Our oldest son, Alex recently joined the ranks of the overburdened everyman, staggering under a crushing amount of debt. By that I mean, he bought his first ever house. Oh Joy! My oldest is now a homeowner, THAT doesn't make me feel old, nope, not at all. The only thing making this situation slightly more tolerable is actually being able to witness, firsthand, Alex having to experience all the stress and problems associated with being a money pit owning grown up. Ahhh, revenge is sweet, sayeth the Mom.

Now, what IS causing me stress and aging me considerably is the way Alex and his two friends are handling the situation. Or maybe that should be NOT handling the situation. As in, all their junk is still smack dab in the middle of the den floor - where they dumped it on moving day, four days ago.

Alex's house was a foreclosure, but it's a CHARMING foreclosure. Somebody, sometime, loved this house and loved it enough to take very good care of it and enhance it's potential with creative ideas and a sharp eye for details. Seriously, I'd live in this house, it has such personality.

That's not to say it doesn't need some work. Between the "loving owners" and Alex, I'm pretty sure the house was occupied by some fairly unsavory characters - especially judging from the type of people who have shown up at the front door "looking for the guy who used to live here".
The first order of business was to change all the locks, the second was to put 911 on everybody's speed dial, just in case.

This situation has brought home how very different Alex and his friends (maybe his whole generation?) are from Roger and me. I'm a list-making, organizational type person, who would have already had that house whipped into shape. Okay, maybe nobody would be speaking to me anymore and I'd probably be divorced, but at least that house wouldn't have a moldy toilet seat in one bathroom, ceiling fans so wobbly they give you motion sickness just looking at them, and a light switch in the kitchen that gets so hot, you have to use a potholder to turn it off.

The funny thing is, in THIS particular instance, ROGER is the one who's chomping at the bit to get over there and take care of things. NOT ME, for once, I'M not the one who's the most obsessed. How weird is THAT?

Just today Roger told me he wanted to "swing by" the house and check on a couple of things, maybe do some watering and just "piddle around". Alex is out of town on business and said neither one of his friends were living at the house yet. (See what I mean? who moves all their stuff in and then LIVES SOMEWHERE ELSE?) It's just not right, I'm telling you.

So, at 11:30 this morning, Roger and I arrived at Alex's house with water hoses, sprinklers, flashlights, tools and plans to go shopping to stock the refrigerator. Oh, and both dogs - did I mention we had BOTH DOGS with us? Um, well we did.

We fall out of the car and Roger opens the front door. Both dogs burst into the house and the sound of their nails on the laminate floor is a whole lot like machine gun fire, only louder. I wouldn't be surprised to learn the Police Dept. received reports of a possible drive by shooting.

As the dogs drag me through the house, I glance in the den and see one of Alex's friends, asleep on the floor...or at least he WAS asleep. I'm pretty sure he's awake now....awake and probably suffering from some coronary damage.

Sure enough he IS awake, and IN HIS UNDERWEAR. He stumbles out of bed, IN HIS UNDERWEAR, and groggily looks around to find his pants. Roger, the big chicken, bolts out the backdoor to "check on some things" and leaves me behind to stammer out our sincerest apologies to the friend who, moments before, WAS IN HIS UNDERWEAR.

After babbling incoherently for a few minutes, Roger and I loaded up the dogs and made a hasty retreat. In the car on the way home, we decided we'd let Alex and his friends proceed at their own pace to get the house set up. It may not be as fast as we'd like, but I'm not willing to risk that his friends are always gonna have clean underwear.

Due to a recent event, it's been made clear to me that Roger is trying to have me unjustly incarcerated. Okay, maybe that statement is a little extreme, but you tell me, what else am I supposed to think? Here's what happened:

We were at Barnes & Noble the other night so Roger could pick up my birthday gift. Now, I know what you're thinking...you're thinking "Big Surprise, huh?" But, let me just state right here that I do NOT believe in leaving my birthday, anniversary, Christmas, Mother's Day or any other POSSIBLE gift giving occasion to chance - at least not when I'm the one who's on the potential receiving end of the gifts.

Nope, I start the Present Campaign LOUD and EARLY, let me assure you. Roger and the boys know WHEN a gifting occasion is drawing near, WHAT I'd like as a gift (or, hopefully, GIFTS), and HOW and WHERE I'd like to celebrate.

Now, you might be thinking, "Well, how presumptious of her, actually giving INSTRUCTIONS for buying her gifts". What can I say, you're right, it IS presumptious - it's also incredibly SMART and considerate of me, if I do say so myself.

See, Roger and the boys don't EVER have to worry about forgetting an important occasion, where to take me or even what to get me for that particular occasion. All they have to do is follow simple instructions and everybody's happy. It's a win/win situation, I'm tellin' you.

I'll also say this, if you're one of those women who thinks if your family LOVED you they'd REMEMBER the important events and KNOW just what to get you, well, in the words of Dr. Phil, "How's that working out for ya?" I'll bet your family has celebrated at least one such botched occasion with a pretty frigid atmosphere. Nope, if your dumb enough to assume your husband and/or sons are gonna magically know how to handle these situations, then, in my opinion, you deserve what you get - which could be a whole lot of nothin'.

Anyway, back to my story. There I was, at Barnes & Noble, browsing the sales racks when Roger, having made my birthday purchase, sidles up next to me with a big grin on his face and the obvious outline of a package stuffed under his shirt! That's right, I said STUFFED UNDER HIS SHIRT, just like your average, not so bright, shoplifter would do.

I tell you, it upset me so much I almost fell into the clearance bin. "Take that out from under your shirt RIGHT THIS MINUTE!" I hissed at him. "What, it's your birthday present, I don't want you to see what it is." "Um...okay, I can see that it's book shaped and we're in a book store, so I'm guessing IT'S SOME KIND OF BOOK, NOW TAKE IT OUT BEFORE WE GET ARRESTED!"

Maybe I was overreacting, but you've got to understand I don't always have really good experiences with authority figures. Two particular events come to mind: the traffic ticket I got for "Not showing the proper respect" (I'm not making that up) and the time I made the fireman cry in Sam's (looking back on that one, I think it's safe to say I MIGHT have been just a tiny bit hormonal at the time).

Whatever, I just feel that, personally, it's best for everybody if I avoid any and all potential conflicts with all law enforcement or authority type figures. Roger KNOWS this and, yet, there he was, just BEGGING to be tackled, frisked and taken to the Big House.

Seeing as how that's ONE occasion I have NO interest in celebrating, I'm gonna do him another huge favor and act like I don't even KNOW him. Really, I'm a giver like that.

We just got back from Joseph's New Student Conference at Texas A&M and lemme just say, I'm feeling a tee tiny bit better about him moving away from home, breaking my heart and ruining my life. I'm still not real HAPPY about it, but I no longer have the overwhelming urge to just lay down and die. That's a good thing, right? See, I can change - I can go with the flow, if I just HAVE to, dammit.

I admit, I went to this Student Conference with a bit of a grudge against A&M. After all, it might be a perfectly good college, but it was 3 HOURS away from home! THREE WHOLE HOURS - and that's if you obey the speed limits (which, okay, I wouldn't DO, but STILL, three hours is three hours, ya know?)

Yep, I went to meet my enemy with my game face on.....You think you gonna take MY Baby Away?? No, Sir. Momma be Hatin' Big Time!

Unfortunately, Texas A&M managed to change my mind and my prejudice against them. Oh, it wasn't a fair fight. I should have KNOWN those Aggies would fight dirty. Every single one involved, from the Professors, to the volunteer students, conspired, that's right, I said CONSPIRED, to re-educate me as to just how great a place it would be for Joseph to attend college. Even the students attending summer classes were in on the job. I didn't have a chance.

That's not to say it wasn't without it's little glitches, though. First of all, Aggieland is just stuffed FULL of traditions, and some of those traditions are, shall we say, a little bit, uh, different (I was gonna say the traditions were slap out of an old Hee Haw episode, but I'm pretty sure I'm still on Aggie Mom probation, so I'm trying to watch my step here.)

The official campus greeting is...get ready.... "Howdy". I am NOT making this up. It's Howdy! I'm serious. Someone says Howdy to you and you're supposed to say Howdy back. This was a problem for me, seeing as how my first response was "You're kidding" and my second response was an enormous eye roll. Even after I managed to squelch those initial responses, I never COULD remember to respond with a Howdy. It's just not NATURAL, I'm telling you. At least it's not natural for anybody who's grown up with indoor plumbing. (okay, that was really snotty and pushing my probation, I'd better watch it).

Also, I'm pretty sure Roger and I came dangerously close to being shot by members of the Corps of Cadets for our unfortunate and repeated use of the phrase "Hook 'Em" whenever we had to leave to go someplace else. More than once, Joseph slapped his hands over his ears and dove for cover while instructing me that we do NOT use those hated words EVER here in Aggieland. Yeesh - somebody has some ISSUES, is all I'm sayin'.

Oh, and laughing at the various student "wildcatting" episodes is also considered in very bad taste. (For all you Non-Aggies (normal people) and Tea Sippers (UT students and alums) out there, "wildcatting" is an Aggie expression of approval. Each class has their own particular form of wildcatting and they range the gamut from the kinda strange to the "someone's missed their medication" full body spasms. Texas A&M has got to be the only place you can make psychotic hand and body gestures repeatedly and not get beaten up or caught in a net and hauled off. I'm sure that's a plus.

So, to atone for my previous sins of misjudgement, ugly comments and brilliant jokes and jabs, I spent as much money as I possibly could in the gift shop. We now own Aggie t-shirts, Aggie coffee mugs, Aggie car stickers and Layla and Dudley are, even as we SPEAK, snoring and drooling in their brand new fabulous Aggie dog collars. When I decide to embrace something, I give it my ALL, I'm telling you.

So, now you see us, a brand new Aggie family. Just FULL of that Fightin' Aggie Spirit!! Fightin' Aggie Class of 2012 - "AAAAAAA!!" Yes, Texas A&M you can "borrow" Joseph for a little while...just long enough to educate him. Roger and I have taught him, and gotten him this far, it's your turn now, to give him all the knowledge you have to offer.

BUT, know this A&M, if Joseph comes back home wearing Dickies and chewing on a piece of straw, you and I are gonna have some ISSUES of our own!

Oh, and GIG 'EM and HOWDY, DAMMIT!!

This is a very special post, seeing as how it showcases the FIRST PICTURES I'VE EVER POSTED ON THIS BLOG!! Hopefully these pictures will be the first of many, assuming Joseph can teach me (or more likely teach ROGER how to post the pictures on here). I've got a feeling I'm gonna have to give up and get techno-savvy, though. Nobody's much buying the "helpless little woman" act anymore.

The above picture is one I like to call Dog Days Of Summer, and it's a pretty good example of what actually goes on here during the summer. Roger and I go around looking like the back end of hard times, while the dogs stay passed out on the floor. Occasionally, Roger will go to the kitchen for a snack FORCING the dogs to rouse themselves enough to stagger into the kitchen and beg for whatever it is he happens to be eating. Life is a continual struggle for survival, ya know?

Me? I spend a whole lot of time pointing out chores and things we just HAVE to do, which, come to think of it, could go a long way towards explaining Roger's selective hearing issues.