Harlan Coben. It turns out the content in our news media, much like daytime dramas, doesn't change much over the course of a few days.

They're everywhere and you simply cannot escape them. They follow you to church on Sundays. They sit behind you on airplanes, in restaurants, even in the waiting room at the doctor's office. They disrupt family reunions and days at the beach.

They're the unwelcome but ever-present subtext to countless moments of irritation and unpleasantness. And now that it's summer, they're out with a vengeance, just waiting to raise your blood pressure and steal the peace of mind you hoped to find with a good book in a park, or over coffee with a friend, or while enjoying a movie with your spouse.

It's not politically correct to admit that you don't like them, but let's all confess our contempt for these ruthless killjoys and demand that someone do something about their growing numbers and the inescapable destruction they are causing civilization as we know it.

 “Wow,” my daughter said as she strolled into the kitchen on Sunday morning. “Billy Mays died. It’s officially celebrity death week.”
 
News of the passing of TV’s most famous pitchman had barely broken and we were already speculating, over breakfast, about what might have happened.

Have you seen the television advertisement for the Subaru Impreza that asks the rhetorical marketing question, “What makes a Subaru a Subaru?”

The answer, oddly enough, is not “An Obama ‘08 bumper sticker.”

No, the answer to “What makes a Subaru a Subaru?” is “love.”

In fact, the automaker now has an entire campaign devoted to the theme of “love” as the prevailing emotion evoked by its products. There’s even an ad on Youtube called “Love Letters” in which real Subaru owners read personal letters about their attachments to their cars.

The Subaru slogan struck a nerve with me from the moment I first heard it, and not because I drive a Honda. Rather, what bugs me is our cultural fixation on feelings as the basis for every sort of decision, from which car we park in our garages to which candidate we elect to public office.

Perennial late-night class clown David Letterman has at last apologized to Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin and her family for his "flawed" joke about her daughter.

In my effort to promote civility and manners, I'm not going to repeat the joke itself. If you didn't hear what Mr. Letterman said last week, just think back to sophomore year in high school and recall the tasteless humor of the smarmiest guy you knew. It was that sort of thing.

This wasn't the first time Mr. Letterman got his audience laughing at the expense of Mrs. Palin.