I’d like to make a small wager. Actually, I take that back. I’d like to bet all the chocoate in the northern hemisphere that my husband is starting to run around like a headless chicken (By the way, is that even true—I mean, can poultry run around sans skulls? And if so, how come people can’t jog a few blocks head-free?)

Why? Well, let me think—it’s now been over two weeks since I took the kids to Colorado to visit my family. Amid enjoying a two-week kid-free vacation (lucky man), hubby was supposed to get a few things done.

What has he achieved so far? Of course, I can’t be sure, but I’m betting highjacking my blog and a few rounds of golf about sums it up. You see, my hubby? He simply doesn’t know how NOT to procrastinate. So there’s virtualy no way he’s purchased the black-out shades for the kids’ rooms (let alone installed them), gone through the mail, put up the baby gates, or fixed the hot tub.

And the fact that he asked me for the specific time of my arrival on Wednesday, so he could “get the house in order”, leads me to believe our home currently resembles the aftermath of a particularly large frat party. Complete with beer bottles on the floor and socks in lieu of toilet paper. Yum.

Frankly, I am terrified of returning home.

But really—how would one find the time to tidy up and install blinds, when they have oh-so-important tasks like the how-to’s of crafting Ridgeback pool tables to occupy their brain. And you thought I was random.

Hmmm…I wonder how long it took him to write those blog posts, complete with the incredibly warped cut and paste photos? I’m thinking about the same amount of time it would have taken to, say, buy a black-out shade. Or maybe install baby gates.

Hubby, you are soooo busted when I get home. Run, chicken, run.

I think my background in show dogs has really warped me (hubby would be happy to agree).? I mean, I know most parents notice little genetic things they’ve passed on, things like blue eyes, curly hair, etc.? But? are we supposed to? notice the totally random, not-so-cute? stuff?? Because I do.? Much to my chargrin.? And I figure it’s got to be because I’m always analyzing Ridgeback puppies, trying to figure out where they got their ears from, or the color of their? toenails, or maybe from which side of the family tree they acquired the special skill of opening cabinets to go trash-diving.

But? all of? that’s? okay, even expected,? when you’re breeding puppies.? Not so much when breeding humans.

So, all you dog people, beware—-and try not to breed for these things:

Exhibit A:? My husband and my son—take a look at those knees, that posture (Eek!? The physical therapist in me cringes).

Exhibit B:? My toes? and Finley’s toes? (Yes, you need to get past the fact that I haven’t had a pedicure in, oh….never, to appreciate that we both have the same long, crooked, and just plain ugly toes.? Actually, I take it back—I’ve had one pedicure in my entire life.? And obviously, it shows.? But seriously—how do women sit still for those things several times a month?? Sigh…and I wonder why my kids are fidgeters).

And I found this photo, too, from a few weeks ago.? I guess the blog-shaming effect only lasts so long, before lo and behold, there’s a pile of hubby hair in the sink again.

My son had just cleaned the sink the day before, hence the maniacal expression on his face.? He actually made me call daddy so he could give him a good tongue-thrashing over the phone.? Go, Connor!

Leaving the monster sized scissors out was also a nice touch.? Maybe my husband thought Connor wanted to give Fergie another ear, I mean hair, cut.

Okay, so today, I had a mini road-rage episode.? ? Due to some super-human self-restraint,? I didn’t side-swipe? the other car? or even give them a little love tap on the back bumper.? Or shoot them with an Uzi.? But I did flip them the? bird.?

Which, depending on who you are, doesn’t sound all that bad—except that my 4-yr-old son was in the car.? Luckily, he didn’t quite catch on.? His comment was, “Why are you waving at that man mommy?”?

Oh yeah, and “What does jackass mean?”? Oops.? (Although, to be fair, “jackass” was a pretty innocuous word compared to the much more satisfying choices running through my brain).

So, what happened that caused me to flaunt my middle finger so flagrantly?? Basically, the guy wouldn’t let me merge into his lane.? I had a designated freeway entrance lane that was ending, traffic was crawling, and everyone else ahead of this donkey’s bottom seemed perfectly fine with letting folks merge, one-at-a-time.? Not this joker—he deliberately sped up and cut me off —three times.? As if getting one car ahead was going to significantly chip away at his commute time.? Finally,? I honked, whipped around his sorry butt, and then went so far as to roll down the window so he could appreciate my tallest digit in all of its? glory.?

So, maybe it wasn’t the most polite thing to do.? Or the most prudent, for that matter.? But it did make me feel a heckuva lot better.? That counts for something, right?

Of course, as retribution for my transgression, I got to hear “Mommy, why was that guy a jackass?” and similar variations for the? duration of? our painfully slow drive home.

Musical beds.? Sounds kind of kinky, right?? It brings to mind orgies, swingers, or some kind of new-fangled frat party theme.? At the very least, you might think of being serenaded by an acoustic guitar while snoozing.

Yeah, well,? we had a little musical bed action going on here last night, and I can guarantee you, nothing quite that exciting was happening.? Not by a longshot.? Oh, everything started off? okay.? ? ? Hubby and I got in bed, turned off the lights, and had ourselves all tucked in nice and cozy by 10:15 pm.? Nothing unusual about that.? Except that while I stayed there all night, hubby abandoned ship sometime before midnight.? Apparently, he’s been having insomnia issues lately.? So he ended up sleeping on a pallet he’s made in the loft.

So far, no huge deal, right?? But then, I go downstairs this morning for seriously? no more than? a minute.? When I come back up, ready? to crawl? under my nice warm covers? again, who do I find?? Impostors, hogging my bed:

Why isn’t anyone staying in their own bed?

Now, it’s no biggie? if Skye and Connor? help themselves to our? bed once in awhile.? However, I do object to the fact that they look annoyed by me coming back to claim my rightful spot.?

Notice who’s absent from this photo.? Yep–the Ferganator.? She sleeps in her locked kennel virtually every night.? Why?? Because I don’t really fancy being smothered by a hound dog blanket in the middle of the night, thank you very much.? As with all things, Fergie pushes cuddling to the extreme.

And of course, Peanut doesn’ t get to sleep on the bed because, for some reason, it’s hard to fall asleep with fetid old rottie breath growling in your ear.

Hmmm….maybe that’s why hubby chose the pallet—smart man.

If you’ve been watching even one iota of news lately (Me?? I get to watch thousands of iotas daily, thanks to my nurse-aholic baby.? And I don’t even like the news), you’ve heard about kids and the cough medicine recall.? Not to quote Tim Gunn (Yep, I? am a? Project Runway junkie) but—this disturbs me.

What? bothers me the most?? Well, if you answered “the? FDA’s grossly negligent acceptance for years? of a product that has a lower rate of efficacy than? spitting does to control raging forest fires”, then you’re missing the bigger picture.? Oh, your basic premise is correct—the stuff don’t work.? (And actually, it goes beyond that—cough and cold medicines? can be dangerous to children under the age of two).

But? the woeful inadequacy of the FDA? isn’t what slays me about? this whole debacle.? What does? ? It’s simple.? What’s? by far more terrifying to me, in a Stepford Wives kind of way,? is the fact that millions of folks have? downed this stuff for years, and somehow nobody ever noticed? it doesn’t actually produce an uncough.

Creeped out yet?? I should hope? so.? Because the mind-boggling question we have to ask ourselves is this–are Americans really so brainwashed by the drug companies that we didn’t notice we were still expectorating??

Please, somebody tell me the thought process here.? Is it something to the effect of, “Hmmm, I know I’m still coughing, but my doctor and those commercials? assure me this stuff works.? I must be hearing things—I wonder which pill I can take for that?”? I mean, how many times have YOU purchased an over-the-counter cough remedy?? If the answer is more than once, then you too, my friend, have been sucked into that swirling vortex? known as? pharmaceutical propaganda.? Some serious soul searching is in order? (not to be confused with Soul Coughing, the now defunct band whose lead singer collaborated with BT on the? super-cool club hit “Never Gonna Come Back Down”) to get your health care? back on track.

And what gives with this? everlasting faith we bestow upon? the medical and drug communities, anyway?? Is it those commercials that advertise the new drug of choice?? You know the ones—where? shiny, happy? people are skipping around performing all? kinds of? sports they never knew how to play just moments before.? Ads that subliminally say, “take this drug, and you, too, can become a champion sky-diver, even with debilitating arthritis at the age of 90″.? Then at the end, faster than a (‘roided up) baseball pitch, they list the side effects.? And I’m sorry, folks, but I’m not giving the public an easy out? here.? Even at warp speed, I think the human ear picks up phrases like “kidney failure” and “horribly violent seizures” and “long and excruciatingly painful? death”.

? And what about the antibiotic debacle?? How do you think super-bugs like MRSA came to take up residence amongst our communities?? Was it from sound drug practices?? I think not.? Most of the sources I’ve read point the finger at the gross over-prescription of antibiotics that occurs on a daily basis in our country.? I mean, let’s face it—these days, physicians hand out antibiotics for everything from the common cold (here’s a clue–they don’t work) and the flu (it’s still a virus, folks) to hiccups and wrinkles (can you prove its never happened?? Color me skeptical.).?

And before you ask—no, my family members are not complete teetotalers in the pharmacopia of life.? We’ve been known to get hopped up on an ibuprofen here and there.? I also give my son more holistic type remedies. For his cough, he gets horehound (not as? gross as it sounds), elderberry (seriously, can you even say that without? smirking and reciting, “your mother was a hamster and your father smelled of elderberries?”)? and honey? (a spoonful of sugar, all right, but hold the side of medicine).? Heck, I’d go so far as to say I’d take antibiotics if I had an infection—of the flesh-eating variety.? But do we really need to run to the pharmacy for the slightest ache or pain?

For example, take the ibuprofen I just mentioned.? Did you ever consider the reason it makes you feel better is because it interferes with our body’s natural infection-fighting process?? What’s that mean in a nutshell?? It’s simple—ibuprofen delays healing.? And don’t get me wrong—sometimes, taking an Advil is a more viable option than sitting around feeling like a day-old dung heap.? But where is the FDA’s truth in labeling there?? I mean, you can’t buy a simple? box of garlic tablets? without reading a whole plethora of alerts from the FDA (hello, the bucketfulls of Italians who ingest? the stuff? hourly from birth seem to be doing just fine, thank you), but yet the drug companies seem to get immunity.? Something’s fishy in your local sushi restaurant, folks, and it ain’t the day old sashimi (yes, there is such a beast–my husband used to eat it in Chicago.? Hey, it was way cheaper–imagine that.)

So, to make a longish story shortish—I’m not saying? never use drugs.? I’m saying educate yourself.? Because the kind of education the drug companies are giving us ain’t the kind we need.? And? we’re still coughing to prove it.

Usually,? my heart fills with joy when my husband stays home from work.? It’s wonderful.? It’s great.? In fact, usually, I feel like a kid who? just scored with? two? ? toys in? his Happy Meal instead of one—and neither of them broke in less than 30 seconds.

But not today.? Today, I would’ve sent him to work with joy.? Heck—today, I would have sent him to Mars with joy.? Because today marked the commencement? of Whinefest #2, 2008.? And it wasn’t the youngest male in the household whining up a storm.? Nope.? My son is loud, but he ain’t that loud.

Apparently my hubby managed to acquire my son’s cooties.? And the rest of us are paying for it.? Big time.? Because hubby Whinefest means double the volume, double the fun.

And by the sound of things, I don’t think he’s gonna make it in tomorrow, either.?

? Maybe I need to look into? a trip? to Mars.? Do you think it’s quiet there?

But since space travel probably isn’t a very practical solution (and somebody in this family has to be practical, darn-it!), then I guess I’ll be giving my coping skills a good workout.? Let’s keep our fingers crossed for less whining on the horizon.? Stay tuned….

Once upon a time, my husband and I worried.? We worried that our son, who was almost two, had yet to say more than five words.

Now?? Well, he just turned four, and our worries have grown exponentially.? Not because he still doesn’t talk.? Not even close.? Rather, because he never stops talking.? Ever.? In fact, we have uncovered the disturbing truth behind what? was going on in that over-sized toddler head (hey, I can say this—the kid? was wearing a size 3T hat at age 6 months) during all that time.? He was plotting.? And planning.? See, apparently, our little blue-eyed pumpkin? nugget was? gearing up? for the big day when he could start stumping mommy and daddy with an endless array of? unanswerable questions.

I know what you’re thinking.? No big deal—all kids ask questions.? We should’ve been prepared for that.? Right?

Oh, how I envy you in your ignorance and pity me for my lack thereof.

You see, these aren’t normal questions, the types you read about in all the “What to Expect” books.? No, those types of questions are all a big, fat lie, aimed at ensuring that people continue to procreate.? I prepared myself for those types of questions, waiting with something akin to excitement for the day when I could begin imparting little? kernels of wisdom to my? pint-sized apprentice.? Ha.? Instead, not only has my son single-handedly? pulverized? any confidence in my? own intelligence (not to mention sanity), but he’s also forced me to cry out for? the revamping of every single one of my institutions of higher learning.? Obviously, they taught me nothing.? Am I smarter than a 5th grader?? Puh-lease.? Apparently, I’m not even smarter than a preschooler.

Here is a small sampling of the types of questions my husband and I are subjected to on a daily basis:

“Are people going to become extinct like dinosaurs?”? (not only do I not know the answer, but I am not prepared to get into a philosophical and ecological discussion of this nature with a 4 yr old.)

“How do the spark plugs in the car work?”? (Okay, so maybe some of you know the answer to this one, but alas, I did not take auto shop in high school.? Besides, this is one of those questions that feeds upon itself–if you get one answer right, it just generates another question.? i.e. “Okay, so then how does the engine work?? The starter?? The brake pads?” and on and on, until you are tempted to throw the car manual at him.)

“Why doesn’t cotton candy have antioxidants?” (I wish I knew the answer to that one.)

“Why do dogs lick their private parts so much?” (Okay, so I? could actually answer this with something approaching confidence, but really—is this a topic? you would take on with a preschooler?? I think not.)

“If both girls and boys had wee-wees, would there be only boys?” (HUH?)

And my recent favorite:

“Is there something else besides ‘on purpose’ and ‘on accident’?” (My head hurts.? Is “just don’t do it” a cop-out?)

? Oh, how I long for a simple “Why is the sky blue?”

So, tell me, what types of questions do your kids ask?? And by all means, if you have a creative response to one of the questions above, feel free to impart your wisdom.

Aw, look, my son took a picture of Peanut with his new Christmas camera–ain’t that sweet?

Welcome to my house.? Today, we are experiencing a little something I like to call Whinefest #1, 2008.? ? The 2008 is to distinguish this Whinefest from all the other Whinefests that occured in 2007.? The #1?? Well, that’s to distinguish it from the inevitable Whinefest #2, #5, and so on, up to about Whinefest #357.? Of course, that’s only if it’s a good year.

It’s on days like these that I feel like a really bad mom.? A terrible, evil mom, ala Joan Crawford.? It’s not that I have a thing about wire hangers.? It’s just that I have a thing about whining.

Even legit whining.? For example, today, my 4 yr old has the flu.? Do I think he is entitled to whine?? Sure.? Provided that he does it somewhere at least two county lines away from me.? Besides, this is not? your garden-variety whining.? This is whining as enhanced as the typical breast in Orange County.

In all honesty, I can tolerate a bit of whining when he’s sick.? Maybe even more than a bit.? But the whining that emanated from? that? cherubic little blue-eyed? boy today?? Fran Drescher on speed’s got nothing on him.

He whined if he was on the couch. He whined if he was on the floor.? If the TV was on, he whined to turn it off.? Once it was off, he whined even louder to turn it back on.? He whined to take a bath with my husband and our infant daughter, and then he whined that he didn’t want anyone touching him in the bathtub (okay, that sounded way more Michael Jackson-esque than it actually was—the point being, since we don’t run a bathhouse, our bathtub is not really large enough to accomodate a preschooler, a baby, and my husband without people making contact).? He? whined again? when my husband got out in a futile? attempt to stop the whining.

He whined and whined to get a Jamba Juice, of which he promptly took one sip and whined that it “tasted yucky.”? He then whined to taste everyone else’s Jamba Juice, which had to be promptly? discarded when he whined that they also “tasty yucky” and refused to drink them.

I even caught him whining in his sleep.? Something to do with smoke alarms, his striped blankie, and Thomas the train.? It doesn’t matter that I have absolutely no clue what? this means—it still gave me that feeling you get when your dog lifts his leg and pees on your brand spankin’ new Manolos (as if I ever had a pair, but I’ve got a great imagination), right after you let him out to his business.

So, basically, my husband and I spent all day trying to figure out ways to escape this hellish assault on our ears.? We actually argued over who got to run errands.? For dedicated procrastinators, there were some awfully strange conversations going on in our home.? Such as, “I’m going to run and get toilet paper.? I’ll only be gone about five hours or so.? What do you mean, you just got some?? Well, then, I’m going to run and get Thanksgiving supplies.”? My husband even tried to tell me he had to go into work.? On a Saturday?? Nice try, buddy.? I wish I had that option on the? seemingly endless stream? of weekdays when I am the sole? audience for? the Whinefesting.

From where did this Super-Whine originate?? Come and visit my husband sometime when he’s sick, and you won’t have to ask.

My son is now asleep (aha, so God is finally making his presence known), and all there is left to do is pray some more.? What am I praying for?? ? That tomorrow is not the start of Whinefest #2.