We flew out to Colorado over the weekend, because 40 degree weather in New York just isn’t cold enough for us.

This was our first family trip in the post don’t-touch-my-junk era of family travel, and we had visions of our children screaming during invasive pat-downs. But there was no such fiasco. Early morning at LaGuardia, before all the planes have a chance to pile up in the sky, was actually pleasant. Few lines, no rush. With my children bleary and whining, we had the pleasure of being the worst thing about the airport.

In fact, we successfully smuggled two large bottles of liquid and–most dangerous if Irgun were still an active terrorist organization–a giant dish of pastrami wrapped in tin foil. No extra search, no secondary bag scan.

But the best part about the whole experience was that my toddler literally shot his way through the whole security checkpoint. He is, of course, in his belltower-sniper stage of development, where every item is a weapon and every person a potential victim. So he held onto this cluster of legos that he had made vaguely gun-shaped, and he pointed it at every TSA worker he passed (and at me, if you must know). Bum, bum, bum, he said, mowing them all down.

He then politely put his gun in a bin, passed it through the xray machine, then retrieved it and began shooting some more. The TSA agents, clearly not trained well enough to recognize either a firearm or a massacre in progress, just laughed and waved.

Security theater, indeed.