You may have noticed that a very high percentage of the blogs out there have turned into parents writing about their kids. I know it's just not that interesting, but when you have a little kid, you just don't get out that much and find other amusing things to write about. I don't think it's a stretch to say that the quality of American writing is worse just because it's such a pain in the ass getting a babysitter.

The news is tiring of it, but oil is still pouring into the waters of the Gulf Of Mexico as you sit and read. I wish I was in the government and somehow in charge of all of this. Here's what I would do.

Vanya is all-in on an initiative to talk like Looney Tunes. For a couple of weeks, he's been known to throw out a "What's up Doc?" as he eats something that requires bringing hand to mouth. It doesn't have to be a carrot. A pretzel, slice of apple, or even a sandwich will do.

Until I got a text message reminding me, I completely forgot that I told my cousin's new husband, "I think it's great that you were willing to marry JJ, given her non-functioning male genitalia and all."

When you adopt a child, especially one from an orphanage in another country, you have an expectation of watching your sort of weak, sickly kid bat last in the batting order and get playing time only when the game is out of hand. And that's a fine way to go through a sporting life. I played baseball for many, many years before working my way out of the nine hole and right field, and I had fun all along the way.

Last night, Mrs. theskinnyonbenny told Vanya to stop doing something or other. He ran over to me, crying, and sobbed, "Mama, you don't love me anymore!" That's how I'm feeling about my blog this month. I've got nothing -- and I mean absolutely nothing -- new going on that would be at all interesting to anyone. Not that this stops me from writing most other months, but for some reason, it is right now.

Every day, the headline on my local paper gives me an update on how the geologists and engineers are going to stem the flow of oil gushing into the Gulf of Mexico. I know the engineers and the geologists brainstorming in a Houston conference room are smarter about these things than me, but when they're down to stuffing the hole full of tennis balls and used baby diapers, I think that maybe I could have come up with that suggestion in a shorter time span than three weeks.

ALately, Vanya has been afraid to be on his own after dark, expressing fear of "The Green Monster." Of course, I can't help but think of Fenway, and the part of my brain that thinks I'm raising a Yankees fan bothers me a great deal.

Here are the ideas that I had for blog posts this week. I couldn't really make a go of any of them, so I'll just fire the topics out in a flurry of bullets.

On Thursday, Lily and Blossom bolted out the front door, as they are apt to do. Several hours later, Blossom had returned, but Lily had not. It was odd for Lily to not make it home, and a little distressing, as she was without her tags since her last bath.

Suppose you have a four year old in the house. And suppose that from time to time, your four year old's behavior leads to a punishment where the whole family forgoes television for the entire night. You might normally end up cooking together and listening to music and having a good night, but sometimes, you might find yourself in need of an activity.

Perhaps you've seen the news about the dumb bitch in Tennessee who put her son on a plane to Russia with a note saying that she's punting on being a parent from now on. I'm naturally a biased observer of this bit of news, but I the only reaction I can fathom is a strong desire to put a fist in her face.