There's a war going on in my house and it doesn't involve politics, religion or money. The war is over that little battery operated gadget known as the remote control, or the clicker, as my husband likes to call it.

The clicker. That handheld device that was supposed to make our lives so much easier. I am old enough to remember a time before the clicker. We actually had to get off of our tushes and change the television channel manually. Which meant the channel did not get changed at every commercial break. That would be too much work. So back then we would sit through the Dr. Pepper and Alka Seltzer commercials, waiting for "The Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour" to come back on.

Nowadays, if I turn my back for one minute I'll come back to find ESPN on the tube. No matter what show I was watching, ESPN magically appears. And my husband will be sitting on the couch looking like the cat that caught the canary.

I don't mind that he switches the channel when I leave the room-- it's just that then he won't surrender control of the clicker back to me. So I miss the rest of my show while he gets to watch sports news headlines. It gives him security, I think, to man the controls like that.

It's bad enough that I have to fight with my husband to get control of the clicker, but now my four year old daughter has figured out that the remote is a pretty nifty gadget.

During the daytime hours, I usually only watch two shows-- "Live with Regis and Kelly" and "The Oprah Winfrey Show". I let my kids watch educational shows on Noggin and Nick Jr. all they want, with occasional but mandatory breaks to go outside and get some fresh air and actually ride their bikes.

So what happens during the first commercial break on "Oprah"? I'll step into the kitchen to get dinner started (just little things like chopping vegetables or thawing out the meat), only to return to find "Dora the Explorer" infiltrating the television screen . My daughter, bless her heart, will be sitting on the couch looking like the mini-cat that caught the canary.

But she's actually worse than my husband, because when I ask her where the clicker is, she says she doesn't know. I'll usually find it hidden behind a couch cushion or something, but by then "Oprah" has ended and dinner is burning.

Yes, sometimes I wish the clicker had never been invented. Sure, it makes our lives easier, but at least I'd be able to watch an entire show once in a while.