Who was it who said not to EVER leave your house without looking your best, or you'll run into somebody who you DON'T want to see looking your worst? Well, whoever it was, they're either a prophet or a genius.

Yes, my friends, this unfortunate thing happened to me just the other day. Monday, in fact. See, in my SAHM (Stay-At-Home-Mom) life, I frequently look like the back end of hard times. Now, that's not BECAUSE I'm a SAHM. On the countrary, there's a woman in my neighborhood who, during her SAHM days actually dressed in the latest casual fashions, wore make up and fixed her hair EACH AND EVERY DAY..even if she WASN'T going to leave the house.

Doesn't surprise me that her SAHM days are over and she's gone back to work. She obviously didn't have what it takes to be a successful SAHM. Successful SAHM's have few fashion and grooming rules, but the ones we have are etched in stone.

#1 Clothes worn for every day must be purchased at Wal-Mart or Target - preferably on sale, and must be made of a fabric either dark in color or of a loud enough print it makes your eyes water. This is so the inevitable stains don't show. Oh, it ALSO must be wrinkle free, or at least able to be MADE wrinkle free with just a few turns in a dryer with a damp washcloth. SAHM's firmly believe a hot iron is just a trip to the burn ward, waiting to happen.

#2 Hair must either be short enough to just wet it, slick it and go (my own personal coif) or long enough to pull it back into a ponytail or clip. Brushing is optional, but encouraged...after all, we DO have standards.

#3 Make up should be applied on an "as needed" basis. As in "Am I going to see anybody I care enough about impressing to make the effort?" If you think carefully about this decision, you'll find that almost NO situation requires you making the "wake-up to make-up" effort.

Think about it....your husband and kids? You've already LANDED the husband, and, if he's like most men, he's not going to make the effort it takes to get a divorce and a new wife. It's the old "The Evil you KNOW is better than the evil you DON'T" scenario. Besides, he and the kids will NOT notice if you've smeared on the war-paint or not, trust me. No, they'll notice you put mushrooms in the spaghetti sauce, but you, all dolled up and looking gorgeous? Not so much.

The grocery store? Please, you KNOW each and every one of those clerks would be bare-faced in a New York Minute, if they didn't have to go to work and look "presentable", and there are even some customers with lower dress codes than SAHM's. I'm thinking as long as you're not strolling down the soup aisle in your pajama bottoms and houseshoes, you're ahead of the game.

The gynocologist? Listen, what he's concerned with is at the other end....if you've got a gyno who spends his time looking at your FACE, it's time to change doctors.

The dermotologist? They actually ASK that you not wear make-up to your appointment...my kind of place, right there. They DON'T say you should wear your daily slob clothes..but nobody expects you to dress up when you're make-up less. That's just against the natural law of things.

Nope, about the only time a SAHM should look like she just stepped out of a band box is when there's a chance she'll see someone who's opinion she truly cares about. Of course, I'm talking about a sworn arch enemy.

I had the unfortunate experience of coming face to face with my own personal nemesis the other day in the office of my youngest son's high school. No, he wasn't in trouble...at least he wasn't BEFORE he made me stop in the middle of laundry day and bring him his forgotten art portfolio.

Youngest son calls me and asks if I could please bring him his portfolio, it's in his room, oh and by the way - he has to have it within the next 15 minutes.

No problem...I grab my purse, car keys, the portfolio, stuff Layla in the DogHair Mobile, and we're OFF! No, I didn't take the time to change clothes and I'm dressed in my usual Monday "climbing Mount Laundry" day attire: baggy old jeans, stained sock money queen t-shirt and no-make up - I'm proud to say I DID think to change my houseshoes to Dollar store flip-flops.

The wind is blowing something fierce and by the time I man-handle the portfolio out of the car and into the school building, my hair looks like Harpo Marx on a bad day. I blow into the office and there "she" sits, sitting behind the desk, obviously filling in as a temp for the day.

Now hindsight is 20/20...at least mine COULD be if my rear-view mirror didn't have dog snot on it. I know this woman works as a temp for our school district, it just never crossed my mind that she'd be working at THAT particular school at THAT particular time. I mean, what are the odds? If you know me, you know the odds are pretty good..almost a sure thing, in fact.

Before I could stop myself, I piped out a cherry "Hello" - I don't do well under stress - practically THREW the portfolio at some unfortunate student volunteer and high tailed it out of that building as fast as my .99 cent flip flops could carry me. I got to my car and immediately flipped down the visor mirror, hoping to see that I'd somehow turned into a natural beauty overnight and didn't look as bad as I thought I looked. No such luck.

I'm not sure what lesson I can learn from this. I guess I COULD start spiffing up every day like my neighbor, or, I COULD contact my arch enemy and extend the olive branch of peace, so I didn't live in fear of running into her again.

I think I'll do the mature, responsible thing. If Youngest Son forgets anything else, I'm just gonna leave him swinging in the breeze. Yep, that's sounds right, to me.

So far, I'm pretty sure Layla has tried to give me Bird Flu twice in the past two days.

The first time was when I found her happily gnawing on a bird's head. Thankfully, the bird was dead at the time. I was lucky enough to find the rest of the body stuffed under our gas grill. Don't think I'll be cooking any CHICKEN on that thing anytime soon.

The second time was much more terrifying, and, honestly, I'm not ashamed to admit, I got a little hysterical about it....big surprise. Roger and I noticed a baby dove on our pool deck last night. The Momma Dove was keeping vigil close by (I'm assuming it was the Momma Dove, there was only one of them and I feel fairly certain Daddy Dove was in a bar, watching the hockey playoffs and flirting with the waitress. Male traits run rampant through all species, you know.)

Anyway, thinking the baby dove was most certainly deceased, we were delighted to discover it was merely taking a break from the stress of trying to learn how to fly - it MUST be hard, afterall, I mean, can YOU do it? I didn't think so.

So, Roger grabbed his gloves and moved baby bird to a fenced in side of our yard where he'd be protected from Layla as well as any neighborhood feline assasins. We hoped for the best, but we've been here before and were expecting the worst.

The next morning, Youngest Son ran outside to check on baby bird and couldn't find him, so we assumed he'd made his way back to the safety of the nest, and, believe it or not we were RIGHT, in a way...baby bird, proving that doves are not the brighest of our feathered friends, made his way to one of our fenced in flowerbeds, this one filled with ferns.

How do I know this you might ask? First I noticed Momma dove, who, this time was accompanied by I'm SURE a very hung over and hen-pecked (ha!) Daddy dove, were hanging around said fern bed. Then, I noticed Layla was paying particular attention to this flower bed and, ANOTHER CLUE was, she kept lunging through the fencing at something. But, the biggest clue of ALL was when I saw baby bird pick the ABSOLOUTE WORST time to try an escape attempt.

He started flapping around in the bed. Layla lost her mind and charged into the bed, going THROUGH the fencing AND a pretty thorny rosebush (please see aforementioned posts about Layla referencing her beauty and obvious LACK of brainpower). She grabbed baby bird in her mouth and high-tailed it for the other side of the yard.

I ran outside, screaming commands like "DROP IT" (which, amazingly she DID) and "LEAVE IT" (which, even more amazing, she did) and "COME HERE" (I almost had to sit down when she obeyed THAT one). I got Layla locked in the house, had a brief moment of hysterics, pulled myself together and did the right thing...I called Roger. Nevermind that he's trying to wind up the school year and has 21 students, hyped to the gills with the prospect of summer vacation, he needed to be made aware of the crisis at home.

Now, before you start telling me how ridiculous that was, let me just tell YOU, you don't KNOW from ridiculous. Once, when our beloved Golden Retriever, Dammit It Maggie, brought a baby bird INTO THE HOUSE, I called Roger and made him come home....he was working in Downtown Dallas at City Hall at the time. See, I'm almost 46 years old, and I've never dealt with ANYTHING like this myself. Nope, my Daddy and Roger have always been there to handle these little unpleasantries, and I truly believe that's the way God intended it.

Well, Roger couldn't come home from work (SOMEBODY needs to rearrange their priorities, I'm just saying), so I sucked it up, got his gloves and proceeded to move baby bird to safety under a MONSTROUS Lady Banksia Rose which rules our side yard. It's probably a very safe place, seeing as how I'm fairly certain Jimmy Hoffa's been hiding out there for YEARS.

All in all, it worked out allright...but I'm thinking of reporting Momma & Daddy Dove for child endangerment...anybody have the number for BBPS (baby bird protective services?)

I've posted before about my Mother's battle with the Demon Alzheimer's - God and I are gonna have a little face-to-face talk about this particular disease if I ever get to Heaven, which, is probably a good indication that I won't get to Heaven..and if I DO manage to slip in, I'm sure I won't be staying long.

When I made my Daily Daddy Call this morning he waited until the end of the conversation for the ambush. "What are you doing this afternoon?" Lord, right then I knew I was trapped. I've told y'all before what a total reprehensible, ungrateful, loser of a daughter I am, right? That I don't do NEAR enough for my parents and should be taken out somewhere and beaten to a pulp, or at the very least be FORCED to attend lengthy band performances, complete with unending descriptive narrative from really enthusiastic band leaders. And really, THAT'S not even a harsh enough punishment for me.

Now, my father doesn't feel this way about me, but he doesn't have to...I've practiced Guilt Assumption my entire life and I am proud to say I have reached the level of Guilt Assumption Master. I draw guilt to me the way some mythical super-heroes draw super-powers. We're talking a veritable Human Guilt Sponge...if there's Guilt anywhere in the area, I will suck it up and incorporate it as my OWN. I am truly awesome in this regard and probably in need of serious counseling, and possibly medication, which would actually be NICE. But, on to my upcoming afternoon with Momma.

Daddy has a doctor appointment this afternoon with the dermotologist who literally, saved his nose. Daddy had a rampant basal cell cancer that, I kid you not, had eaten a majority of his nose and didn't look like it was gonna get tired of the nasal buffet. Two doctors performed separate operations and now my father has a nose that, truthfully looks a whole heck of a lot better than the one he was BORN with.

Of course, in true Daddy fashion, he stated loud and clear, that both doctors are incompetent know-nothings and didn't have a CLUE how to proceed until he TOLD them what to do. Uh huh, my father was a BANKER; one of these doctors is a respected dermatologist, and the other is a noted plastic surgeon. Thank GOD Daddy was able to instruct them in the intricate and delicate procedures needed to diagnose and treat his condition. In my opinion, BOTH doctors should receive Humanitarian Medals for not tossing my Dad out on his half-eaten face and the fact that they are STILL willing to have him as a patient speaks to their committment to their professions...or maybe they're really just not real bright - whatever.

Anyway, Daddy has an appointment with "DumbAss Dermotologist" this afternoon for a spot on his ear that he "can't clear up on his own". Huh...imagine that...skin cancers aren't cured by hydrogen peroxide and a band-aid....who knew?

He's dropping Momma off at my house so I can watch her and he can go to his appointment relatively stress free. I COULD just meet him at the Doctor's office, but Daddy always makes ME go in with him and, there we sit, all three of us, (four counting the doctor), with Momma asking her never-ending questions, Daddy being an obnoxious pain and me, with no chair to sit in to stave off my inevitable loss of consciousness that's bound to happen when the doctor removes whatever it is that's growing on Daddy's ear. If I insist on staying in the waiting room, Momma will proceed to talk, LOUDLY, about other people in the room...as in "WHOO-EEE, do you see how FAT that woman is?"; and "What is WRONG with that man's FACE - he sure is UG-LY!!" Now, I'm not saying that can't be AMUSING, but, you really need to be about half-tanked before it's funny....otherwise, it's just MORTIFYING.

So, Daddy will deliver Momma to my house this afternoon, sometime...knowing Daddy, a 4:15 appt. to HIM means he has to be at the doctor's office at 3:00, so he'll probably have Momma here by 2:00 just in case there's a MAJOR traffic jam in the mile long, neighborhood drive to the doctor's office.

The challenges this afternoon will be many:

First, I have to keep Layla off of Momma - for Momma's protection AND Layla's. See, Momma has NO problem smacking the snot out of Layla if she thinks Layla's bothering her too much. It's not that I'm afraid Layla would react to that and try to hurt Momma, but, more that I don't want Layla hurt.

Second, I have to make sure Momma stays in the house and doesn't wander outside and, God Forbid, fall in the pool or down the front steps. I can lock those doors in a way she can't unlock, so we're pretty safe there; and

FINALLY, I have to make sure Momma only eats things that are EDIBLE. In true childlike fashion, Momma has regressed to the point where she tries to eat EVERYTHING, including mustard and ketchup out of the ice box and even cleaning products if she can get her hands on them. I think I'm covered on THAT one, too...I'm gonna sit her down at the kitchen table and just load her up with all manner of junk foods....cookies, fried cherry pies, honey buns and, my secret weapon - the Chocolate Of The Gods, my youngest brought me from Disney's BelgiumLand. I mean it - I'm bringing out the Big Guns.

After the pig-fest, Momma might not be interested in her dinner - but that's too bad. I never said I fight fair - I fight to win and, after all, War Is Hell.

As I've said before, God, in His wisdom has chosen to bless me with two sons. Which, is a good thing, because, I am NOT cut out to be the mother of girls. The whole girly thing just leaves me
mystified, and honestly, I think whining should be grounds for lethal injection.

I once, honest to God, got into a Whine-Off with a bratty 4 year old girl I was teaching in Vacation Bible School. Here I was supposed to be teaching her about God's love for her and I spent the majority of the class-time one day trying to out-whine her. It's not something I'm proud of, but, there you go. I know ALL girls aren't whiny, bratty, little fashion obsessed shop-o-ramas, but who wants to risk it?

Anyway, my boys are not only good people, they're incredibly thoughtful and considerate. They've inherited those traits from their father, not me, and I wish, just ONCE, somebody would argue that point with me, but, I'm not holding my breath.

Recently, my youngest went on a band trip to Disney Whatever (I can never remember which one is World and which one is Land....this was the one in Florida - whichever). He had a wonderful time, not surprising, and he brought back souvenirs for me, his daddy and his brother, VERY SURPRISING.

Not only did he take the time to BUY us souvenirs, he bought us souvenirs we'd actually LIKE...I mean, this kid put some thought into this. He bought his dad a Mickey Mouse T-shirt, and his brother a sword with an eye patch and me...well, my gifts were the most wonderful of all. That's right, I said GIFTS, plural....is this kid racking up the inheritance points or WHAT?

My baby boy brought me the BEST gifts..the first one was a pink MINNIE Mouse coffee mug (I've got a real thing for coffee cups/mugs) and the second was *gasp* Belgian chocolate...real high quality chocolate from BelgiumLand or someplace like that. *sigh* Let me just say that I had a sample of that Gift from the Cocoa Gods and it is the BEST chocolate I've ever put in my MOUTH, and there is where my problem begins.

If you've gone waaay back to the first entries on this blog, you know that, around 3 years ago I lost my mind, joined Weight Watchers, and proceeded to lose over 100 pounds. Why? I have NO idea..I was fat and happy and I LOVED eating whatever I wanted, WHENEVER I wanted, HOW EVER DAMN MUCH I wanted. But, lose the weight I did and, as you might imagine, ever since, I've been in mortal fear of "finding" it again.

Now, you don't get 100 pounds overweight without having some, shall we say "food issues", and giving ANY chocolate, not to mention, high quality, "this is what God intended when he invented chocolate" chocolate to someone like me is sort of like giving an alcoholic the keys to the liquor store and offering to hold their purse. I'm saying it's a binge just waiting to happen.

So far, I've done pretty good with only having a small bit of the nectar every day...there was that one day when I had TWO bits, but a piece fell off when I moved the candy bar and I figured it was God's way of telling me my first piece wasn't big enough.

Some of you are probably thinking I should have just refused the candy...told my sweet, precious, incredibly thoughtful, should-be-nominated-for-sainthood son, "No thank you." Uh huh...and I can tell you that YOU obviously suffer from delusions and should seek medical help immediately. No WAY was I turning down that chocolate. I mean, he was so THOUGHTFUL and all and he dragged it home all the way from FLORIDA for crying out loud...so what if it was a little melted...I put it in the icebox and it firmed right up. Like Homer Simpson said, "It's still good, it's still good."

But, the fact remains that the existence of the chocolate is causing me a certain amount of stress and I think, being the kind of mother I am, that youngest son should be repaid in full.

I'm thinking I'm gonna take him and his sweetie to lunch at our local Hooter's restaurant. Yep, that oughta do it - him sitting there with his MOTHER and his GIRLFRIEND, while amply "blessed" women in tee-tiny tube tops serve him his lunch, and he tries to just look them in the EYE.

Oh yeah - Vengence is MINE, sayeth the MOM.

Let me start this off by saying that I'm NOT a traveller. Nope, I'm a regular old stick in the mud stay at home kinda person. I'm even ashamed to admit that when I DO travel, I'm the kind of person who looks at her watch and calculates how long it is until I get to go back HOME. I know, I know...pathetic, isn't it?

So, it's no wonder I was absoloutely stunned at how much airports have changed since September 11th. Used to be, when you picked someone up at the airport, and you were married to one of those freakish people who HAD to arrive at the airport at LEAST an hour early - no matter if they were actually catching a flight or just WAITING around to pick someone up, you had several entertainment options.

You could sit in the bar and drink (which will cost you a fortune), you could people watch (okay, I've HEARD there are people who actually enjoy this, but, frankly, I've never gotten the hang of it, watching other people usually just creeps me out), or you could browse in the many, many wonderful gift shops.

I don't know why I love gift shops, but I do. I don't like shopping, and I'm not "into" fashion or decorating my house. In fact, I live in fear an unruly gang of well-dressed, well-coiffed, shopping zealots will one day ring my doorbell and demand I hand over my membership card in The Estrogen Club. Don't laugh..it could happen.

But gift shops are another story. I don't actually BUY anything, but I'm drawn to them like a moth to a flame, convinced that I MUST know SOMEONE who'd just LOVE a postcard from Dallas featuring a herd of longhorn cattle wearing Stetson cowboy hats, or maybe a "Don't Mess With Texas" coffee mug. These are TREASURES people!!

Imagine my angst when, upon arriving at DFW Airport recently, I was brought up short by the evidence of what 9/11 has done to airline travel. GONE are the cute little eateries and bars, GONE are the shoe-shine stations and, God Help Us All, GONE are the Gift Shops!! All of that is gone, at least it is for the people who are there to pick up passengers. That Wonderland might still exist beyond the You Must Have A Boarding Pass To Go Beyond Here Gate, which is located approximately 10 feet from the airport entrance, but it is a barren wasteland for those of us who are waiting to collect weary passengers and deliver them back home.

Seriously, I spent time in two separate terminals (WHY I had to be in two separate terminals is another story, but, like I told a friend, it IS possible to make it from Terminal D to Terminal A in less than 10 minutes, if you don't have a problem with breaking a few traffic laws. FYI - those shuttle drivers are very cranky and get downright pissy if you try to back up the entire length of an entrance ramp. Oh, and those buses are equipped with HORNS, too...who knew?)

Anyway, the FIRST terminal we visited wasn't too bad, but it was decidedly barren and without any frills. I mean, there were restrooms and a candy and drink machine, but the seating area was all the way across the terminal from the Arrival Info screen. So, if you were a compulsive person, like me, you had to keep getting up and schlepping all the way across the terminal to see if, by chance, the flight you were waiting for MIGHT just have moved it's arrival time up a minute or two. In my mind it was terrible and I griped about the morons who obviously designed the place - then I got to go to Terminal #2! Did you know you can actually HEAR Karma laugh out loud?

What can I say about Terminal #2, except that it made Terminal #1 look like some kind of Waiting Room Resort. We're talking DESOLATION here people...bare minimum ammenities...maybe ONE drink machine and 6, count 'em 6, chairs.

As Roger and I went SPRINTING by the boarding gate personnel, I got a whif of coffee from SOMEWHERE and did a pretty good imitation of Layla when she smells a tantalizing bit of cat poop - stopping short and whipping my head around to scan the area for the tasty morsel, hoping against hope I'd see a coffee bar or maybe, God help me, a coffee vending machine - but no such luck.

I know since 9/11 airports have had to take drastic measures to try and ensure the safety of their passengers and the general public. I applaud their actions, I truly do, and, I think they're succeeding in their quest to keep us safer...but would it KILL them to have one teeny tiny little cafe? Oh, and don't forget the gift shop!