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.