Days of Whine and (someone send me) Roses

I’ve had an epiphany. My life is a symphony. OK, that doesn’t really rhyme but I was shooting for something that would sound lyrical. I realized, quite recently, that there are a number of predictable melodies that punctuate my days - and nights. Here is a random sampling - and do feel free to hum along if anything seems familiar. “Doggie Dirge” - This wailful tune is one of the first I hear every morning. It emanates from the Scottie/Bichon mix that is calling out to every tree, bush and blade of grass in the backyard as if he hasn’t seen them in years. I suspect the actual sound is created by a combination of him crossing his legs, wagging his tail and rolling his eyes back in his head while wondering how the hell long it can take someone with only two legs to get down those back stairs and open the door. “Teen Daughter” - Anyone who has ever fought to wake up a teenager on a school day probably knows this little ditty... (sung to the tune of Mark Dinning’s “Teen Angel”, minus the tragedy of the car crash, of course)... Teen Daughter... can you hear me? Teen Daughter... can you see me? I’ll fight your hormones for control... now get that breakfast in the bowl! Days around our house progress with the same degree of orchestration needed to launch a Broadway production - or, at the very least, the Space Shuttle. I KNOW that I jump through more hoops than Shamu, move faster than any Andretti ever has and I regularly covet the balance and juggling abilities of Cirque du Soleil. Unfortunately, we are not “du Soleil” caliber around here... but we definitely have the “Circus” part nailed. Other tunes streaming from soundtrack of my life range from such colorful and uplifting spirituals as the “Mom!! I wanted my OTHER Jeans” Jig and “Damn! We’re out of peanut butter” (not to be confused with the less grocery-related Sophie B. Hawkins tune) to our rousing tribute to Rodgers and Hammerstein, “Ohhhhhhh-verflowing... where the water backs up from every drain”. I bet you’re thinking that no one’s life can be this musical, right? I sure thought I was at my limit. Then - I got married. Did you know that husbands are equipped with a “Rio”??? No, mp3 players are not genetic implants (yet). In the case of husbands, RIO is an acronym for “Really Intense Odor”. While men occasionally deliver these odors silently, their preferred mode is to use accompanying sound waves varying from a delicate trill, reminiscent of a flute, to the boom of a bass drum or a car backfire. Evidently, men think we will forget about the noxious emissions if they package them in a multi-CD set. Just when you think things can’t get any worse, they fall asleep - and then comes the lullaby to which I drift off each night. I must give my husband credit for being highly entertaining. Apparently, he doesn’t want to bore me with a milquetoast, breathy serenade every night so he routinely ends my day with the snoring equivalent of a 24-gun salute, a buzz-saw concerto or a herd of buffalo stampeding through the bedroom. If I actually manage to fall asleep, I inadvertently create the opportunity for him to test out his Emergency Warning System. This generally involves a sound loud enough to land me on my feet, ready to rip our sleeping children from their beds and throw them in the basement or bathtub in time to save them from an impending hurricane or other disaster. Then I realize, in the midst of my sleep-impaired panic, that HE is sound asleep. Reassured that we aren’t under attack, I crawl back into bed, exhausted from the rhythm and blues of another day. As I try to fall asleep, I briefly wonder if I should burn my life soundtrack on a CD. Then I decide that an old-fashioned EP is the way to go... i.e., Earplugs and Patience. It’s the best way to maintain your sanity - especially when you’re married to “Phil Harmonic”.