Any time a company says there is something wrong with a product, it's scary. But the massive Ford recall of nearly half a million minivans and SUVS is absolutely terrifying for parents today. These are the kinds of cars that they drive every day! This is the way they drive their kids to daycare or maneuver the carpool to school!

The cars being called off the road and into service shops run the risk of fire or a loss of power. But before you panic, here's what you have to know:

'Tis the season for mice to turn up in your house, like those unwanted holiday guests who outstay their welcome. Apparently in some parts of the country (hello, East Coast), it's been so rainy that the critters are being driven out of their soggy little holes in the ground and coming into our nice, dry homes in greater numbers than usual this year.

A few of my poor friends at work have had to deal with this phenomenon firsthand, with one colleague having an army of mice move in until she could get an outside exterminator to plug up all the holes in the walls in her apartment in New York.

It reminds me of the time I suddenly found myself face to face with my own mouse intruder in my own Manhattan apartment. I'd like to think I came up with a pretty creative -- and obvious -- way to scare the little guy off.

Look at this black Forest Canopy Bed from Anthropologie. Gorgeous, isn’t it? I mean, it’s like a fantasy -- so ornate, so fabulous, such a great way to ensure dreams of sleeping in an enchanted forest.

Or so I would have thought two years ago. Now, I look at this thing and think, "Forget it. One of the kids will lose an eye on that branch at the foot of the bed. If they don’t get impaled first."

It’s not about finding it impractical. It’s that my very tastes have changed since having kids. I can’t see the beauty in things, because all I see is the danger, or the stains, or the frivolity of dropping five grand on something when that money should be going into a 529 plan.

Is it just me, or does having kids completely reboot your aesthetic -- and rob you of the ability to simply enjoy?

There are a lot of stereotypically feminine gifts I will toss back if I fish ‘em up. Box of chocolates? My tush is big enough, thanks. Bath products? At this point, I only take baths when one of the kids says “I don’t want to! Will you come with me?” (Which is lovely, but not conducive to relaxation.) A spa day? I would seriously sooner have a root canal.

And scented candles? The bane of my existence. A fire hazard that stinks like a flower threw up? No, thanks.

And now I've been given the best argument against scented candles ever: They’re as bad as cigarettes. So if you’re the type to flap your hand across your face when you exit a building past a crowd of smokers, well, get flapping in the Yankee Candle store, too. And prepare yourself, scented-candle-burners: I'm bringing a jumbo-sized hand-fan to your sickly-sweet-smelling home.

So what’s so bad about scented candles?

My husband knows that before we make any major home purchase, there are two things I’m going to need: My drawer full of Bed, Bath & Beyond 20 percent off coupons, and my back-issues of Consumer Reports. My mom may not have taught me to keep the house clean or separate my laundry -- she’d rather be writing ... and who can blame her? -- but she did teach me to stretch my pennies 'til Abraham Lincoln looks like Gumby.
 
Consumer Reports is a non-profit organization that tests household products and rates them by durability and whether they’re worth the money you pay for them. They don't take ads, and they don’t care if companies get mad at them. So when it’s time to buy a vacuum cleaner and you want to know if Dyson really never loses suction, Consumer Reports is your impartial third-party, removing the hype from the infomercials.
 
And today (July 5, until 3 a.m. EST on July 6), they’re free.

This story couldn't be more sad -- or more horrifying.

An unsuspecting Idaho couple, Ben and Amber Sessions, bought what they believed was their dream home, only to discover after they moved in with their two young children (and another on the way!) that the house was infested with hundreds and hundreds of snakes.

Why were there so many snakes? The five-bedroom house had likely been built on top of a garter snake den where the nonpoisonous reptiles congregate in the fall and winter, rendering the house essentially unlivable: The Sessions could hear the snakes slithering inside the walls; and their drinking water reeked of the foul-smelling musk that the snakes release as a warning to predators.

But here's the clincher: The real estate agent who sold the Sessions the house knew about the snake infestation all along and still convinced them to buy it.

We've all had the experience of being at a pal's house and thinking, "Well... that doesn't seem safe." We steer our kids away from the trampoline/glass coffee table/sheer cliff, and proceed on home.

But what if we took another tack? What if we called the county and demanded someone change their home to suit our comfort levels?

This is exactly the kind of thing going on right now -- with backyard tree-houses. They’re a classic bit of American life, the kind of thing childhood dreams are made of – and often, for the lucky among us, where kids really do go to run their imaginations, or just read comics in the lazy summer heat.
 
But one family’s annoying experience shows how today’s world seems to be sacrificing too much in a quest for a bubble-wrapped childhood. The question is: Don't I get to make the safety rules in my own home?

When Mother’s Day rolled around, I went to the plant nursery so I could finally get a few touches of green around this abode. Since giving life via my body, twice, I hadn’t given life to anything non-human. It was time to finally replace my long-lost, hummingbird-attracting fuchsia plant.
 
But when I cast my eyes about, I no longer saw colorful living works of art and beautiful little oxygen factories. I saw a sea of worry and frettitude. Stuff my little crawler could pull over, stuff in her mouth, and otherwise devour, and that my slightly less-little toddler could run smack into. What plants, soils, fertilizers, and flowers would be least likely to maim my children? I didn’t know -- so I came home plantless.
 
And called Melinda Myers. A radio and TV personality and author of more than 20 gardening books, including Can’t Miss Small Space Gardening, she knows all about blossoms, dearie. Here’s what she had to say.