Ten years ago, when I was pregnant with our first child, my husband and I hired a private dog trainer. Our puppy, Blue, was six months old and our veterinarian recommended someone who would work with her one on one.

We were too dumb to realize what he really meant, which was that Blue would never be accepted in a class. Not that she couldn’t play nice, but he was quite aware that we wouldn’t be able to get her to stop playing period. We probably should have got the hint when he prescribed her tranquilizers.

Labrador retrievers are, by nature, as hyper as Looney Tunes’ Road Runner. On speed. This puppy of ours bounced off the walls. She was particularly crazy in the evening when my husband and I got home from work. Which is, of course, when the $55.00 an hour trainer would swing by.

The first night the trainer was here, she explained that Blue wasn’t peppy because we had been gone all day, but because dogs naturally get a little wacky at twilight. Apparently wolves are most active at that time of day, and because our puppy was a distant relative, we could blame them. Stupid wolves. I wondered if I could also blame Blue’s family tree for the holes in all of our underwear and my ficus tree that was chewed to a stump.

Wolf or no wolf, the trainer lasted about a month before she quit. That’s how bad our dog was. Someone making $55.00 an hour, threw up her hands, walked out the door, and told us our dog was untrainable.

Blue is ten and she’s finally calming down. But now, there’s a new wolf in town.

Our six year old son is also affected by twilight. Every night after dinner, he becomes a little bit nutty. He jumps off the furniture and runs through the house laughing and screaming. He drives his sister crazy. He drives us crazy. He is an unstoppable goof. We call him Wolf-Boy.

So help me, if he starts chewing on our underwear I’m throwing up my hands and declaring him untrainable.

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It has been reported that Angelina Jolie was recently tattooed with the longitudes and latitudes that mark the birthplaces of all six of her children.

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On yesterday’s Oprah, Dr. Oz discussed numerous differences between men and women.

He started by introducing us to two lovely people who had dedicated their dead bodies to science. Two people who allowed themselves to be dissected, because they knew it was the only way they could get Oprah tickets. Here is where Dr. Oz massaged the dead woman’s bladder. He later walked across the stage and tickled the man’s prostate.

This is Brian. Brian discussed his hair transplant and how he had a section of scalp removed from the back of his head and moved to the the front. You can clearly see the improvement between his before picture, which looks like a mug shot, and his after picture…which looks like a mug shot with hair.

This is Jennifer, along with her husband, and her son Benjamin. Jennifer noticed that after her son was born, her memory started to fade and she would forget important words like, “tomato and chandelier”. Dr. Oz confirmed that Jennifer was indeed suffering from “Mommy Brain”. Apparently, babies suck the life out of their Mother’s noggin by stealing her omega-3 fats. As you can see, Benjamin was quite enthralled with Dr. Oz’s theory. Either that, or all that brain sucking really wore him out.

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I saw my son standing behind his sister, sticking his tongue out at her.

I pulled him into another room and said, “Don’t stick your tongue out at people. It’s not okay to do that, because it’s really not nice.”

He quickly replied, “But, it is okay, because she didn’t see me do it.”

Which means it’s okay that I took $20 from my husband’s wallet when he went to bed early. Right?

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