THEY GROW SO QUICKLY ... YEAH ... LIKE A FUNGUS

"Don't blink your eyes or you'll miss them growing up."

Three months ago, as I stood looking through the nursery window at my newborn son, a little old lady touched my elbow and told me this.

I fought the urge to say "Well, your Mom was obviously fond of naps." Mainly because it was rude and secondly because it probably wouldn't have made as much sense to her as it did me.

But the lady was right ... these kids grow up awfully fast.

Granted ... the boy is only three months old now. But he's growing quicker than the time it took George W. Bush to take the oath of office and then demand an Iraqi air strike.

I'm afraid to blink now. I'm scared when my eyes open up, my kid will be gone and in his place will be Andre the Giant.

I bring all this up because we're about ten minutes away from having to buy this kid a new wardrobe. Even though his closet is jammed full of clothes, he's outgrown nearly everything.

At the numerous baby showers held in his honor, he received a slew of clothes for ages 0-3 months.

He outgrew those in twenty minutes. By the time his mother was able to hold him in the hospital, he was ready for the 3-6 months clothes.

Through some extensive research that I've conducted in the privacy of my own home, I have found that the only thing baby clothes sized 0-3 months are good for is dressing up a five pound bag of sugar to take to church. This is because there's not a single kid in the free world that will be able to fit into those clothes more than one time.

There is one other reason to keep clothes that small on hand when you have a newborn. I like to dress him in those clothes and then watch the stitching pull apart and the buttons pop off like a newborn production of "The Incredible Hulk". Then I play really sad instrumental music and make him toddle off into the sunset.

Andy has been wearing 3-6 month clothes now for three months. And some of those are tight on his baby belly. We had a conversation about his weight gain last night.

ME: "Andy ... seriously dude ... you've got to slow your metabolism down."

ANDY: (Stares at the ceiling fan)

ME: "I mean ... I can't afford to buy you a new wardrobe every time we go to the store."

ANDY: (Stares at the ceiling fan)

ME: "So you understand? No more growing for a little while? Maybe a little exercise to work some of those ounces off?"

ANDY: (Stares at the ceiling fan)

ME: "Great. I'm glad we had this talk. I can tell we're going to have a great relationship."

ANDY: (Stares at the ceiling fan and sneezes)

I've asked other parents if their kids grew as fast as Andy has. They put their arms around their six feet tall children with erratic whiskers and say "My boy's going to be in kindergarten next year."

In conclusion, I would like to say that we are raising a nation full of genetic freaks.

But I'm too scared to say it. I'm afraid my boy will beat the stew out of me if he hears me call him a genetic freak.

Yesssss....what you just read was the genesis for my column this week.

Yessssss....it's lame.

Yessssss....it's all I could come up with this morning that didn't revolve around dog shit and Dale Earnhardt.

Yessssss....sue me.

Hey! Speaking of dog shit!!

At 3:10 a.m. this morning, I'm awaken by something that sounds like a dog gagging in a bucket.

I turn on the light and there's Maggie by my bed, vomit on the floor ... and a ummmmm...okay this is gross...but a turd in the middle of the vomit.

My dog's a freak ... we've established that time and time again here.

Apparently, she must have pooped in the house and ate it. She KNOWS she would normally get in trouble for pooping in the house so she has to get rid of the evidence. Since she has no pockets and has yet to become coordinated enough to walk to the bathroom, grab a wad of toilet paper and scoop the poop up ... she eats it.

However, since she's unable to help herself in and out of the doggie door due to this huge contraption on her head, she must have lost control in the house, pooped and ate it.

Amazingly, the poop was all in one piece. Thank God she hadn't chewed it.

I get the funny feeling that if any of you guys were to ever come to my house, you wouldn't pet my dog.

Am I right??

So I get up at 3:11 a.m., go to the kitchen, get the Resolve carpet cleaner, spray the carpet, scrub it with a wet sponge, and go back to bed at 3:14 a.m., thinking that I have 46 minutes to sleep.

Uh uh.

I laid there and kept thinking, "I'm going to oversleep, I'm going to oversleep."

So, my paranoia kept me awake until I finally got back up at 4 a.m. to write the above award-losing spiel about the kid. It's now 4:40 a.m. and I could REALLY use some sleep.

But I have to stay up until 5 a.m. to make sure the wife gets up so she can shower and get ready before she feeds the boy.

Gawd.

I'm going to be exhausted by noon.

This whole Dale Earnhardt being killed thing ... it's really something down here in Alabama.

Nobody at work is a big NASCAR fan ... yet ALL OF US were kinda down about it. I think that's the general consensus in the south ... it's like if Michael Jordan had died.

The guy was respected for what he did. Which was drive around really, really fast in circles.

One thing that made me ill last night though...on the local news they were talking about how any collectible with Dale Earnhardt's name or number on it has flown off the shelves in local stores.

One couple was interviewed who own a little NASCAR memorabilia store here in town. They were young, hippie types who looked to be more into Phish than NASCAR.

The reporter said that this couple had jacked up all the prices of Earnhardt's memorabilia to TWICE what it normally sold for.

DOUBLED the price on all his stuff.

Then they go to the guy that owns the store, who's choking back tears and saying "Ah've been tellin folks all day... that little toy car that sold for $150 on Friday now sells for $300. And they keep sayin' 'I don't care! I got to have me some Earnhardt stuff'!"

THEN...THEN...THEN...he turns around and says Dale was like a member of his family.

Uh-huh. Well excuse me, Mr. Hippie Dippy NASCAR fan ... but I doubt seriously you'd be hawking Granny's jewelry box for twice what it's worth hours after her death, you puke.

I can understand people being upset. Hell, I'm upset and never saw the guy race a single race.

But this idiot was on TV, BLATANTLY admitting that he's ripping off grieving fans.

And these "Fans" are shelling out big bucks for toy cars that you just KNOW they're not going to keep. Noooooo...they're going to turn around and jack the price up on their little cars 100 percent and sell those to the actual GRIEVING fan who truly does want Earnhardt memorabilia but wasn't in the frame of mind to run down to the local memorabilia shop on Monday morning to snatch up whatever was left at twice its original price.

I dunno.

I understand the concept of it all. When somebody dies, anything with their name or likeness on it skyrockets in price for a short time. I just don't think that the majority of people rushing out to buy this merchandise hours after a tragedy are actual "fans", but "entrepreneurs" who are looking to make a quick buck off someone's death.

Maybe not. Maybe I'm wrong.

But I can speak from experience.

I have over 5,000 toys in my home ... many of them in the likeness of someone famous from TV or movies.

I learned my lesson when Pee Wee Herman got arrested for throttling his noodle in public and his toys got taken off the shelves immediately, making them scarce and making collectors come out of the woodwork wanting Pee Wee Herman dolls, paying as much as $150 for them.

I now have at least 10 Pee Wee Herman dolls.

They're worth about $10 apiece. And from what I've seen, his toys are back on the market. I saw one of his dolls at the mall the other day.

I guess you have to strike while the iron is hot.

I can say this ... if Arnold Schwartzenegger ever gets in any kinda trouble or dies or something ... I'm gonna be a rich man. Between my Terminator dolls and my Last Action Hero action figures ... Arnold's gonna put my kid through college.

That is ... if anyone is willing to go on television and cry crocodile tears that he's gone.

I hope like hell somebody does.

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