Ran into a recently retired co-worker Friday at the ballpark -- literally.

It was during the first Little Guy escape of the night. He had bolted from our seats one row back from the field to the tip-top of the stadium, which is where I went nose-to-nose with my friend. For 10 years, I had sat across from him five days a week, but I was so focused on capturing my little convict that I didn't recognize him at first.

"How you been doing how's retirement wish I could talk gotta run," I panted. Times like that I always wonder why God gives budding track stars to us "mature mothers."

I also remember why I was on home confinement from July 2005 to July 2006 -- Big Guy was between 2 and 3 and really not fit for civilized company.

They're tricky at that age. They'll do credible impersonations of actual human beings for hours. They'll share nicely, say "please" and "thank" and respond "OK" when  you ask them to do something.

Thank God for the Internet. And thank God it wasn't around when I was in college or I'd still be working on my bachelor's. Other than painting my nails, procrastination options were limited back in the 80s. Not so now.

Which is why, faced with a sink full of dishes and loads of laundry one recent  afternoon, I fell into an interactive leadership quiz Bnic blogged about recently. Based on answers to four questions, the quiz determines which of 16 political leaders you are most like. What the heck -- it beats a case of dishpan hands. 

What started as a diversion from domestic duties, though, turned into hours of introspection when the results on a companion military quiz contradicted both my self-image and the results of the political leadership test.
 
Could I be two people -- a peacemaker and a dictator? Did I become this way when I became a parent -- are negotiating skills and militaristic chain-of-command traits necessary for a mom to survive?

The political leadership quiz told me I'm Anwar Sadat. I'd hoped for JFK, but you could do worse than Sadat.  Key architect of peace between Egypt and Israel. A realist rather than an ideologue. Kept things squared away at home before plunging into what could have been domestically disastrous talks with Israel. Nobel Peace Price winner. The assassination thing is a drawback.

Buoyed by an answer that didn't deflate my ego, I moved to the second quiz. My martial doppleganger: Napoleon.

Napoleon?

Some of his skills I admire. "Brilliant planner," his after-quiz biography says.  Others traits -- summarily executing enemies, plundering, looting and generally running roughshod over Europe -- aren't so great. And Waterloo is more than an Abba song. It's also synonymous with ignominious, crushing defeat.

Sadat and Napoleon, Napoleon and Sadat. Who is she, the guys must wonder.

They see Sadat more often. Like this morning, when they were about to brawl over a Thomas the Tank Engine set.  Little Guy had two Annies and Big Guy had two Claribels. Big Guy wanted one of each, but Little Guy wouldn't budge. We reached a peace accord without calling Jimmy Carter.

There are times, though, when I have to be Napoleon. Try getting out of the house with two preschoolers without having a brilliant plan. It could take half the day.
 
Even his dictatorial skills are necessary. What time do we leave for work and school? Not negotiable. Mom has to make the trains run on time. Oops. Wrong dictator, but you know what I mean.

I try to give the guys warning when I need to go Napoleon, but they're not old enough to get it. Or maybe they are and want to haggle anyway, on the off chance Sadat will surface.

The day went to crap when I had to wage war against an army of ants bent on camping on the front porch. I stepped outside with the Raid, and the bugs quickly became the least of my battles.

"Can I go?" Big Guy asked

"Yes, but stay on the sidewalk away from the spray," I said.

"Fine. You don't want me to go. I'll just stay in."

"I didn't say that. I said you could go, but keep away from the spray."

"Why can't I go outside? I want to go outside!"

From there, it was game on for 36 hours. Not, really, but it felt like it.

I was concerned because we'd had a similar go-round the previous evening. I can't remember what started it, but I do remember the tears, the frustration. Isn't Big Guy too old for this?

So I did what any computer-savvy freaked-out parent would do. I Googled "tantrums" and "5-year-olds" and freaked out even more.

Things are getting too freakin' tense around here. I'd try breaking it up with some of Big Guy's knock-knock jokes, but we only know two and we're sick of both.

(I can say "freakin'" I just can't say what truthseekers was going to say yesterday on the Bloggers' Rights post. Yes, I saw that. I laughed, but I was glad you didn't post it.)

At any rate, a blogger has suggested that we add a humor category to our lineup. A most excellent idea, so I have done so.

Feel free to add tall tales and funny stories, real or imagined. Who knows? Maybe the next "Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County" is lurking out there, just waiting for one of  y'all to write it.

And if you have any knock-knock jokes, you can leave them here.

If NBC still is looking for candidates for the cast of "Baby Borrowers," I have two I'd be happy to loan them.

Come, teens, spend a few hours with my guys! Try to eat lunch as they clamor for more juice, more milk, more cheese. Attempt to bathe as they bang on the door. Plead with them to go sleep so your dead-dog tired self can speed through dishes and decluttering in hopes of snoozing more than four hours.

I'll even let you have my house for the duration. It's not as nice as that one NBC loaned you, but after a while you get used to the chocolate-milk crunch as you walk across the carpet. You'll have to pay the rent and bills, though.

Doesn't sound like a lot of fun, eh?

That's what The National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy is banking on. 

"It looks like a lot of other shows teens watch, but they get also this incredible message," National Campaign senior manager Amy Kramer told The Associated Press. "It's not a 'very special' episode of something. It's not hitting them over the head. It's like real life."

There are certain things you don't do in life.

You never stroll through a newspaper late on a Friday and say, "gosh, the police scanner sure is quiet today."

You never sidle up to a pitcher before the bottom on the ninth inning and ask, "Have you ever thrown a no-hitter before?"

And you never, ever, ever say, "What else can happen?"

Here's a new one for the list: Never blog about your kids' ick-free winter. As sure as you do, within months every bug on the West Coast will land on them. For that matter, bugs will come from countries far and wide to join the party. Bugs will merge and mutate just for the joy of torturing you.

I speak from bitter recent experience: Four weeks, four doctor's visits, three sick days. I've seen Red Beard the Angel, the chatty security guard at our clinic, so much lately that he's about to land on my Christmas card list.

Either Bill Sharp was being facetious or he has way too much time on his hands. Not to mention a nasty soft-drink addiction.

In a letter to the editor last week, Sharp complained about high soda prices -- $11.26 a gallon if you buy 20-ouncers at a convenience store, he calculated.

Forget gasoline -- soda gouging is causing inflation. "So who are the real robber barons of our society?" he asked. "Those who control oil or those who control the soda industry?"

First off, I have trouble relating to anyone who buys anything at a convenience store these days. I've been toting a Thermos for almost three years to avoid outsourcing my coffee.

Secondly, food banks are so short on stock nationwide that many are asking local gardeners to plant a little extra and donate it. It's not a new idea by any means, but it's needed more this summer, as food costs and demand soar.