Roger and I had a pretty interesting afternoon last Sunday. We spent the day house-hunting with our oldest son, Alex and three of his friends. Alex is 22 years old, and owing to a set of unique circumstances, is in the market to purchase his first ever house; those circumstances being incredible good luck in falling into a fabulous job where they pay him an enormous amount of money for just showing up and the fact that he's pretty much held onto every dollar he's ever made, combined with the financial savy of someone in his 50's. Add those things together and it equals us, spending an entire afternoon house hunting.

We saw houses and then we saw HOUSES! The entire experience was really educational and certainly reinforced my opinion that I'll move out of my own house right after they call in the Swat Team with the tranquilizer guns and cargo nets...really BIG cargo nets.

The houses, a couple of which were foreclosures, ran the gamut from "you could almost move right in" all the way to "Oh My God, where are the antibacterial wipes??" One house in particular really upset me. The former tenants must have had seconds to vacate the premises. We're talking food left on the counters and, most troubling to me, toys left in the kids' bedrooms. Seriously, how bad can it be that you can't take a few seconds to grab a trash bag and stuff your kids' toys into it? I kept repeating that thought out loud and I think that's when Alex's real estate agent suggested I might want to wait in the car.

We finally saw a house that all six of us (me, Roger, Alex & his three friends) agreed was a keeper and Alex made an offer to purchase. He won't hear back for about a week, so he's in buyer's limbo right now. Roger and I are helping him through this troubling time with helpful tips - such as, "Are you SURE you get an inspection BEFORE you agree to purchase..it's a cute house, but we don't know SQUAT about the important stuff and your a/c unit could fall through the ceiling right after you close"; and "Don't put too much money down - who knows HOW much your closing costs are gonna be" and this one from his aunt, "I'm not telling you your business, but you might wanna get a couple of room mates...you WILL incur some unexpected expenses and those can add up really fast. The extra rent income will help out a LOT". Yeah, we're a supportive bunch, allright.

It was a really neat experience, seeing it all through my son's eyes and I'm honored he wanted his father and me to be a part of it. But, lemme tell ya, as nice as it was, it wasn't NEAR as much fun as the time we spent in the car with Alex's friends, Chris and Milad. THAT time was really special. We learned that Alex's friends are really nice people, who really care about Alex - and they care enough about him to never pass up an opportunity to play really dirty tricks on him.

Alex, after viewing some of the more disgusting bathrooms, vowed one of his very FIRST home improvement purchases would involve new toilets. Later, in the car, the four of us made a pact. We vowed to do our best to convince Alex to unknowingly purchase BIDETS, instead of toilets, and then sit back and enjoy his frustration and angst when the brand new toilets flushed UP and OUT, instead of DOWN and AWAY.

Ahhhh, good friends and parents who love you. What more do you need? Well, that and maybe a really good sense of when to duck.

Okay, we've semi-settled down enough around here that I can finally log on and try to update y'all on what's been happening in my own personal Life Rodeo. Y'all know I don't know how to be brief, so go to the bathroom, get a drink and a snack and settle in - a pillow might be nice, too.

Remember the sweet, gentle, wonderful dog who kept running away from his "home" and making it across a busy four lane road to my house? Yep, I'm talking about Buddy, and you can read his original story on this blog. I'd link you to the entry like they do on other fancy blogs, but MY YOUNGEST SON DOESN'T LOVE HIS MOTHER ENOUGH TO WORK ON HER BLOG FOR HER. Sad, but true...*sigh*.

Anyway, Buddy, now and forevermore, shall be known as DUDLEY (okay, not a great name, but I think when you change a dog's name you're supposed to name them something that sounds like their old name...and really, naming him Studley was just asking for it, and I was afraid he'd run away from HERE if I named him Cuddley, so Dudley was the lesser of two evils....work with me, here).

Knowing Dudley would repeatedly escape from his former "home" I routinely checked our City's Animal Shelter, to see if he'd been picked up, and VOILA, our boy showed up there last Thursday. He became available for adoption on the following Monday, and needless to say, I was first in line. Mr. Dudley is now a cherished, LEGAL member of our family.

A very expensive vet visit followed and I'm happy to report Dudley is up to date on his shots, is heartworm negative and has been microchipped. He also experienced what must be every male's fantasy when, trying to check for a neuter scar (a requirement from the Animal Shelter), at one time he had THREE females in extremely close proximity to his "bidness". I'm pretty sure that's when he KNEW life here was going to be a lot like Paradise. To say I'm elated and relieved that this wonderful dog is finally safe and sound with me is a huge understatement. I've lost weight and aged considerably over this entire debacle. Yeesh, Mamma needs a life, ya think?

Now, I'm not going to say a whole lot about his former "owners" for several reasons - I'm trying to learn to be a nicer, more adult person and I don't wanna tick off whatever Powers That Be who worked to accomplish this miracle...spitting in Karma's face CAN'T be a good thing.

I'm not an extremely religious person, but I've always believed there are forces guiding our lives. So, I'm not really surprised at the obvious evidence of a guiding hand in all of this. Joseph on the other hand is pretty much freaked out by the way things just "seemed to happen" and is possibly contemplating embracing a celibate life of religious reflection in the nearest Monastery. (okay, maybe not so much the celibate part, but it DID really throw him for a loop.)

As I said, I'm not going to totally trash the "people" who used to own Dudley, but I will say I've learned many things from this experience. Primarily the proof that examples of Darwin's Theory of Evolution are alive and well and living among us. Not so much the apes...you can definitely see our relationship to the apes of the world, and if you disagree with that one, just take a minute to picture an orangutan in his underwear, sitting on the couch with a beer in one hand and the other hand shoved in the front of his boxers. Can't argue that one, can you?

Nope, my encounter with Those Who Shall Not Be Named, makes me a believer in the theory that mankind began when brainless, single celled organisms crawled out of the primordial swamps. The slimy, slug trail they left behind them was my first clue.

I just wanted to pop in here and beg for your patience. I know it's been a few days since I've posted a new blog entry, but I have some good excuses.

Graduation Purgatory Treadmill for one and DOGGIE ADOPTION DRAMA for another. Yep, we went to war and finally won that sweet little stray, Buddy, who kept escaping his chain-gang existence and making his way across a busy four lane road to our house (and we're talking about 6 times in four weeks, here, folks...this dog was DETERMINED!!)

Anyway, Buddy is now DUDLEY and has been legally adopted by us. We're thrilled beyond belief, even Layla, who can't get enough of licking her new baby brother.

So, y'all please be patient with me and I promise I'll post the whole drama production just as soon as I get my nerve medicine prescription filled.

Our latest foray into the world of technology is a Tom Tom Navigational Device. I'm pretty excited about this latest purchase, because I think I have a really good chance of actually KEEPING this one. Unlike my bluetooth and my MP3 player - JOSEPH ALREADY HAS A TOM TOM, and until he figures out how to use TWO of them, at the same time, I think I'm safe.

We decided we needed some cyber help in the navigation department when we became hopelessly lost trying to find my niece's house, a place we've only been to five or six times before!! We spent a good 15 minutes driving aimlessly around, frantically trying to find her street - or something that LOOKED like it might lead to her street, before I gave up and called my niece for help. She then proceeded to try and give us directions by going the whole "North and South" route. WHAT?? If I KNEW which way was North, I don't imagine I'd have any problems with NAVIGATION, ya know??

I've read the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, so the next day when we spied the Circuit City ad, we headed that way (it helped that the store is so big, has a really large red sign on it and was located right behind the restaurant where we were eating.)

We bought the unit, Joseph set it up for us and we were good to go. Except for the slightly queasy feeling I always get around all things technological. Let's just say I view technology like the caveman when he first discovers fire. I'm fascinated by it, drawn to it, can sense it's possibilities, but at the same time am filled with a sense of impending doom and want to run back to my cave and sit, huddled in the dark.

We've already used the Tom Tom a few times, and I'm slowly getting over the trust issues I suffered with at first. I'm sorry, you might want to revoke my estrogen card over this, but the voice on our Tom Tom is female and I get really uncomfortable when she tells us to go a certain way AND WE DON'T!! Listen, all I know is, if I'M giving you directions, and you IGNORE them, then I'm gonna let you drive off a cliff before I say anything else. TELL me every single woman reading this isn't nodding her head in agreement right now.

Oh, it has it's drawbacks. If you don't get it seated just right, it rolls off the dash and onto the floorboard when you turn a corner (makes it REAL hard to navigate when you're hanging upside down over the front passenger seat, trying to see the screen); and I can't use it as a hand-held navigation device, because it starts trying to track the veins on the backs of my hands. (See, I told you it was female - and she's a CATTY female, too.)

But, all in all, I'm really pleased with this new adventure I've embarked upon and proud I've moved another baby step into the cyber world. Now, somebody clue me in...is there a National Appreciation Week for Tom Tom's? Do they celebrate birthdays or Tom Tom Days? Because I really don't wanna take a chance on ticking her off, ya know?

My youngest, Joseph, is graduating from high school sometime in the near future...at least I'm pretty SURE there's a graduation somewhere in there, among all the graduation ceremonies, award ceremonies, band ceremonies, honor ceremonies and ceremonies to celebrate the fact that these kids do, indeed, have a pulse and are legally human beings.

Okay, maybe I exaggerate, but not by much. Roger and I have been to so many events during the past two weeks, we don't even know which ones we're going to anymore. All we know is to show up, smile, and clap politely. Oh, and Roger's not allowed to wear his South Park t-shirt, because it's stained and his sweats are inappropriate, too. Picky, picky, picky.

Now, if anybody deserves to be feted, it's Joseph. **Warning - the following is definitely a proud parent brag - do not read if you're easily nauseated, or have a sensitive gag reflex.**

Joseph, my Challenge Child, is graduating fourth out of his class of almost 400 students, and will attend Texas A&M in the fall, majoring in pre-med. I'm told by those in the know that graduating fourth is an amazing feat for someone who has taken four years of Honors Band. Apparently, students don't get any honors credit for band, until their Senior year - so Joseph missed out on three years of honors credits, placing him at a disadvantage in the credits earned department. Now his Grade Point Average? It's higher than the students who will graduate in front of him.

Just another way our wonderful school system penalizes students for being talented AND smart. Don't even ask me what's wrong with our schools today - neither one of us has that kind of time.

But, back to the festivities. We went to an awards ceremony the other night that was a real eye opener (or, actually an eye CLOSER, since I kept having a tendency to nod off). The top 10% of the graduates were seated on the stage (with Joseph in the front row, of course - you might want to get a paper bag or a big bowl, in case the heaves get too bad).

What followed was the awarding of so many different awards, we crossed the line into "Oh that's nice" to "Now they're just making this stuff up". Seriously, it reminded me of when Roger has to come up with special awards for his second graders to ensure that EACH AND EVERY STUDENT GETS AN AWARD. We're talking "The Clean Desk Award", "The Good Citizen Award", "Most Creative Use Of Mucus Award"...okay, I'm making that last one up, but it really was just about that bad.

Don't get me wrong, some of the students are amazing and definitely deserve to be recognized for their achievements...but the kid who hasn't missed a day of school since 7th grade??? All that tells me is little Johnny's the one responsible for spreading God Knows What Kind of Disease throughout the student body on a regular basis. And the kid who had over 500 hours of Community Service? I don't mean to criticize, but I'm thinking that kid might need to work on his social skills, since he probably has NO social life, whatsoever.

We're almost at the end of the gauntlet - I mean festivities, now, with just the Baccalaureate and the actual graduation left. I have to wear HOSE to the Baccalaureate, which just really ticks me off, and I'm planning on packing a survival package for graduation.

I just hope I can get the No-Doze through the purse search.

The other day a friend of mine gave me a collar she'd bought for Layla (Thanks, Diana!) This is not just any old collar...it's a special collar, designed with a built in, retractable handle. You know, to assist you in keeping your canine earthbound on those unfortunate occasions they decide to go airborne. Or, give you a sturdy handle to hang onto when they go airborne and take you WITH them.

Whichever, it's a great tool, and I'm hoping it will help us in teaching Layla her Greeting Manners. Right now those manners consist of going absoloutely insane whenever anyone even remotely LOOKS in her direction. It's sad, really, because so many people would LOVE to pet her and give her the attention she so obviously doesn't get at home (insert eye rolling icon here). They want to pay attention to her, they just don't want it to result in injury and/or loss of "peformance" (Layla is a notorious Crotch Rocket and will routinely hurl herself toward a sensitive part of the male anatomy with unbelievable accuracy.)

When Joseph saw the new collar, he had his concerns. He was afraid the collar would choke and possibly hurt Layla - because she IS a delicate little flower, you know. (I GOTTA find one of those eye rolling icon thingys.)

Joseph decided he wanted to test this new collar out before his precious dog was subjected to potential insult and injury, and asked me to test it out by putting it on his OWN neck. Of course, I refused, but lemme tell ya, with his recent Senior Attitude, the whole neck thing was mighty tempting, I gotta say.

Instead, I strapped it on his thigh and commenced to yanking on the handle. The good news is, he reported there was NO choking feeling, only a slight pressure, which was certainly less than our usual method of restraint, which is to grab her collar and hang on for dear life.

Hopefully, this new tool will help Layla understand how important it is not to terrorize people who are dumb enough to get close to her. I'll be happy if it'll stop the UPS & FedEx guys from marking our front door with the Evil Eye.

You're probably asking yourself "What does this have to do with the future of medicine in our country?" I hate to tell you this, but Joseph - the one who ASKED me to choke him with the dog collar? He starts college this Fall as a pre-med major.
Be afraid, be very afraid.

I've heard this phrase alot lately. I guess it's the new buzz phrase and I think it's a simple, yet profound way of looking at things - things like your life, or in this case, MY life.

I was thinking about my life the other day. Remember, I told you, since my boys are grown, I was having some difficulties with all this free time on my hands? I mean, you can only read so much, and I'm not allowed to craft because when I DO craft, innocent people often get hurt.

Anyway, back to my life, which is hard to describe in one word - let's just say it's different. I forget HOW different it is sometimes, until I notice the reactions of people around me.

A large part of my life now centers around Layla. Yeah, I know, I know - don't bother pointing out the obvious "transference" going on here. I know I'm substituting Layla for my grown and gone (or almost gone in Joseph's case) boys.

Yep, that's it - she's the daughter I never had (and she's probably really close to the type of actual HUMAN daughter I would have had, if I'd ever had one, since she's blonde, doesn't mind real well, is spoiled rotten and a tad slutty). Believe me, Karma is alive and well, thank you very much.

I forget what an unusual sight we often are, me driving around town with Layla hanging out the back windows of my car; Roger and I sitting at Braum's, with me eating an ice cream cone with one hand and holding Layla's frozen yogurt cup with the other; or walking around Home Depot, trying to find the latest MUST HAVE do it yourself project while Layla drags us around, trying really hard to make sure she greets every person in the store PERSONALLY, Layla-style, which involves lots of sniffing, pawing and entire-butt wagging.

Some sights and situations are obvious, and some require a little explanation on our part. I've learned to talk really fast, believe me. Like the other day, when Roger and I were sitting on the patio of a local coffeehouse, celebrating the day with CAFFEINE.

Layla was beside us, leashed up, but always ready for action. When we take Layla with us to these outside patios, we always try to choose a table far, far away from other people, to cut down on the chances of an impromptu Layla Rodeo. On this particular occasion, what we didn't realize was we were located between the other customers and the only outside trash can.

A woman approached us and asked if it was allright if she passed by us to discard her trash. Of course, we said yes. What happened next is a little hard to explain, but serves as a pretty good example of my unusual life.

The woman approached us, and the trash can, with her trash in her hand. Layla, who had been laying calmly at my feet, perked up IMMEDIATELY. Her ears shot forward and she scrambled up on her feet, assuming a "guarding" stance I recognized immediately.

Now, let me explain. By "guarding" I don't mean fearlessly guarding the trashcan or even Roger and myself, from prospective evildoers. Nope, I mean guarding in the NBA, Jason Kid, Jason Terry sense.

See, Joseph routinely plays a game with Layla I call the "Nowitski". Here's how it works: Joseph opens the lid to the kitchen trash can, backs up all the way across the room, assumes the 3 point position stance and booms out in a big voice "OH NO, OH NO, OOOOOHHHHH, IT'S DIRK NOWITSKIIIIII". Which is Layla's cue to play NBA Guard and prevent him from making the shot by jumping around frantically in front of him, or, if he misses, grabbing the "rebound" and running for her life, with Joseph in hot pursuit.

Unfortunately, I didn't realize until it was too late, that Layla thought the woman was wanting to play an impromptu game of Nowitski. She sees Layla coming towards her, and she reacts by raising the trash over her head (remember, the 3 point position), Layla reacts with more NBA guarding moves and, folks, we have ourselves a MATCH UP.

I'm grabbing Layla's leash and frantically trying to explain what's going on and the woman looks at me like I'm certifiable and shouldn't be allowed out of the mental hospital for these little day trips.

I'd like to think maybe the whole thing wasn't that noticeable, except not to long after that, the woman's husband got to the trash can by climbing through the bushes in the flower bed - so I'm thinking it was pretty obvious.

Really, the whole thing was just a case of misunderstanding. But, I DID feel better when the leather-clad motorcycle guy at the next table stopped by and gave Layla a bunch of lovin' and told me he knew EXACTLY what I was talking about.

My life - It Is What It Is, and most of the time, it's pretty unique.

I just finished spending over an hour pulling nutgrass weeds out of our flowerbed. The grass in the YARD is dead from last year's water restrictions, but in the flowerbeds? It's flourishing.

I was sitting there, in my old lady gardening outfit of long-sleeved shirt, big hat and ginormous sunglasses, industriously pulling up the weeds and talking to Layla. She was under great stress due to the fact I'd given her a rawhide bone and I was messing with the only dirt area she had access to.

What should she DO?? She had a wonderful new bone, a situation which DEMANDS she bury and/or hide said bone immediately and stand guard over it for the rest of eternity (or until one of us gets sick of her nutso behavior and takes it away from her). One of Joseph's fondest memories is of Roger, taking a bone away from Layla, holding it in front of her face and saying, "See THIS?" and then chunking it in the trash. You gotta get your laughs where you can, I guess.

Now, why Layla doesn't just settle down and EAT the bone, I have no idea. Probably for the same reason I optimistically plant flowers every year (okay, I have ROGER plant the flowers, but I have the important job of pointing out where they should go).

I think I want a gorgeous back yard, I just don't want to do the work required to GET that yard, and it makes me crazy to see weeds and grass, growing and thriving, in my carefully planned bed. Layla thinks she wants a bone, then, when she GETS a bone, she stresses over the responsibility for hiding that bone, instead of just relaxing and enjoying the bone.

There's a lesson in here somewhere for us OCD types, but I'm too tired to figure it out.

There is a storm brewing in our area right now, with lots of thunder and lightning and rain coming down. Layla is TERRIFIED of storms and has taken refuge in one of her caves, which happens to be the area right below our computer desk.

The problem is, if I move away from the computer she thinks she has to follow me, and she does, moaning and shaking the entire time. It's pitiful, really, so to make it easier for her, I'll just sit here until the storm passes.

It could be worse. If Roger were at home, she'd be trying to sit on his chest.

During our walk today, Layla learned the meaning of "Manna from Heaven". We were tripping down the alley on our regular "Thank God It's Friday and I don't have to do this torture again until Monday" walk, when we stumbled upon THE MOTHERLODE.

Somebody had dumped the entire contents of their cat's litter box right there beside the alley. There it was, in all it's glory...about a weeks worth of digested kitty gifts. Thank God I saw it first and managed to jerk Layla away before she could grab a plate and partake of this particular buffet.

I would like to say that my quick thinking and lightning fast reflexes saved us from a totally gross and disgusting "feast", but, honestly? I think it was the time it took Layla to fall on her knees and give thanks to such a generous and loving God.

The following story is one I wrote a couple of years ago, when we were in the turmoil of Remodeling Purgatory. Looking back, I can see where this is actually a funny situation. It's amazing what a change of perspective can do, isn't it? That, and a doctor's prescription for mood elevators.

Here's the story: We are remodeling and need to get rid of an old piano we don't have
room for anymore....yeah, I know, but NOBODY wants this piano -I mean it - I've called and
asked everyone I can think of and NOBODY wants it - Seriously. So our only options were
to take it apart or pay somebody to come haul it to the curb for junk pick-up, and I wasn't
about to pay somebody to move it, looking back that's exactly what I should have done.
Instead, I give my husband, Roger the go ahead to take it apart and haul it to the curb ....If you're faint of heart, now is the time to click on another blog and pass this one by.

I head out Saturday for a baby shower leaving The Testosterone Trio (Roger, and my two sons, Alex & Joseph) in charge of piano disposal. Apparently, the piano does not go down without a fight - they've tried every way they can think of to take the old boy down, including hammers, screwdrivers, pry-bars, hand-held and electric saws. I come home to sawdust everywhere, a gash in the wall and a rip in the carpet from where "the electric saw kinda got away from us there for a minute"....the piano stands, bruised, but not beaten in my entry hall, where the Testosterone Trio have managed to manhandle it. Their efforts to dismantle it have failed with the following observations: "This thing is built hell for stout", "You can roll a piano over dad's glasses and they won't break!!" and my personal favorite: "Mom, did you know if you hit those piano wires with a hammer, sparks will fly out and catch your shirt on fire?"

The plan now is to shove the piano out the front door and down to the curb. There are a couple of problems with this plan... 1) The piano is too heavy for them to move and 2) Our front yard has two terraced levels with stone retaining walls and a long and steep front sidewalk. Problem #1 is easily solved by calling our across the street neighbor, who's in charge of the unofficial neighborhood men's organization I like to call "The Goof Troop"... this group's job is to wander around and give advice and encouragement to other
neighborhood men on the most "manly" way to do whatever project is currently underway.... This would be the reason many wives in the neighborhood have 911 on speed dial.

Probably now would have been a good time to call it a day and phone a piano mover, but, upon returning home and seeing the chaos, I have retired to the kitchen and begun the search for migraine medication. The men, of course, are whipped up in some kind of "No dad-gum pie-an-oooo is gonna beat me! No siree, Bob!" spitting contest and have no intention of stopping now. After all, where's the fun in that??? No one's been hurt and nothing has been destroyed....YET!

So they shove and shove and groan and strain and amid shouts of "Watch your fingers!... Don't let it land on your feet! "Hey - Look Out - there's a drop off there!" They manage to get their noble opponent out the front door and onto the porch.

I stand there, with a bottle of Tylenol in one hand and the phone in the other (with finger poised on 911 speed dial #). All of a sudden there is a mighty heave - the piano gives up the ghost and flies down the rest of the steps, knocks The Youngest Member of the Trio into the nandina bushes, crashes into the wall on one side, knocking a chunk out of it, bounces down the sidewalk and takes out the entire lower level retaining wall!

Are any of the male upset at this destruction??? Oh nooooo!! What follows is plenty of high fiving and shouts of "Whoooo-Hooooo" with me yelling "Oh, My Lord, the wall!!"!!

Our yard now looks like a car bomb went off in front of the house, I have called the city to come pick up the junked piano, and now I'm trying to find SOMEBODY to come fix my retaining walls.

I'd like to end my tale by reciting The Testosterone Trio's club motto and personal
philosophy. All rise.... "IF I CAN'T BREAK IT – I MUST NOT BE TRYING HARD ENOUGH!”.

Thank you and THE BAR IS OPEN!

Here are the dogs waiting for their nightly popcorn snack. You should see them when the microwave beeps.

This is a Mexican twist on traditional lasagna.
**I don't use ricotta cheese, because Roger and the boys don't like it (the weirdos), so make sure you do my egg & cheese trick...it helps bind the lasagna together.

1 pound of ground turkey
1 large onion, chopped
Tomato sauce (1 15 oz can)
1 tablespoon minced garlic
1 can of Ranch Style Beans
1 can of Enchilada sauce (mild or hot, your choice)
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
2 tsps. chili powder
1 tsp. ground cumin
1 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp. ground allspice
1/2 tsp. ground cloves
9 lasagna noodles (cooked)
2 cups of shredded mexican cheese
2 eggs

Preheat the oven to 350. Cook lasagna noodles according to package directions, drain and let cool. In a large dutch oven, brown ground turkey and onion until turkey is cooked through. Add chopped garlic and cook 30 seconds. Add tomato sauce, ranch beans, Worcestershire sauce, chili powder, cumin, cinnamon, allspice, and cloves, stirring after each addition.

Reduce heat and simmer at least 10 minutes. Check for seasonings and add salt if necessary.

In a medium mixing bowl, beat two whole eggs. Add 1 cup of shredded cheese and mix together.

Ladle a small amount of sauce in bottom of 9x13 inch pan. Add 3 lasagna noodles and a layer of sauce. Add another layer of noodles, more sauce, and with your fingers (I know, it's gross), spread a layer of egg/cheese mixture on top of the sauce. Finish by layering the last of the lasagna noodles and sauce and top with the remainder of the cheese.

Cover with foil and bake for 40 minutes, remove the foil and bake an additional 20 minutes.

Let stand at least 15 minutes before serving.

The other day Layla and I found a stray Yellow Lab on our walk. Of course, we took him home and immediately fell in love with "Buddy" (even Roger fell for him, which tells you a LOT about what a charming dog Buddy is).

We did our job as good citizens and posted tons of Found Dog signs in the neighborhood and, unfortunately, Buddy's owner saw the signs and called to collect him. Believe me, I won't be making THAT mistake again. If sweet Buddy manages to escape and find his way over here, you WON'T be hearing about it from ME. Nope, Layla and I will just keep our lips sealed and enjoy life with our new"found" canine friend....uhhhhh, Duddy.

Anyway, before Buddy's owner called, we were discussing the idea of keeping Buddy for our own selves. Well, I was discussing it - Roger was fighting it. Poor guy actually thought he had a SAY in something like that, bless his heart.

One of Roger's main objections is that he really, really, really wants to retire - as soon as possible, like right now, and he firmly thinks the cost of an extra dog would delay that retirement.

Now, SOME people would say that if the expense of having just ONE MORE DOG is gonna keep you from retirement, then maybe you're not financially READY for that retirement. SOME people might say that, but it's not gonna be ME. I'm not about to tell a man who has to wrangle 20+ second graders each and every day, five days a week, that retirement MIGHT NOT be a great idea. Nope, not gonna go THERE.

What I WILL share with you is an observation I made the other day. I mentioned to Roger that, one day I might like to have some work on my chest area. Nothing MAJOR - nothing ENLARGING, just a little bit of a lift, a slight tucking UPWARD, maybe more of a HEAVE. Oh, who am I kidding here - we're talking major structural repair, complete with steel girders and support beams. Gravity has NOT been kind, okay?

I simply made a slight off-hand comment about this the other night while getting ready for bed. It's not an exaggeration to say that within the next 24 hours, Roger had asked me, not once, but TWICE, if I had done any research into and found out any info about my boob job.

Now, see, apparently, we can't afford to feed and care for an extra dog without going into the poor house and forcing Roger to continue to slave away at the educational equivalent of busting rocks on a chain gang, but a BOOB JOB FOR MOMMA??? Oh, that's totally DOABLE!

Remember in an earlier post I said we had an occasional "odor" in the house, and remember I said I was fairly certain (read: absoloutely terrified) that odor was related in some way to the squirrels and/or rats living in our attic? Man, it gets old being right all the time.

The good news is we are currently vermin-free and are armed and ready to stay that way. The bad news is, it cost us a small fortune to get that way....the even WORSE news is, it's become apparent that we could have accomplished this very same feat with a 12 pak of empty Diet Coke cans - or maybe a 12 pak of empty beer cans would have been a more festive approach to solving this particular problem.

Roger was finally convinced to call in the professionals when we overheard a particularly boisterous and noisy romp over the kitchen table. Apparently, it's MATING SEASON!! Oh Joy! The commotion was one you could only envy - or fear - depending on your point of view. While the FREQUENCY was impressive, the DURATION of the "encounters" wasn't anything to write home about, if you know what I mean.

Plus, there's something kinda sleazy about overhearing ANYTHING, even a rodent, "gettin' busy"....think of the song, Muskrat Love, with less cute gibbering and more obnoxious thumping - really loud and really rapid thumping.

Roger agreed, after much nagging and carrying on by yours truly, to finally allow trained professionals to come in and get the job done. Something, HE assured me he could do if it wasn't for the two dozen or more urgent things he already HAD on his To-Do List, and the fact that he's not real fond of heights, and we don't own a flashlight that works, and he has mild claustrophobia, and oh yeah, he's right in the middle of this Life or Death on-line computer hearts game.

Yeah, whatever. Anyway, the Vermin Man (my name for him - not his actual NAME - the man drives around in a bright yellow truck with tee-tiny paw prints on it for God's sake, let's give him SOME dignity), showed up and asked me what the problem was. I said, I thought it was rats and squirrels in the attic. In his best, "Don't worry your little head about it Little Lady" voice, he assured me he'd check it out, assess the threat and formulate a plan.

After a complete and thorough inspection he informed me we had "rats and squirrels in the attic". WOW, you know, he really should be paid for that kind of insight.....oh wait, HE IS!!
He recommended a two step approach of trapping the animals and sealing up the various entries and exits the little mooching germ bags had been using to gain access to their Critter Condos in my attic.

He quoted us a price that was DOUBLE the amount of money I paid for my first car. Roger started shaking his head "no" and I grabbed the pen from the guy and signed the contract before Roger could formulate his kind "thanks, but no thanks" speech.

See, let me jump in here in my defense and say that during his search and discovery mission, the Critter guy hollered down from the attic and asked Roger for a garbage bag. You know NOTHING good is going to come of a vermin guy in your attic asking for a trash bag....and, sure enough, it WASN'T good. Captain Critter had found the source of our mysterious odor: A HUGE, DEAD AND RAPIDLY DECOMPOSING RAT in my attic.

Yessiree, nothing makes you prouder as a homeowner, than to sit on your couch while somebody hauls the stinking, bloated body of a disease ridden rodent out of the attic, DIRECTLY over the spot where you and your family sit and watch television, literally within spitting distance of where you eat. Right at that moment, price was NO object, believe me. We signed on the dotted line and I thought I heard the distinct sound of a cash register ringing, but maybe I'm wrong here.

The Search and Destroy Team was deployed the next day - traps were set and baited (and ignored by the vermin), entries and exits were located and secured (so the rodents simply chewed NEW ones) and one squirrel was accidentally sealed in the attic.

We know this because of the frenzied, power gnawing we could hear over the kitchen table. This was no casual "gee, I'm bored, wonder what this wood tastes like" chewing. Nope, this was a"Holy Mother Of God, I'm trapped in this attic hell hole and I've gotta get OUT!" GNAW-FEST. Which resulted in a, I'm NOT kidding about this, SOFTBALL SIZED HOLE over my kitchen window.

Okay, Roger and I are NOT real wildlife enthusiasts, especially when it comes to rats, mice and other skittery, crawly things that are liable to JUMP ON MY FACE AND GET TANGLED IN MY HAIR!! And, since it was Easter weekend, it was a safe bet nobody from the critter place was gonna ride to the rescue. What should we DO?? The squirrel was apparently OUT, but, I was betting it was coming back. Just my luck, my kids and my dog are trying desperately to escape me, but apparently, rodents and squirrels just LOVE living here.

Well, I'm proud to say I solved the problem and it was a GENIUS solution, if I do say so myself. I emptied out a Diet Coke can and after Roger sawed off the ends (without ANY bloodshed, either), I cut the can open and we staplegunned that sucker right over that big, huge hole. TA DAAAAA!! Squirrel Access DENIED!!

I was one happy camper, let me tell you....that is until I realized that I could have rodent proofed this entire house with about $5.00 worth of aluminum cans and staples.

So, readers, please learn a lesson from all of this. If you detect the presence of unwanted animals in your attic, don't call in a costly professional. Just dig your husband's staple gun out of the garage and wave a 12 pak in front of his face. I guarantee you, you'll win the Rodent War and have yourself a very happy volunteer army!

I know you're not going to believe this, but he sleeps like this all the time and we DON'T arrange the pillow for him. He manages to knock it down and get it all arranged under his head by himself.

If only he'd put that talent to achieving World Peace.

Pictures from our recent ice storm.

These are pictures I took at Tupinamba's Restaurant the other night. The owner is, obviously, a RABID Aggie Fan.

Roger and I felt a little conspicuous at first, being decked out head to toe in our new Christmas Aggie gear, but we got over it after we saw the bathroom doors. "Aggies" for the mens room and "Maggies" for the ladies.

This is our favorite picture of Roger and the boys, all dressed up for my niece's wedding. Alex & Joseph were ring bearers and Joseph made it almost all the way through the entire ceremony before he hit the Best Man with the pillow.

Family Night At Our Favorite Greek Restaurant.

I'm having a bad day, and I decided to make a list of all the things that are currently ticking me off and/or upsetting me. Get yourself a snack, it's a long list.

1. My house smells. I don't know what it is, or WHY it smells. All I can tell you is there's definitely an odor. I have a really highly defined sense of smell, and that coupled with my OCD is driving me straight up the wall. I think the odor is centered around Roger's closet and the patio room. It might even be some kind of squirrel mummy stuck in the attic, which leads me to....

2. We have squirrels in our attic. Not just regular squirrels - these are very athletic, very noisy, very social squirrels who apparently like to entertain between 6 - 7:00 a.m. every morning. Squirrels do brunch - who knew? I went on a wildlife removal company's website and discovered that squirrels and "other vermin" (yes, squirrels are actually VERMIN - which DID NOT make me feel better), once they are in your attic, they burrow through your insulation, making nests and "soiling" everything. Yep, those vermin are using our attic as their 2,000 square foot litter box. Those cute little buggers are getting uglier by the minute, I can tell you.

3. My dog is an evil demon from Hell and is out to destroy my life. Okay, maybe that's a little harsh, but I'm very disgusted with She Who Is Thisclose To Getting Shipped Off To Doggie Obedience Camp. I'm tired of being dragged every morning from one smell to another, tired of trying to walk around and avoid her "kitty deposit" snacking opportunities, and tired of being afraid to answer the doorbell - not because of who might be on the other side, but because of being tackled from behind by this 90 pound, blonde, visitor seeking missile.

The mailman just delivered a package for Joseph (believe me, I'll make sure he knows he's to blame when he gets home). I try to open the door just a tee tiny bit, so my sweet and understanding mailman can slip the mail through to me, when Little Miss Nuclear Bomb shoves her way through and takes off like a pmsing woman chasing the Russell Stover's delivery van.

I drop the mail, grab the leash and high tail it after her. Is anything more embarassing than screaming and chasing after your dog, while the dog continues running around doing whatever the Hell it wants, with a slap happy grin on its' face? Yeah, everybody, look at ME - I am obviously in charge of this situation. Who needs Cesar Milan? Not me, nope, I am SOOO much the pack leader.

The neighbor across the street helps me grab Layla and I get her leashed up and she STILL continues to PULL ME DOWN THE STREET!!! Now, this is just adding insult to injury, isn't it? She got her free romp - why can't she be a little giving and at least ACT like she's taken a training class (which she HAS, by the way)? Oh no, she's gotta push and push and push (or in this case, pull and pull and pull) - hey, there might be a nice cat poop snack out there she's missed.

By this time, I'm seriously rethinking my decision NOT to use my father's approach to dog training. Which is to beat the ever lovin' snot out of a dog when it misbehaves. Sure, you get a dog that dives for cover and pees on itself every time you lift your hand to scratch your nose, but you DON'T have to worry about them misbehaving.

4. My yard looks like war torn Iraq. Seriously, string some barbed wire and slap up some sniper towers and you don't even have to go remote to do convincing war coverage stories. I'd like to have one of those "livable back yards". The kind that just BEGS you to come sit and enjoy a book or the wildlife (except the vermin). The only problem is, I'm too lazy to do it myself and we can't afford to hire it done. A couple of things are ahead of that in the financial line....college educations for two.

5. I'm lonely and I'm just gonna get lonlier. I know, I know, break out the violins....but, I can't help it. Being a Stay At Home Mom is a wonderful job. Except, you don't realize how great it is until you're DONE doing it. At least I didn't.

Alex has been moved out a while and has recently moved EVEN FURTHER away from us. Joseph is going away to college in the Fall, further breaking my heart and ruining my life, and apparently the DOG is even trying desperately to get away from me.

6. I can't even enjoy my pity party in peace. I got a Christmas Card from a used-to-be neighbor today. She has two kids that are our kids' ages, and in her yearly Christmas Letter (yes, she's one of THOSE people), she told about her son being in a horrible car accident last February. A very severe accident, which, among other things, resulted in him losing two fingers on his left hand.

She didn't go into other details, but the fact that he's moved back home at the age of 22 and is working for the "family company" tells a story of it's own. It also tells me that I should shut up and stop feeling sorry for myself. If a smelly house, live-in squirrels, a manic dog and a touch of lonliness are my only problems - then I don't have any problems at all.

Joseph told us the other day that he had been voted Most Unique by the senior class. I really don't think he knew how to take it, maybe didn't know if it was a compliment or a joke, depending on the definition of "unique".

Roger and I tried to reassure him that it was, indeed a compliment. But, how do you tell someone, someone like Joseph, how very special they really are.

Joseph started out special, he was born on his due date, which, in case you didn't know, is extremely rare. Only a very small percentage of babies are actually born on their predicted due dates. Others arrive sometime during the two weeks prior or the two weeks after. It's NOT an exact science, except for special people - people like Joseph.

As a baby, Joseph was incredibly easy. He came here loving to sleep and eat, and after the nightmare baby that Alex (his older brother) was, this made him very special.

Toddler years were a different matter, altogether. When Joseph reached the age of question, and he reached it VERY early, in my opinion, the words "just because" didn't mean a lot to him. We had some rough and rocky times until I learned that this child, this very special child, wasn't being difficult on purpose. He was merely questioning the WHYS and REASONS behind the rules and behaviors the world was imposing on him.

Once it was explained to Joseph why a rule was needed, he'd think about it, and if it made sense to him, he'd obey without further question. Silly and nonsensical rules were up for discussion and debate, and IF Joseph decided to follow the arbitrary rules, it was because of his love and/or respect for the person making the request, NOT because it was what was expected.

Joseph, just by his very existence, has taught so many people so many things. His pre-school teacher learned a child can be older and wiser than his years, but, yet still be a child with childlike actions. He taught his art teacher that artistic talent can be detected and guided in someone as young as 7 years old. He taught his second grade teacher that standing up for what's right is more important than going to recess on time.

His band buddies on their trip to Disney a couple of years ago, learned much more about Disney than they would have if Joseph hadn't taken over their group and organized their activities, including bathroom breaks. Such is the burden of a born leader, a leader like Joseph.

Throughout his life, Joseph has helped and tutored friends in academics, art and band. He's always been going places and he's going to take the people he loves with him, no matter how much work it might be.

He's funny and talented and smart and stubborn and loving and dedicated and determined; and he holds himself to almost impossibly high standards. Standards that are so high, most people would be happy with much, much less.

Even so, his standards are only for himself. He isn't boastful or condescending to those who haven't achieved his level of success. He believes every person is an individual, with special gifts and talents to share, and to appreciate.

How do you tell someone that, because of them, you're a better person? That you've learned to look past the surface, and not always take the easy way out. To question the rules and stand against them if they're wrong, no matter the possible penalty. That the rocky, winding road may not be the easiest, but the sights you'll see and the feelings you'll have will be worth so much more; and to give anything less than my best effort is a greater insult to myself than if I try and fail.

God gives us gifts and blessings in life. Joseph is both a gift and a blessing to me, but, I believe he's more than that. I truly believe Joseph is a gift to mankind. The kind of human being who, just by his very existence, makes the world, and it's people, a better place to be. THAT, is the definition of UNIQUE.

Let me tell ya, it was a close call!!

Picture this - Roger, who is so afraid of heights the man has to psyche himself up to climb a 6 ft. ladder, was precariously propping the ladder across the hedges in front of the house (now, anyone who knows me, knows that my house is on a terraced front yard - so the top of my yard is about the heighth of the top of the trees across the STREET - yep, the air is rare up there.

Joseph was on TOP of the house, LEANING way the hell over to staple gun the string of lights across the eaves. Everytime he'd go to squeeze the staple gun, the force of it would literally LIFT him off the roof about 2-3 inches, then plop his clueless azz back down again.

Alex is on the ground (thank God one of them is Earthbound at least) and is in charge of "holding the ladder". Note to self, holding the ladder apparantly is man-code for casually resting a foot on the lowest rung, while shouting instructions to the idiot on the ladder above you.

Alex is ALSO in charge of transporting needed supplies to the idiot on the roof - which involves a lot of hand waving and heaving of various heavy, sharp and possibly lethal objects, including staple guns, boxes of extra staples and wire cutters - the sharp ones. All of these items Joseph delights and takes great pride in catching one-handed.

Please keep in mind Roger, the breadwinner of the family is directly UNDERNEATH all of this Sharp Object Heaving and One Handed Catching, busily untangling lights while hanging on by one elbow crooked in the ladder.

Oh, and don't forget the ingenious way he figured out how to MOVE the ladder over without all that unnecessary climbing up and down. That's right folks, you just grab the ladder in both hands and jerk it back and over a couple of inches (did I say JERK??). The problem with this is that if you don't do it right, you'll smash straight through the big dining room windows, but HEY, what's Holiday Decorating without a little risk?

I swear, it's a miracle I don't have a drinking problem.

A friend of mine recently came up with a fabulous idea...one which could make millions of dollars for someone who's not as bone lazy as we are.

Here's the idea: Feminine Hygiene Products designed SPECIFICALLY for women "of a certain age". Which means the ARMIES of us currently going through the torture of perimenopause.

This brilliant idea was born out of pain and suffering....the pain and suffering of hearing me gripe and complain about the injustices of this really fun phase of my life. Particularly the following two observations: 1) If you can't see how to open the mini pad box without your cheater glasses on, you shouldn't HAVE to need the pads anymore; and 2) If you can't open the tampon wrapper because of the arthritis in your hands, you shouldn't need those anymore either. Seriously, enough is enough, okay?

All we need is a product name and some catchy advertising tag lines and VOILA, we're in business. Another friend suggested the name, Meni-Pads, which beat MY suggestions of:

1) Well, CRAP!
2) Dammit, Not Again!
3) How Long Will This Bullshit Go On?
and
4) Somebody's Going To Hear About This!!

Obviously, I'm currently too close to the situation to think of a good (and not obscene) product name. However, I DO have some possible tag lines we can use:

1) Use "Meni-Pads" and nobody gets hurt.
2) Use "Meni-Pads" and have a homicide-free period.
3) "Meni-Pads" because sometimes life sucks.
4) "Meni-Pads" because God's obviously a man and He's not gonna help you with this one.
5) "Meni-Pads" because NOBODY looks good in Jailhouse Orange.
6) "Meni-Pads" because your family is starting to fear you.

Our products will also be customized for our target audience. Instead of sanitary wipes, our products will contain various alibis, and the telephone numbers of criminal attorneys and bail bondsmen, in case of any unfortunate homicides and/or killing sprees.

Also, SOME specially marked packages will contain sweat rags and battery operated fans for those unplanned and inconvenient hot flashes; our Econo-Jumbo-Last Until You're Out Of This Hell-Package will include free samples of prescription anti-depressants and mood elevators.

Seriously, what more could you want? Except for not having to go through this lunacy in the first place?

Oh, and if you don't understand this entry or you think I'm being just a little too over the top about this whole issue? Well, then you obviously haven't been through menopause, aren't currently IN perimenopause or don't know anyone who's been there and done that and, frankly, you're ticking me off and I want you dead.

Now, where's that free Prozac sample?

When I was planning our Thanksgiving menu, I made the mistake of actually asking my boys if they wanted anything special. We'll have our regular turkey, dressing, giblet gravy, sweet potato casserole and pumpkin pie, of course.

Joseph requested mashed potatoes, because, apparantly he thinks the menu is lacking starchy foods. Alex asked for something different - he wanted the edamame salad from Central Market.

So, Monday morning found me making the hour long round trip to our "local" Central Market grocery, where, once again, I was faced with a breed of woman I find completely puzzling and amazing.

I'm talking women wearing 4 inch stilletto heels, and skin tight designer clothes to grab a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread (well, probably a gallon of organic soy and a loaf of 6 grain oatmeal/bran high fiber bread).

I think it's an accomplishment for me to make it to the grocery store fully dressed...matching clothes and make up is definitely a BONUS. In fact, if you want to know the truth, I've often been struck with a momentary panic in the grocery aisle, wondering if I still have my houseshoes on. If you saw my houseshoes, you'd understand the panic part - think fur that looks like a pink gay Grover on Sesame Street and you get the picture.

I think these designer females are fascinating and should be studied, but at a safe distance, in case whatever illness they have is contagious. The way my body is falling apart, I don't think I could DO grocery shopping in high heels.

Oh, and the salad? Got it...all two pounds and $15.00 worth. Man, these kids owe me.

I'm calling this recipe Cheater Reese's Brownie Cupcakes because it's unbelievable how easy it is...and, according to Joseph and his friends, they are one of the best things ever made.

1 Box of Duncan Hines Brownie Mix (the plain variety)
12 - 18 mini Reese's Peanut Butter Cups

Prepare brownie mix according to the package directions for cake-like brownies (which usually means using 3 eggs, instead of 2).

Line muffin tins with paper muffin cups (12 - 18, depending on how large you want your cupcakes)

Spoon each muffin cup half full with brownie batter. Place an unwrapped peanut butter cup into each muffin and cover with more brownie batter.

Bake at 350 degrees for 18 - 20 minutes.

FYI:

The cupcakes will look kind of strange on top because of the melted chocolate of the Reese's peanut butter cups. Don't worry, they're delicious!

I've become aware of a little known phenomenon. Want to expose your kids to new things and broaden their horizons? Just buy something for YOURSELF and see what happens.

I'm a Weight Watcher Lifetime Member and I'm always on the lookout for different foods that will help keep me OP (or "on plan" in WW lingo). Naturally, most of this food is of the "healthy" (or tasteless) variety and some of it can even be classified as "diet" (gasp). Doesn't matter...Joseph will search it out and consume it almost as fast as I can get it in the house.

Now, this is a kid who is over 6 feet tall and weighs maybe 170 pounds. He can eat whatever he wants, so somebody tell me why the fat free chips and the sugar free pudding are disappearing? Not to mention the new bran cereal I bought for myself JUST YESTERDAY. (Actually, that one's okay, I'm pretty sure he's gonna have a visit from the Bran Cereal Fairy that will more than make up for the fact that he pilfered my food - kind of like Intestinal Karma.)

The pantry raiding isn't really that bad. I'm a mom and to me, Food Is Love (which goes a long way in explaining how I became a WW member in the first place). But, the pilfering has gone from food to actual household items.

Alex was home yesterday for Roger's birthday and to give me a chance to get reacquainted with his dirty laundry. He'd been here for about an hour (eating continuously, by the way), when he asked me if I had an "extra" toaster he could borrow (read: have).

Being a good mother, I pulled my old toaster off the shelf, blew the dust out of it, and handed it over. I also remembered an old toaster-oven we'd stashed in Roger's closet. What? My house has NO available cupboard space, which often forces us to cram stuff in Roger's closet. We store stuff in Roger's closet because, no matter how much junk we pile in there, it really doesn't look much different than it does when it's just his CLOTHES in there.

Alex followed me back to the bedroom and I held his feet while he dove head-first into the closet after the buried toaster-oven treasure. After extensive rummaging and junk relocation, he found the toaster-oven, pulled it out and managed to escape the ensuing junk avalanche. I think it proves my point when I tell you that Roger didn't even notice we'd been in his closet, despite the fact that the only way we could get some of the stuff crammed back in was to stand back, hurl it in and slam the closet door real fast.

And, just this morning, I noticed Joseph plugging my new bluetooth back into the charger. I asked him what he was doing and he said he'd "borrowed" my bluetooth and he was resetting it to my phone number.

Now, what's ironic about this is, just the other day Roger and I were thinking about buying both boys a bluetooth for Christmas. I asked Joseph if he thought he'd like one and he assured me he had no use for a bluetooth, since he didn't spend that much time actually talking on the phone, mostly he uses text messaging. Silly me, how could I FORGET that $300.00 phone bill we received BEFORE we signed on for a free text-messaging plan!

I told Joseph it was okay for him to use my bluetooth, since I really didn't use it much myself. Honestly, it hurts my ear and makes my hair look funny (and I'm always afraid somebody will mistake me for a rock star - Ha!)

Maybe that's it...maybe the boys don't have a problem "borrowing" our stuff because we've always been more than happy to give it to them. I'm hoping they remember this and return the favor when they're rich and successful. But, just in case, I'm planning on telling my grandkids every little single thing we've ever done for their daddies, and encouraging them to expect the same things and even MORE.

I believe in leaving a Legacy.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am proud to announce that my son's band, The Mighty Poteet Pirate Marching Band, won the UIL 4A State Championship last week - and, if I may add, this is their SECOND State Championship in a row! Yes, Ma'am...back to back winners, Baybee!!

Oh, and if I may FURTHER add, my son had not one, not two, not three but FOUR, that's right, count 'em FOUR trumpet solos in said performance! A fact that almost every single person in the city of San Antonio is now aware of (yeah, Momma has a braggin' problem, allright).

It was a fabulous time and Roger and I are so glad we made the trip down and listened to eleventy hundred bands that we couldn't have cared LESS about, just so we were THERE when OUR band won the title! Oh, and a note to the event planners, if you have a program of continuous performances by high school marching bands...endless hours of drumlines, brass sections and woodwinds all playing music that sounds remarkably the same - if you have THAT as your event for the day, you might rethink the idea of having a COLLEGE MARCHING BAND as your halftime entertainment. Despite what some people might think - there IS such a thing as too much band. Ugh.

Of course, it was a regular Melinda kind of trip, complete with a cross dressing band father sitting behind me. Don't get me wrong, I'm all about tolerance and being open-minded. But it did take me back a little bit, when I turned around and the "couple" I'd been hearing behind me turned out to be an average looking wife and a husband who was in full drag attire, complete with long brunette wig, make up and acrylic nails.

I don't know if he/she was a candidate for surgery or not, but, judging by the visible cleavage he was sporting, he hadn't had anything done yet. My suggestion? He should start with a wax job on his chest. Yikes!

After the preliminary competition, we all got up to leave the Alamodome. We were saying our goodbyes and the wife looks at me, nudges her husband and says, "Go on, tell her." Oh God...I've told y'all how people are always telling me things they really SHOULDN'T tell me. Seriously, they share things with me I don't even think their Mothers or their Ministers want to know about. I could only imagine what this man/woman was going to say to me. Good Lord.

I shouldn't have worried...the man looked me in the eye and tells me he just LOVES my hair color and that my hairdresser had done a fabulous job with the highlights.

Now, seeing as how this person was meticulously groomed - with perfect make up and hair and I looked like I'd thrown my make up in the air and just ran through it, I do believe I'll proudly and gladly take that compliment.

And, lesson learned, you should always listen whenever someone wants to tell you something...it just might be something you really want to hear.

The boys are always asking me which one of them is my favorite. Alex thinks Joseph is my favorite and Joseph is convinced Alex is my favorite one.

I've got some news for them both.

I have no idea why, but Halloween is probably my all-time favorite holiday. Maybe it's because it's relatively chore-free. All you have to do is buy TONS of candy and spend a couple of hours one night handing it out to a bunch of strangers' kids. No shopping or baking required, just candy dispersal. I can definitely get on board with that.

We had our usual HORDE of Trick or Treaters last night. Seriously, we estimated that from 6:00 - 9:00 p.m. we had approximately 500 ghouls, goblins, ninjas, princesses, bees and lions begging us for candy. Oh, and one 74 year old woman, who was in charge of squiring her grandkids around, but managed to remember to bring a bag for herownself. Gotta love a woman who's prepared.

Two of our neighbors set up scary haunted houses - a little TOO scary if you ask me, but since they never DID, I guess they'll never know. All night long it sounded like someone was being savagely murdered right outside our front door. Talk about your festive holiday spirit!

The first Tricksters/Treatsters pulled up in front of our house at 6:00 p.m., opened their car doors and tumbled out of their SUV. It was non-stop kids from then on. Seriously, the doorbell didn't even RING..there wasn't enough time between moochers to even step away from the door.

Roger and Layla stood there for three straight hours just barking and handing out candy. Layla was in charge of barking and Roger headed up candy distribution, but occasionally, Layla tried to switch jobs by snatching the candy from the bowl. I'd LIKE to say we threw those few Layla slobber soaked pieces away...yeah, I'd LIKE to say that, but I CAN'T say it, because, truthfully? We wiped the dog spit off and pitched it back in the bowl. We're talking SURVIVAL here folks - would YOU want to run out of candy with that many sugar crazed kids roaming your neighborhood?

And, speaking of the neighborhood, ours was so packed last night there was a traffic jam on our street. Alex came over to carve pumpkins with his brother (something that brings back such wonderful memories and chokes me right up, I can tell you), and when he left, he had to avoid the traffic jams by driving down the alleys.

So, today's the day after my favorite Holiday. I've already gotten the Halloween decorations put away, and I've gotten out the stuff for Thanksgiving. Layla and I saw the remnants of a good time on our walks today: the odd candy bar, sucker, and plastic fangs.

Apparently, the haunted houses were a big hit and very authentic; judging by Layla's biggest score this morning...she snarfed up an entire piece of pepperoni pizza in front of one of the houses that was "haunted".

Man, that must have been SOME kinda scary....bad enough to make somebody drop their pizza and run.

Here are pictures of Alex, Joseph and Audrey carrying on our family tradition of carving pumpkins to sit on the porch for Halloween night. The boys have been doing this since they were in pre-school and it's always the same....Alex does the traditional three triangles for the eyes and nose and a grinning mouth and Joseph goes all creative. This year we had the extra added bonus of a girl's touch....Audrey's pumpkin (her very first!) was just precious, and I'm proud to say that reaching in and pulling out all the gross pumpkin guts didn't faze her one bit!

P.S. Notice Layla's hopeful expression in the first picture? I'm sure she's thinking, "one of these things is gonna hit the floor any minute now and then it's ALL MINE!"

We had the tile man out today to repair the two tiles in the utility room that had to be jackhammered up to locate our slab leak. (Just another one of the joys of homeownership we've experienced lately. I'm telling ya, renting is looking better and better all the time.)

So, of course, the tile-man was telling me his life story - or at least the good parts. Let's see...he's been married twice and his second wife was crazy, and was responsible for getting him arrested on at least one occasion. Nothing sharpens the senses quite like being alone in your kitchen with a strange man telling you about his prison record. Perks you right up, I'm telling ya.

I started telling HIM about my husband and two grown sons, who are REALLY big and fight REALLY dirty and know how to hide a body, and, oh yeah - that dog? The one who's prancing around with a toy in her mouth, wagging her tail and making happy pig-like noises?? She's a cold stone killer. All I have to do is snap my fingers and before you know it, your throat is torn completely out!! Really, she'd probably even LIKE it, too.

Tile-man says he can't BELIEVE I have kids that old. That he's 41 and he'd never have thought I was even close to his age. Oh really? Well, that's a different story...isn't that nice and, I tell him that as a matter of fact I AM close to his age..actually I'm OLDER - six whole years older.

He looks closely at me and says, "Well, I'd have never even guessed that....you sure have held up real good!"

Okay, it's not poetry, but I'll take it.

Let me tell you, the only reason Roger's not walking around with a knot on his head is because I have such poor aim.

Joseph will hit the big 18 this Sunday (sob) and I had asked him what kind of cake he wanted for his birthday. Now, remember, Roger and I have been on Weight Watcher maintenance for what seems like eleventy hundred years or so, and I haven't actually BAKED anything in almost that long. Secretly, I was hoping Joseph would pick something I could fix from a box with a couple of tubs of store bought frosting slapped on. Okay, so it wouldn't have been "home made", but lemme tell ya, there's not much that can't be fixed with a couple of tubs of frosting, even if it IS store bought.

So, we were eating dinner, Joseph was pondering his birthday cake choices and I was throwing out helpful suggestions. The conversation went something like this:
Me: What kind of cake do you want?
Joseph: I don't know.
Me: I can make you a white cake with chocolate frosting, or a yellow cake with chocolate frosting, or, HEY, A BAKERY CAKE IS ALWAYS GOOD! (Am I a subtle or what?)
Then, out of NOWHERE, Roger says, "How about that delicious Red Velvet Cake your mother used to make?"

WHAT??? RED VELVET CAKE?? Do you have any idea how hard it is to make a Red Velvet Cake?? Especially like the kind my MOTHER used to make?? You're talking about an honest to God, from scratch, gotta sift the flour and everything cake!! The freakin' FROSTING has to be cooked on the stove and then refrigerated and then creamed with more ingredients and mine always ends up with little clumps of lard in it and I think I need a pill! I mean, MY GOD, I'd rather donate a kidney.

I was hoping maybe Joseph hadn't heard what Roger said. He doesn't listen or acknowledge what we've said about 90% of the time, so the odds were on my side, right? NOPE. When those words came out of Roger's mouth, Joseph's eyes lit up and he said, "Red Velvet Cake? I remember that cake - that's a GREAT cake! That's the kind of cake I want!"

Now, when I heard my youngest soon-to-be-an-adult son say those words, I'd like to say I felt all warm and maternal and nostalgic that he had such feelings for a cake my mother used to make for each of us on our birthdays. Yeah, I'd LIKE to say that, but I'd be lying if I did. I am NO June Cleaver and I think a lovingly crafted from the box cake would have been just fine. Joseph sure does slather the compliments on his girlfriend Audrey when SHE makes him one of those cheater cakes, doesn't he? But ME? Oh NO.....Nothing less is expected of me than a kill-yourself (or better yet your husband who suggested it) kind of cake.

I think I must have quietly expressed some kind of resistance, or maybe I said all of the above OUT LOUD at a fairly LOUD VOLUME. But, somehow, Joseph sensed I was less than enthusiastic about this whole proposition, and so he did the one thing that proves to me he is definitely MY son and has inherited at least ONE gift from MY side of the family.

He whipped out the Guilt Whip and lashed me with it! Seriously, he was MASTERFUL! My Mother would have been so proud. Joseph looked me straight in the eye and said, "That's okay, Mom, I know it's a pain to make...but, you know, it would have been nice, since I'm only going to turn 18 once." I am telling you I could HEAR my Mother cheering from Heaven Above. She may be gone, but her legacy of love, guilt and Birthday Red Velvet Cake still lives on.

Good Lord, how long has it been since I've posted anything? Forever, I know. So much has happened in the last few months, I'll try to catch you up.

Let's see, Joseph is a senior in high school, and plans to attend college and major in pre-med, probably because he just doesn't think he has ENOUGH stress and pressure in his life. Or maybe he just wanted to hear his father's special college speech, "Four years, we pay for FOUR YEARS, anything more is on your OWN dime!" Ahhhh, parental support, it's a wonderful thing, isn't it? Meanwhile, Joseph is still big in band and we go to San Antonio in November to DEFEND our STATE CHAMPIONSHIP TITLE. (I'm trying to be really excited about this, but, honestly, I'm more excited about a three day vacation from home and dog....ummmm, Go Band!)

Alex is a senior and will graduate this Spring with an accounting degree and plans to get a Master's Degree and become a CPA. He ALSO moved into his own apartment, which broke my heart and ruined my life, but I'm trying not to hold a grudge and I DO manage to have wonderful, long, really personal visits with his laundry, every two weeks.

Roger's counting the days (literally) until he can retire. I've racked my brain, trying to figure out ways to supplement our income and cut costs, so that he can retire early, but no one wants to pay me for my one God Given talent - hormonal ranting; and Layla REFUSES to stand on the roadside with a cup, cane and dark glasses....she's selfish like that, you know.

Speaking of Layla - she's 3 years old now and, while she HAS calmed down a tee tiny bit, she still pretty much terrifies the average person with her "exuberance" (read: bad manners), and I'm fairly sure it would be an impossibility to spoil her any more than she already is. She is the love of Roger's life, and I am almost certain the only reason I'm still around is because I know where the treats are hidden.

Probably the biggest change to happen recently is the death of my mother. Mother passed away from complications of Alzheimer's in September. She may have lost the battle with Alzheimer's, but she DID win the war!! She died very peacefully, surrounded by my sister, my niece and myself, and it was indeed a victory. For the first time in almost 10 years, my mother was calm and at peace. She died a few days before her 82nd birthday and we celebrated her life with a memorial service on her birthday. It was a party my mother would have LOVED, with cake and punch and friends and family...HER kind of celebration.

As for me, I find myself at another changing point in my life. My boys are growing up (okay, okay, they're GROWN UP already...let me hang on for a little while longer, please?) I have more and more free time now and that is taking some getting used to. I know I'll adjust, it's just going to take some time. Maybe I should develop some new hobbies or maybe I'll just show up here more often. Who knows? It's a whole new life now, isn't it?