The Ricker might watch our children someday.

Which is why my wife and I came up with some (initial) ground rules for this occasion.

The Ricker must remain fully clothed at all times. This includes sleeping, walking around the house and taking a hot tub. I'd like the Ricker to keep his shirt on, too, but that may be too much to ask.

The kids can eat what they want. No limits on cheese, no soy milk, three meals a day, plus snacks if they want. The Ricker can keep to his one meal a day schedule if he wants.

No kid pilates, or kid aerobics, or mandated kid exercise.

Chores will be limited. One of my favorite Ricker quotes: "I had kids because I couldn't have slaves."

Let the kids talk. It's not like the Ricker has rules against this, but he has a technique where he manages to fill all the open air with his talking. I'm sure my kids won't want to hear about what he ate for dinner, or how he saved $2 on his car wash.

The kids aren't allowed to mix drinks. Besides, it's tough to mix a good "Ricker."

More to come . . .

The Ricker story of the day.

Yesterday, I talked with the Ricker. He brought up all the usual topics - progress on the house in Cabo (none), progress on the development in the Springs (next to none), what he had for dinner last night (appetizers, since he's anorexic and cheap), and the weather. Then he slipped in this nugget: "So, did you hear about Kubla and the deer?"

Kubla, remember, is one of his cats, the quiet one. The cats are also indoor cats. Yet somehow, in the middle of winter, one of the cats slipped outside and had a run-in with a deer.

Since I'm usually on autopilot for Ricker conversations - "yeah," "uh huh," "wow" - I only caught part of the story, and there were so many details that I didn't want to ask questions. Below, I attempt to recreate the story based on the tidbits I heard:

Did you hear about Kubla and the deer? . . . out in the yard . . . face to face . . . under 20 feet . . . stalking like a panther . . . started to run . . . Kubla jumped on the deer's back . . . 20 or 30 feet . . . into the meadow . . . finally jumped off . . .

Wait, did the Ricker just tell me that his cat (okay, Tibetan mountain cat, but still, a cat) jumped on the back of a deer and rode it for 20 or 30 feet? Seriously? The Ricker sent photographic evidence of the meeting, but unfortunately he wasn't quick enough to snap a picture of the cat riding the deer (or maybe he was too concerned about his cat so he ran after the deer). Now that's something I want a picture of: The Ricker chasing his cat on a deer.

The Ricker is skilled with a hair dryer.

He's probably spent more time working with a hair dryer than the average stylist. I know I've already written about the Ricker's hair habits (though more could be written on the topic, that's for sure). What I haven't written about is how the Ricker occasionally styles Mrs. Ricker's hair. He even calls himself "Mr. Ricker." Yes, for big nights out on the town, the Ricker does both their hair.

You see, the Ricker still wants a blond trophy wife, which is why, at nearly 60, Mrs. Ricker's hair is still big and blond. When she does it herself, it looks sort of layered, sort of retro-70s. When he does her hair, it is 1980s all the way: Dynasty and Dallas, Loni Anderson and Joan Collins. Combined with her three-inch wedge heels, her hair makes her look nearly six inches taller--and like she was cryogenically frozen more than 20 years ago, only to be thawed out and revived in our modern age.

Yes, the Ricker is a control freak, and yes, the Ricker doesn't let anyone mess with his hair, but his fascination with hair is weird. As my brother once observed, nearly all issues with the Ricker and his family can be traced back to the Ricker's obsession with and loss of his hair. I'm beginning to agree with my brother more and more every day.