These mildly amusing vignettes of a Catholic family in Omaha with ten children stand out largely because of Teresa Bloomingdale's tiresome efforts to appear totally inept. Noting that Erma Bombeck (to whom columnist Bloomingdale admits she's been compared) has written about her fear of discovering that she is ""just average,"" Bloomingdale says that she herself would love to ""discover that I am average""; and she portrays herself as a ""born loser""--always voting for losing candidates, getting house-cleaning tasks at school functions (when not totally ignored), and being unable to cope with the IRS. (Even looking them up in the phonebook is a trial, to say nothing of figuring out the ""Who Knows"" checks--mysterious names she forgot to enter on stubs.) She seems to accentuate the helpless-female image to support her much-repeated claim of not being a feminist (should she object to chess, she wonders, ""on the grounds that it is feminist"" since the queen is the most powerful piece?). Otherwise, the talk is of babies (planning, naming, feeding, etc.), schools, pediatricians, a cataclysmic tornado, and Catholicism. (""Maternity clothes must be made for Catholics,"" says Bloomingdale, ""because they wear forever""; if you send your kids to Catholic schools, ""budget for the annual raffle""; and when something is lost, call on St. Anthony to help find it.) Labored humor and nothing new, though readers who know her from Our Sunday Visitor may wish to extend their acquaintance.