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.

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.

My friend recently told me she’s a good wife, but not a good housewife.? It got me thinking (always a dangerous? pastime in our home)—what the heck is a housewife?? I mean, I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sure I? married a man, not the outrageously? over-priced tract house with the world’s most minuscule kitchen? in which? we currently reside.? Although? I suppose I could be wrong—we did have a helluva? lot of booze? at our wedding.

Seriously, though, I think the? term “housewife” epitomizes all of the outlandish expectations men have? of their wives–for example, things like mopping the floor daily (sorry, I don’t live in a Brady Bunch rerun), or cleaning the toilet until it sparkles (I’ve never really understood the need to clean an appliance that will be instantly sullied by human excrement within hours of washing it), or discarding dirty toenail clippings (hey, they’re biodegradable).? ? I don’t know about you, but my wedding vows were to love, honor, and cherish—not love, honor, and pick up thy husband’s dirty undies ’til kingdom come.? And I’m pretty sure the latter statement would have penetrated even? the haziest of? booze-impaired brains.

So, instead, I like to call myself a stay-at-home mom, or SAHM, for short.? (or, if you read dooce, it’s actually an acronym for various profanities–which is equally apropos on any given day).? Honestly, though, I? have no problems with this moniker.? I do stay at home—well, except for the plethora of playgroup meetings, music class, gym class, grocery shopping, dog walking, outings to the zoo or Legoland or the beach, picking up the dry cleaning (okay, so I’ve only done that once in my entire married life, but it sounded good), etc, that force me to vacate my? residence for seemingly hours on end.? And I am a mom, unless those two little fiends living in my home were beamed? down by aliens, whose sole purpose? is to? study the effects of supreme daily chaos on the human body? (boy, are THEY getting an eyeful).?

Come to think of it, I had that second? fiend au naturel—and since certain body parts, which shall remain nameless, will never be the same, I suppose the kids are legit. (In case you’re wondering, “au naturel” means no drugs, no hospital—just my own house, my own bed, and a leather strap to bite down on—oh, wait, my husband is now telling me that was actually his arm.? Oops.)

But note, the title is stay-at-home mom.? Stay-at-home MOM.? The problem being—this title is an evil lie.? Or, an evil lie of omission, if you will.? Because implicit in this title is a whole list of other things we SAHMs are expected to do on a daily basis, things that are far less appealing than just being a mommy.? Let’s face it, you hear the term stay-at-home mom, and and what do you envision?? Images of smiling, cooing babies,? pictures of pristine moms in Jimmy Choos ruffling their equally pristine toddler’s hair, thoughts of decked-out MILFs and beaming, spotless children skipping hand-in-hand through the meadows, right?? ? Wrong.? It’s all a bunch of cow manure.? Essence of steer.? Meadow muffins.? It’s a load of poppycock propagated by men so that women will agree to be stay-at-home moms in the first place.? They cunningly neglect to mention all the fun extras that come with the job.?

For example, would you sign up to be a stay-at-home? poopy bottom wiper?? A stay-at-home dog barf cleaner?? A stay-at-home dirty undie scooper upper?? I think not.? I mean, seriously, who is going to pee their pants? with excitement? at the prospect of? being a stay-at-home snot sucker outer?? (There may be a lot of pants-peeing going on around here, including my own due to the above-mentioned baby-damaged body parts, but I can guarantee you it ain’t out of? glee over mucous).? Or a stay-at-home-hubby’s-nasty-hair-clippings-in-the-sink cleaner?? ? The last time I checked, my Master’s degree did not? adequately? prepare me for? such topics.? Maybe I should petition my school.

One time, my husband? proclaimed that he would make a great stay-at-home dad and a great househusband.? ? I? actually think I heard God laugh out loud.? Either that, or one of the dogs blasted us with another of those high-pitched farts.? Don’t get me wrong—my husband is an extraordinarily devoted dad, and an awesome husband and dad in so many ways.? Unfortunately, none of? those ways? involve? either a single? iota of ? consistent discipline or acceptable human cleanliness.? Basically, our house would implode within a week of leaving him home with the kiddage and doggage.? Think Home Alone, only? set in Bosnia instead of the suburbs, and you’ll get the picture.

So, please, make sure you read the fine print before signing on to be a SAHM.? That way, you can start learning how to be a stay-at-home-crusty-booger-wiper-offer far, far in advance.

Hi.? I am a procrastinator.? I admit it.? In fact, I admit it freely.? What’s more, I like to talk about procrastinating.? A? lot.? Why, you ask?? Because talking about the things you procrastinate about is the ultimate procastination.? It’s like procrastination nirvana.

? What kinds of things do we procrastinate about at our house?? I don’t think there’s enough space on the internet to list? them all.? Honestly. But I’ll try to throw out a few.

Some procrastinations are small.? For example, I procrastinate about buying various items at the store.? Toothpaste (yes, friends, that not-so-fresh-breath is sometimes me),? toilet paper (according to my husband, you can cut up used socks and use them instead—a fraternity house secret), and food (hey, we all needed to go on a diet anyway), just for starters.?

Sometimes, the procrastinations are bigger.? Like the fact? that we have yet to get? our daughter? a social security number or a birth certificate.? The midwife told us those in power like this to be done within 3 weeks of the birth.? Alas, our daughter is over 3 months now, and still without a country to call her own.?

This may not seem like a big deal, unless you knew that we had a home birth.? Apparently, if we don’t do this at some point, she will not be considered a citizen of the United States.? What I am wondering is, is it possible to be a citizen of nowhere?? How does that work, exactly?? I mean, I ‘ve heard of dual citizenship, but never no citizenship.

? But I digress (or, you might say, I procrastinate about procrastinating).? We also procrastinate about doing laundry (it saves the environment), replacing brake pads (we’re single-handedly keeping the rotor-making companies in business), and picking up dog poop (it’s free fertilizer, if you leave it long enough).? We didn’t have a crib mattress until our baby was two months old (hey, I needed an organic one, and you actually have to drive further than a mile to get those), and as for cleaning out the refrigerator?? Well, making your own penicillin does have some benefits, I guess.

Why do we procrastinate?? I honestly don’t know.? I mean, it’s not as if I really believe the toilet paper fairy is going to come make a delivery at our home (unless she just made a drop off in our trees—but I’m pretty sure that’s the kid who lives down the street, the little bastard).? And it’s not as if we think our friends are going randomly drop by and say, “Oh, I was just passing through, and thought I would? bring you? a crate of Charmin–it’s so squeezably soft, you know.”? (but friends, if you’re reading this, it’s not a bad idea—especially if you think you might need to use the john).

But the beauty of procrastination is, you can do it anytime, anywhere, anyplace.? In fact, I was able to procrastinate on about a billion projects, just by writing this blog.

My baby is part of a conspiracy.? Seriously.? The goal of the conspiracy?? For me to never, ever nap again.? Ever.

I know what you’re thinking.? Not napping is completely normal when you have a baby, right?? Some babies are just fussy, want to be held all the time, have extra needs.? But, see, that’s not the case with my little Finley.

I know, I shouldn’t complain.? I have a wonderful baby.? Really, she’s great.? What you would call, for the most part, an easy baby.? ? I mean, what mom in their right mind would complain about a baby that started sleeping 8-9 hour stretches at night at 6 weeks old?? In fact, my little one goes to bed before 6 p.m., gets fed once before I go to bed, then isn’t up again until 6:00 in the morning.? In fact, it’s almost like we don’t even have a new baby at night.? It’s like she’s beamed up at sun-down and then beamed back at sun-up.?

So,? I know what you’re thinking now.? You’re thinking, this baby sleeps so good at night, I bet she doesn’t nap at all during the day.? Or she fusses a lot.? Or screams.? Or demands lots and lots of trains from Santa, even though she already has so many that our 3 car garage is going to be declared a train depot soon.? No wait–that’s my four year old son.

At any rate, none of the above is true.? She rarely fusses.? She take several nice naps during the day.? All in all, she is a happy, beautiful, easy baby girl.

So, why is it, that this wonderful sleeper will never, EVER take a nap when I want to nap as well?? I mean, on a typical day, she will take 3 or 4 hour plus naps, and yet, when I go to lie down and take a little snooze myself, that same nap-aholic baby decides sleep is over-rated.? Seriously, what are the odds that Finley just randomly decides not to nap on the, oh, 50 or occasions when I’ve tried to nap??

And just to rub salt in the wound—if, on any occasion, I’ve thought about napping but decided not to? chance it, knowing she won’t nap—the little turkey takes? a marathon 3 hour nap.

? I’m telling you, it’s a conspiracy.? I don’t know who, why or how, but when I find out, I’m sending Finley to their house.? So I can nap.

My three-year old’s constant whining makes me want to kill something.? Seriously.? Why is that?? You would think that parents would be programmed to at least tolerate whining.? I mean, how much easier would life be as a parent if your kid’s whining didn’t bother you?? Or better yet, if your kid’s whining sounded just like baby cooing to your ears.? “Oh, how sweet, little Johnny is whining about not getting another Thomas the train again.? How adorable!”? What? a killer biological adaptation that would be.? Of course, if that were the case, I think people would have a lot more kids, which would? lead to more planetary over-crowding.? Hmmm….so maybe that’s why the sound of my son’s whining makes me want to drop kick him to Cambodia.? That Darwin sure is a sneaky bastard.

? Seriously, though, have you ever noticed how whining can drive even the most calm and rational parent into a crazed frenzy?? ? I swear I have heard even the most laid-back of moms say things like “Jamie, if I hear you whine one more time, I will take? every single toy you own? and? one by one throw? them into? a huge bonfire and make you watch them burn!? until they die!? What’s more, I will flush your fish down the toilet, lock you in the closet until daddy comes home, and then daddy and I are going to take you to the used toddler store and trade you in for a non-whining variety (as if such a thing exists).? Oh yeah, and I’m going to take away your FRUIT SNACKS (gasp)!

Which leads me to the lies we tell each other as parents.? Really, wouldn’t things be easier on all of us if we could just be honest?? Instead, we? all feel compelled? to try to be super-mom.? Which basically means we lie.? A lot.? For example, if I had a quarter for every time I heard “Oh, I’m just feeding little Susie this because I’m afraid she wouldn’t eat anything otherwise”, I sure as hell wouldn’t be worried about the mortgage man coming to take my house at any minute.? I mean, do we really think our kids are going to starve to death if we don’t feed them goldfish, m & m’s, chips, or fruit snacks??

The straight answer is no.? It all goes back to the whining thing.? What we are really afraid of is more whining.? Little Susie wouldn’t starve, but she would probably whine enough to send her mom back to rehab.? And since none of us are hard-wired to deal with whining. we lie.? We also don’t want other parents to know our kids whine.? Which is ridiculous.? All kids whine.? But it seriously turns into some type of competition at the park or gym class.? We think, “Oh, look at little Tommy—he sure is having a bad day.? Of course, my little man is being an angel.”? Of course, the little man in question probably has his mouth stuffed? full of? Fruit Snacks.? If we could all just admit that we use food as a bribe to stop whining, I think life would be so much easier.?

I’ll admit it—we used to use Fruit Snacks as a bribe for our little guy to sleep good at night.? Did they work?? You bet.? Unfortunately, they had the added effect of making him act like a crack addict all morning long.? I don’t know if it was the artificial colors, the sugar, or the….what the heck else is in a Fruit Snack, exactly?? ? Anyway, we’re on to something much more nutritious—-cookies (hey, the box says organic).

So, anyway, I think there’s some money to be made in this whining thing.? Hypnotists should forget about? all that stop smoking and over-eating crap.? It’s so passe.? Why not offer sessions to parents that will make them enjoy whining instead?? I know I would be there in a heartbeat.