Our oldest, Alex, has fallen in love recently, and he's fallen HARD. It's kind of bittersweet for a Mother to realize her son has found another female to love and care for. I know it's what happens when our children grow up, but that doesn't make it any easier for those of us who are put aside.

Alex was introduced to his new lady love by someone who was hoping they'd hit it off and become a life-long couple, and that is exactly what has happened.

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy about it, I really am, but it is going to take some getting used to. For starters, Alex's "true love" has a rather questionable background. She never knew her father and she and her siblings were taken away from their mother at a very early age. Not her fault, I know, and Roger and I have always taught the boys that you don't judge someone by the actions of their family.

Apparently he's learned that lesson well. He cherishes his new love in a way I never thought he would, showering her with presents, and making sure she keeps her doctors appointments. He even went so far as to ask us to please watch over her when he has to travel out of town, and he had the NERVE to instruct ME on what type of behavior he expected from me....all the do's and don'ts when dealing with this new woman in his life.

It's almost more than I can take, I'm telling you. But, if I'm being fair, I have to admit that this girl is worth it. She's young and cute, with a charming personality and she loves Alex with her whole heart. She's so grateful for every little thing he does for her, it almost breaks your heart to see it. But, don't go by me...judge for yourself.

I'm happy to introduce Wit Proza, the love of my son's life. (But, you'd better believe I'm taking her to Braum's for a frozen yogurt whether Alex likes it or not!)

Roger and I were at a restaurant, eating dinner the other night, when I saw a sight that warmed my heart (and NO, it wasn't the dessert cart).

A young man was seated at another table, waiting for his girlfriend to meet him for dinner. When he saw her approaching, he stood, waited for her to get to the table, and pushed her chair in for her when she sat down. I swear I heard the voices of countless mothers raised in a victory cheer.

Being the mother of two sons, I have tried, almost since their births it seems, to teach them the good old fashioned Southern trait of chivalry. Believe me when I tell you this has NOT been an easy task. I can't tell you the number of times I've stood outside a door, waiting for my clueless sons to realize that Momma wasn't coming in until you opened the door for her, no matter HOW cold it is out there.

Not only did I have to fight the battle of "If Mom Says It, It Must Be Ignored", but, honestly, today's young women don't help with or encourage this kind behavior modification. My oldest son's girlfriend, Kim, told me the other day that women her age aren't used to being treated with old fashioned courtesy, so they often don't know how to respond.

This became painfully obvious to Roger the other day at PetsMart. We'd whipped in to buy another of the ginormous bags of dog food our dogs manage to consume at an alarming rate, and were waiting in line at the check out counter.

A young woman struggled up behind us with her own ton 'o food bag, and Roger, seeing her wrestling with the heavy load, offered to carry it for her. The young woman was startled at the offer, looked embarassed and vehemently refused Roger's help. I'm pretty sure the loud popping sound we heard was Roger's ego taking a major hit. He was crushed, thinking the young woman had refused his offer because she thought he was too OLD to be lifting something that heavy.

I tried to explain to him that ACCEPTING chivalrous gestures is just as much of a learned behavior as PERFORMING them, and, since chivalry appears to be on the decline, it's no wonder people are surprised and caught off guard when they witness it firsthand.

I had to learn myself to let a door be opened, a dropped item picked up, and a hand or arm be given in assistance. Take the first date Roger and I ever went on. When we got to the restaurant, Roger parked and quickly jumped out of the car. What I didn't know at the time was, that he was running around the car to open my door for me. Thinking this guy was in an awfully big hurry, I threw my car door open and managed to smash it into his outstretched hand and further right into his gut. Lesson Number One - just let them open the door for you and nobody gets hurt.

I guess I've appointed myself the unofficial Chivalry Fairy, and seriously, it's wearing me out. Between constantly getting onto Alex and Joseph for NOT holding up their end of this manners dance, I've taken to correcting their girlfriends when they make the, in my mind, almost fatal mistake of opening the door for themselves.

Bless their hearts, Audrey and Kim have both been much nicer to me than I deserve when I bark at them with a sharp "Don't you TOUCH that door! You let HIM open it!"

Sometimes the job has its' rewards, though. Like the other night, after we finished eating, I went over to the young couples' table and told the nice young man that I had witnessed his gallantry and that I, as a woman, would just like to say how very much I appreciated it.

See, Chivalry ISN'T dead...no matter how hard the young woman at PetsMart tried to kill it.

There's no reason I shouldn't be making money off of the ridiculous things the Karma Fairy does to me on a regular basis. I know strange and often hilarious things happen to other people, too, but, it just seems to happen to me more frequently than the rest of mankind, and I'm thinking I should be compensated for it. That's only fair, right?

My latest adventure involves one of my constant enemies - technology. Namely, the automatic garage door opener that has decided to join the other appliances in my life and work only IF and WHEN it wants to work.

Whether it's the fancy schmancy door opener on my car's rearview mirror or the wall mounted unit located outside the garage, the actual opening of the garage door has been hit or miss for some time now. (Note: Since I have next to NO patience for this kind of thing, Roger has been forewarned to expect the huge hole in the garage door when I finally lose my temper and just plow THROUGH it. That's the thing - I WILL win, even if it costs me a lot of money in home repairs.)

Today started off with the possibility of peril. Since a winter storm warning had been issued last night, I was determined to get the dogs walked before any ice and freezing temperatures decided to make an appearance.

Roger told me not to, my Dad told me not to and my common sense told me not to, but who listens to THEM, anyway? Off the dogs and I went and it was a really uneventful walk, with a lot of sniffing and marking (them) and a lot of griping and whining (me).

With our walk over, we sashay up to the garage door, I key our code into the wall mounted opener and....nothing. I enter it again...nothing. This goes on and on until I begin to resemble the not so bright lab rats that keep repeating the desired behavior but with NO REWARD to show for it.

With a little sob I realize that: 1) the door IS NOT going to open, no matter how hard I mash the buttons; 2) Kicking it doesn't help; 3) I am locked out of the house and the temperature is dropping; 4) I'm going to have to climb the fence; and 5) I AM 48 YEARS OLD and haven't climbed a fence in over 40 years and I wasn't particularly good at it THEN, either.

I turn around and face the mountain - our 6 foot privacy fence. Now, you're probably wondering why I didn't just open the gate and WALK into our backyard, like any normal person would. First of all, my life is anything BUT normal, which, if you read this blog regularly, you already know; and Second our gate is locked with a padlock to keep out any would be thieves, dog nappers and idiots whose garage door openers quit working.

The dogs are looking at me like, "It's cold out here and it's misting..why aren't we in the house, getting our after walk treats? Hurry up, would you? There's a warm couch with my name on it!"

I take a deep breath (possibly my last) and heave myself up the fence (Hey, that weightlifting is really paying off!) I throw first one, then the other leg, over the top of the fence and, before you know it, I'm sitting on the top, looking at the long, long way down to the ground on the other side.

Do you ever have those moments when it becomes clear to you that what you're doing is NOT a good idea? That maybe you've made a HUGE mistake..one that might actually take a horrible turn and end up being the main item in an accident report? Or a story that starts out, "And then it all went terribly wrong"?

I hope when and if your "moment" comes, you're not straddling a 6 foot fence that has begun to sway dangerously back and forth, all alone except for two big dogs with worried looks on their faces.

The worried dogs and the swaying fence convinced me I had to take action, like it or not, so I closed my eyes real tight and wished for a ladder to magically appear on the other side of the fence. When I opened my eyes, I realized two things - wishes don't work and my pants were caught on a nail in the fence.

I took a deep breath, knowing it WOULD probably be my last, and jumped. The ripping sound I heard let me know that my pants were not as committed to this endeavor as I was - they were staying with the fence. When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the other side of the fence, in the only muddy spot in the entire yard (OF COURSE!), with my head resting in the dead spider lily plant. (FYI: If you think there might be an occasion where you have to climb your fence, I highly recommend planting soft, comfy plants to cushion your fall. Howard Garrett might not tell you, but I will.)

You're probably thinking I've got it made, now. I'm over the fence with no broken bones (thank you calcium pills!) and only a pair of torn sweats to show for it. But, I've still got to get IN the house, remember?

After raising my fist and giving a heartfelt but definitely wimpy, "Whoo-Hoo" victory yell, I stand up and stagger to the back door. I'll have to crawl through the dog door on my belly, but, hey, dignity has left this building a long time ago, ya know what I'm saying?

The dogs have started to whine and, while I'd like to think it's out of concern for my well being, I'm pretty sure it's because they realize if I fatally injure myself, their daily Sonic trip may just be cancelled or at the very least a tad bit late.

I get through the dog door with no further mishap, except that the ripped pants are now also soaked due to me having to crouch down on the sopping wet door mat in front of the doggie door.

I squish my way through the house and into the garage where I spot it..the Beast I have beaten. I slap the door opener and, amazingly enough, the door opens! (ooo, don't even go there - too little, too late, my friend - you are DONE!) I stand there for what seems like just a minute to throw some choice words at the offending mechanical device and go out to retrieve my poor, worried, clueless dogs, who are now so scared and confused they don't know what to do.

I've already told Roger I wanted a new garage door opener AND I WANT IT RIGHT NOW! He agreed with me, and I'm not sure, but I think he was laughing when he said it.

I don't care. I met my enemy on the battlefield and I defeated it. Excuse me, I've got pants to sew and I think Dudley needs another Prozac.

Wherever my Mother is, I can tell you she's ticked off. Being a stay at home mom, my mother's life was sometimes not her own. Her days were filled with caring for her family and running a household. Her time was not hers, EXCEPT for two definite occasions, and smart people learned that valuable lesson very early. Her weekly beauty shop appointment and her daily soap operas were holy rituals that were never to be missed.

Somewhere, up in Heaven, my mother is sitting in a comfy chair, with her coffee in a beautiful china cup, and a fresh box of chocolates by her side. She is also fighting mad at what has become of her beloved "programmies".

I understand television is trying to attract younger viewers. They're trying to appeal to the college crowd, and that's understandable. Young viewers are the target audience because of their disposable income. It's not that they have MORE of it, it's just that they tend to DISPOSE of it more often than the older generation does. We realize the importance of putting that extra income aside to use for the really fun things in life...hip replacements, angioplasties, biopsies, and don't forget the extra meds you'll be needing. Yeah, we oldsters know how to plan a party, don't we?

While I don't really watch soap operas, I do keep the television tuned to the same channel my mother watched for years. (What? The dogs like the noise..really!) Since I have the soaps tuned in, I can't help but overhear some of the plot and let me tell you, Toto, we are NOT in Kansas, anymore.

Oh, there's still the always popular "amnesia" plot, the kidnapping plot, the evil witch who's breaking up everyone's marriage plot, and the cheating husband plot. But, today's soaps also include eye poppers like graphic sex scenes between both straight AND gay characters.

There's nothing wrong with these latest storylines. In a lot of ways they do reflect real life and for the most part, I'm okay with them, up to a POINT. A line was definitely crossed the other day on one of the oldest soap operas on television. I'm talking about that Grande Dame of Soap Operadom..The Guiding Light.

Reva Shayne, a character who became notorious in her youth as the Town Tramp of Springfield (you know there's ALWAYS one), has aged and her character has survived adventures too numerous to mention. I realize her character is vital to the soap opera, but is it too much to ask for her to age gracefully? In a believeable fashion, while she embraces her age and enjoys the wonderfulness that middle age has to offer?

Apparently it IS too much to ask, since it was announced recently that Reva is pregnant! Quite a trick for someone who, not too long ago, shared her adventures in menopause with her sympathetic viewers who were experiencing the same thing.

Seriously, this woman is older than ME and, some genius decided it would be a good idea to have her experience the joys of labor, delivery and motherhood all over again, at OUR age? I can honestly tell you, that when the doctor delivered the news, my own uterus sat straight up and said, "Oh No, She Didn't!"

That did it for me. I'll be turning the television off before Guiding Light comes on, although it would be fun to see if Reva manages to find a walker with a support strap for her pregnant belly.

Remember before we met? You were a 36 year old, divorced father, caring for a young daughter and I was an almost 22 year old young woman in the process of divorcing my first mistake (I mean husband), after what had to be one of the shortest marriages in history. I might make mistakes quickly, but I fix them even quicker.

Who knew we'd ever meet or have a first date? The fortune teller who told you that you would soon meet someone important to you and she'd be considerably younger with a name that began with an "S". (My married name at the time was Smith); She knew.

Remember when you came to the Chamber of Commerce where I worked? You were there to give a speech and spent a whole lot of time looking at me. I knew you were going to ask me out and, in a rare show of shyness, I hid in the Women's bathroom until you'd left.

Who knew we'd eventually go on that date and hit it off so well? You must have had a pretty good idea, since you persevered, overcame my shyness and asked me out; You knew.

Remember the night we were married? A typical Texas Blue Norther blew in and the wind almost tore the church steeple off while we were reciting our vows. Who knew you'd be the best husband and father that God ever made? My mother, before the ceremony, told me you were the best man she'd ever met in her life and that if I hurt you, she'd never forgive me; She knew.

Remember when I became pregnant with our first child? There were complications and the first doctor I saw told me not to even tell anyone I was pregnant, because I was going to lose the baby.

Who knew that baby would thrive, be born and grow up to be a strong, handsome, caring, loving and successful 22 year old college graduate? When I came home from that first doctor's appointment, you held me tight and told me not to worry, that everything would be alright; You knew.

Remember when my parents were the people I counted on to comfort me; to advise me; to counsel me and to guide me? Their opinions were the ones that mattered to me.

Who knew that one day you would take their place; that you would be my base, my guide, my counselor, my advisor, my confidant and the most important person in my life? When our youngest was severely ill, my mother and I were walking out of the hospital after having his chest x-rays taken. You walked in just then and when I saw you, all the stress and fear ran out of me. I could breathe again and I knew everything was going to be alright; I knew.

Remember when we started this life together, over 24 years ago? Who knew we'd stay together, building a wonderful life, becoming closer, better, and more in love every day, until we can't even imagine a life without each other? I think we BOTH knew.

I love you Roger.

Sunday afternoon, my son's car was broken into in our very own driveway...in the middle of the day, in broad daylight, with me, Roger and our two very big, but obviously very deaf, dogs watching the football playoffs.

Believe me when I tell you that this, combined with our stolen mail episode, has me seriously considering going Rambo and taking some matters into my own hands. Really, who among us hasn't wanted to go all "Sharon Osbourne" on someone every now and then? And, while maybe it's not the most civilized reaction we could have, it might just be the most effective and I'm willing to BET it would be the most SATISFYING.

Who knows why the thieves broke out Alex's car window, ripped out his CD player, and rifled through his trunk, looking for treasure? All during the hours of 1:00 - 2:00 p.m. on a sunny Sunday afternoon? Why did they choose Alex's car when there were at least 5 other cars within 50 feet of his? Cars that were much newer and nicer than Alex's car?

The answer is that Alex had an above average CD player in his car. One that apparently caught the eye of someone who was too lazy to work for it but wanted it, anyway. A little smash and grab - a little breaking and entering and voila, the CD player was theirs for the taking.

Why did they think they could get away with it during prime time on a busy weekend day? Because they could, and they DID.

Maybe it's because they knew that when the police received my 911 call at 2:00 p.m. it would take them until 5:00 p.m. to show up at our house. I have no idea how to break into a car and rip a CD player out of the dashboard, but I'll bet even I could do it if you gave me three hours to get it done.

This isn't our first experience with crime in our neighborhood. Several years ago our area was targeted for a series of petty thefts and vandalism. We responded by organizing a Crime Watch and holding several informative meetings, which were well attended by neighbors and even community leaders.

The police department gave us tips on crime prevention and assured us they were on the case. The Superintendent of our School District (who has since retired) reminded us this was to be expected, since we lived in the wealthiest neighborhood in the city. Keep in mind this is a city whose motto could be: "Mesquite...we put the Middle in middle-class".

Ironically enough, in that case, police arrested several youths responsible for the crime spree; Kids that live in a nearby small town. A much more affluent town, by the way. Kind of shoots down the whole "the have NOTS will steal from the HAVES" doesn't it?

I have no idea what the reason is behind the latest crimes plaguing our area, and honestly, I don't care WHAT the reason might be.

All I know is, if I catch someone vandalizing and/or stealing from us again, they'd better HOPE the police have improved their response time. The criminals don't want us to have to wait three hours for the police to arrive. It's three hours they WON'T enjoy...I WILL, but they WON'T.

Our Dudley is a most unique individual. He's his own man, a Renaissance Man, if you will. One of the many things that make Dudley unique is his love of clothing. Nothing makes him happier than wearing something snazzy and fashionable in the world of apparel.



Here he is, sporting his brand new Hawaiian style bandana. Put him on a beach, slap a tropical drink in his paw and you've got yourself a killer vacation ad.

We had a good holiday season here at the Proza household.

Joseph, was home from Texas A&M for a whole two days before he became sick as a dog with an evil stomach virus (truthfully, my dogs have NEVER been THAT sick, thank God).

He woke us up early on a Sunday morning, loudly calling for "Ralph", if you know what I mean. One funny thing about it (and believe me, I cleaned up the mess, so I KNOW there wasn't much in the way of funny), was Joseph's determination to make it to our regular Sunday brunch. After each stomach upheaval, he'd tell himself, "I'm okay, I'm okay - I'll just have the fruit plate, fruit will be okay." Bless his heart, the kid's a trooper, isn't he?

One thing Roger and I learned is that although Joseph is a brilliant kid, and has survived dorm room living for a whole semester, he still has some basic survival skills to learn. Primarily the art of throwing up.

Maybe it's because Joseph was lucky enough to be amazingly healthy all of his life, or maybe it's because he's just not overly burdened with a whole lot of common sense. Whatever the reason, it has never occurred to Joseph that, when you need to vomit, it's a good idea to get yourself as CLOSE to the target (read: toilet bowl) as you possibly can. Kneeling down is a requirement - grabbing the sides of the bowl and praying for death are optional.

No, throwing up, Joseph style, requires the merest movement of simply bowing your head a fraction of an inch, and letting 'er rip, all from a height of approximately 6'2". Accuracy is not necessary and isn't even encouraged. This procedure can be repeated, as needed, with even LESS accuracy from the doorway of the bathroom. Kind of a new take on the phrase "You don't even have to be PRESENT to win!"

Roger and I tried to educate Joseph on how to improve his form by telling him there was a reason being sick is often referred to as "driving the porcelain bus", and that he needed to get up close and personal with the toilet to avoid any mishaps someone (read: ME) would have to clean up.

Joseph was horrified, to say the least, and asked us WHY in the WORLD would anybody want to get that close to something that disgusting? Uh huh, spoken like someone who DOESN'T have to clean up the disgust.

The nausea was followed by a couple of days of high fever and some patient/caregiver battles. I'm the first to admit that I make a lousy nurse. If you are unlucky enough to become sick on my watch I seriously advise you to drag yourself to the nearest Discount Tire or Kwicky Lube...you'll get better care there, I promise.

I'm the type to open the door, throw in medicine, look at my watch and tell you that you have 15 minutes to get well or die, and I don't care which - just PICK ONE!

Joseph wouldn't eat anything (understandable), slept constantly (okay, he needs his rest to recover), repeatedly asked for a cold washcloth for his head (now he's pushing it), and wouldn't drink anything (what, does he WANT to dehydrate and spend his Christmas in the HOSPITAL?? He's doing this on purpose, isn't he?)

I'm happy to report that Joseph DID, in fact, recover, about 5 minutes before I tried to smother him with his pillow and went on to enjoy a very relaxed vacation of sleeping, watching television and laying around in his pajamas.

Pretty much what he did when he was sick with one big improvement. We're not quite as worried about his aim.

Here's our house all decorated for Christmas this year. Our neighborhood has been included on some Holiday Light Tours for several years, and it's very common to see traffic lined up down the street, each car driving slowly with their lights off to really get the full effect of all of the lights.

It's also common to see my husband, Roger, standing in our kitchen window yelling, "Jesus Christ, it's 11:00 p.m., don't you people have HOMES to go to?"

Merry Christmas, Y'all!!

Alright, I admit it...I'm one of those people you thought couldn't possibly exist. Someone you've never actually met, but have heard of in whispered "Can you BELIEVE it?" type conversations among close friends.

I am a Morning Person. When my feet hit the floor in the morning I am a happy girl. I can't help it. I start each day off singing silly, ridiculous songs (remember the "Chip & Dale Rescue Rangers" theme song? - would you WANT to remember it at 7:00 a.m. in the morning?)

A lot of dancing around and booty shaking accompanies my impromptu performances and the only people who seem even remotely appreciative are the dogs. Apparently, manic dancing and singing are excellent possibilities for treat distribution and, like all dogs, they LIVE for treat opportunities.

I've been told by certain people, namely people I'm married to or have given birth to, that being that happy and chipper in the morning is NOT natural and, in fact, can be somewhat...oh, what's the word? Annoying, irritating, maddening - oh and my favorite: an excellent reason for justifiable homicide.

At first glance, it seems that I'm a member of a very small group of people. But, I suspect there are more of us Morning People out there than we realize. We're just afraid of admitting to the world that we actually LIKE getting up early; that we ENJOY buzzing around the house in the early a.m. with a song on our lips and a spring in our step.

To admit that is to open the door for all kinds of ugliness and abuse. Suggestions to use all that energy to empty the dishwasher, fix breakfast, and make up the beds are just a few. Is if FAIR to ask the Early Morning Cheery to do more than their fair share of the work, just because they're in a good mood?

No, I say it is NOT fair and it's time we Morning People do something about it. I suggest we organize ourselves and form a union. We'll need to schedule planning meetings and elect representatives.

Be sure and let me know when the first meeting is scheduled, just remember to call early. We let the machine answer the phone after 9:00 p.m. I hate those pesky Night Owls, don't you?

My oldest son, Alex, invited Roger and me to his house this year for a pre-Thanksgiving dinner he was having for some of his friends who couldn't make it home for the holidays. How sweet is THAT? How many 22 year old men do you know who are that kind and thoughtful? Thank God my boys take after their Daddy.

Roger and I arrived early for dinner and we were prepared. Prepared in the way that we'd had the good sense to eat BEFORE we got there. We walked into a different kind of Thanksgiving, and lemme tell ya, Norman Rockwell had NOTHING to do with it.

I knew we were in for a new holiday experience when we walked into the kitchen and saw one of Alex's friends furiously typing away on his iphone. This friend just graduated with an Aeronautical Engineering degree and it was HIS job to configure the different frying temperatures of two separate cooking oils. An important job, too, since it was the holiday turkey they were trying to fry. Uh huh...Toto, we are NOT in Kansas, anymore.

I stuck Alex's favorite dessert in the fridge and assumed a place at the bar to watch the action. Lord, I wish I was a drinker.

Alex's friend, Milad, was busy assembling Alton Brown's macaroni and cheese, saving time by assembling the entire thing in one dish. Layers? We don't need no stinking LAYERS! I watched as he happily stirred the different cheeses together and didn't seem concerned at all with the amount of macaroni cascading down onto the floor.


Alex and Jay were inspecting the semi-frozen turkey for ice particles, since, apparently, that makes for a really exciting and possibly explosive turkey fry (and I don't mean explosive in a festive, exciting way, but an Oh My God, It's A Nuclear Bomb kind of way.)

A friend had already warned me to have Alex check the grease level BEFORE he lowered the turkey into the hot oil, and I'd like to think that if Alex had actually tried to FRY the turkey he would have followed my instructions. But I'm trying to live my life in reality now and I doubt very seriously if he even HEARD WHAT I SAID about the possible life ending nuclear holocaust that could occur if he didn't follow basic frying safety.

No Worries, though...Alex announced the frying was cancelled since the turkey was still semi-frozen. YAY! I put down the fire extinguisher, unclenched my jaw and tried to remember how to breathe.

We were down to the wire now and dinner was definitely in sight - and it was only an hour and a half later than we were SUPPOSED to eat, too. Way To Go, Team!

Suddenly, Head Chef Milad realizes he's forgotten that most basic of Thanksgiving beverages...GRAVY!! Immediately, three iphones are whipped out and internet surfing for gravy recipes begins.

Nevermind the fact that I'm sitting right there with DECADES of cooking experience and GENERATIONS of cherished recipes stored right in my head! Does anybody ask ME? Nope, I don't have buttons, and I'm not linked to the internet, therefore I am invisible. That was when I decided to sit back, shut up and watch the show.

You mean you can't heat an ENTIRE ice cold turkey in 15 minutes? Frozen green beans should be cooked BEFORE you add them to the green bean casserole? Cream gravy and hoagie rolls are NOT traditional Thanksgiving Day foods? WHO KNEW??

Ice cold turkey, lumpy gravy and HUGE ENORMOUS dinner rolls were beside the point. This dinner, so lovingly prepared, was a triumph for Alex and his friends. They were proud of the fact that they had managed to pull this together, all by themselves and their friends were so grateful they bragged on the food and did their very best to eat every single bite.

Looking around that table, it occurred to me...There was a lot to be thankful for, believe me.

Cesar Milan, a/k/a The Dog Whisperer, thinks it's important when dealing with your dogs to be the pack leader. Every member of the pack has a rank, from the lowest to the highest, and knowing where they fit is vital to the pack's harmony.

That's probably important in our human world as well, and if I didn't know where I ranked before this weekend, I certainly do now.

Joseph was home for Roger's birthday and we had just gotten back from the birthday dinner, when I realized I hadn't seen Layla in a while. I asked Joseph to help me look for her. We both went outside to the backyard and Layla came happily bounding up to us with something in her mouth....something with a tail...a long, skinny tail and little claw feet.

Joseph and I realized at the same time that the treasure Layla was proudly presenting to us was a rat - and it was still alive and kicking!

Joseph turned to me and yelled, "SHE'S GOT A RAT!", but by the time the words were out of his mouth, I was already through the back door and making tracks into the house. Which is why I'm so surprised that Joseph ended up AHEAD of me in this race for our lives.

Joseph and I ran, screaming hysterically, into the den, through the kitchen, past the dining room and into the safety of the closest room with a door. Which we promptly slammed in Layla's poor confused face.

See, this puzzles me, too. I tend to believe the opposite of old Cesar. Most dogs I know do pretty much whatever they want to, I know mine do, anyway. Don't get me wrong, my dogs are trained and if they think they'll be rewarded with food, they are MINE, body and soul, just waiting to make my slightest wish come true...unless we have visitors. Layla's reaction when we have poor unsuspecting visitors makes the Mesquite Rodeo look like a children's pony ride. It's not pretty, believe me.

Yep, dogs definitely have their own interpretation of our rules and regulations. Take the game of fetch, for example. Layla's definition of "fetch" is to run after whatever is thrown and bring it back approximately half-way. She then drops it and gives you a look that says "I feel I've completed my part of this job. If you have a problem with my performance, call my Union Rep."

That's why it was so surprising that she was apparently DETERMINED to bring this squealing, germ infested, plague carrying RODENT right up to us and drop it at our feet (or fling it in our hair, which is what I think Joseph and I were both afraid of).

This is the part of the story where I realize that while I would give up anything for my children - my safety, my home, my life, even *gasp* my hair coloring appointments, Joseph didn't necessarily feel the same way about me.

Joseph made that clear when, while running through the kitchen, he yells back over his shoulder at me, "Mom, quit following ME, she's CHASING YOU!"

Believe me when I tell you that it is a sad day, when you realize that the very life you carried for nine long, morning sickness, swelling, no caffeine allowed, ugly clothes wearing months would throw you to the lions (or in this case, the vermin toting dog).

Yes,a very sad day, indeed.

Me, My Sister, Michel, Who's Pres., of DFW Alz. Assn. & Roger



My Friend, Gail Lynn, a Veteran Memory Walker, Me and Roger



Me and Roger, Getting Ready To Walk




This past Saturday, Roger and I joined over 4,300 other people at the Dallas Zoo to participate in the Alzheimer's Association Memory Walk 2008. The turnout was huge, even though the temperature was so cold most of the animals decided to sleep in.

Over $415,000.00 was raised for Alzheimer's research. Every single dollar raised gets us one step closer to finding a cure for this disease that continues to devastate families while showing no mercy.

Alzheimer's disease has waged war on us long enough. It's time to start fighting back, and fighting back HARD. I saw over 4,300 people on Saturday who were willing to throw the first punch.

Probably, one of the biggest challenges Roger faces being a First Grade Teacher isn't the students. It's being a member of a large group of co-workers who are almost 100% female (the gym teacher doesn't count here, because he gets to hide out in the gym and do manly sports stuff all day).


As an early elementary school educator, Roger is called upon to participate in a whole bunch of activities that most people (and I'm talking most MALES here) would categorize as strictly female activities. Some even slop over into the *gasp* "girly" variety.

Not a week goes by at school without some type of "social" event. This could be anything from a faculty theme meal (tomorrow's theme is Baked Potato Lunch) or a wedding or baby shower. I remember the time, early in his teaching career, when Roger was trying to figure out the whys and whatfors of all the celebrations. He looked me straight in the eye with a puzzled look on his face and asked me if all the parties and get togethers was a "female thing".

Bless His Heart...it must HURT to be so clueless. Of COURSE it's a female thing. It's what women do best, take something and make an EVENT out of it. We can even make an event out of NOTHING if we have to, and sometimes, apparently we DO!

As women, we are nurturers, and we understand how important it is to celebrate when life is good and even more important to celebrate when life isn't quite as good. It's a gift we give willingly to each other, our children, and any and all poor unsuspecting males who happen to be in our path - like Roger.

That's why I always encourage Roger to participate in all the activities and festivities, no matter how "girly" they might seem. I'm proud to say he listens to me, most of the time, as the above pictures will tell you.

These are pictures of Roger taking part in two of Floyd Elementary's Red Ribbon Week Festivities - Crazy Sunglasses Day and Wild Hair Day.

I'd like to go on record as saying that he WOULD have participated in PAJAMA DAY, but he "forgot" to tell me about it. Uh huh.....like we believe THAT one.

For various reasons, we've been making more trips to the vet's office, lately.

Let's see, there's Dudley's neurotic licking, which results in big, raw wounds that have to be doctored with some type of super medicine which scares me to death. I have no idea what it's made of. All I know is, I have to wear gloves to apply it and it SAYS SO RIGHT ON THE LABEL, so I'm guessing they're not kidding. This was vet visit number one and two. Of course, we had to go back for a $30.00 re-check...you don't think they're gonna let us get by with just ONE visit, do you? Good news is, Dudley got PROZAC - bad news is - it DOESN'T WORK (maybe I'm supposed to be the one taking it? I offered, but the vet said no.)

A couple of weeks ago, Layla, the big, strong dog, who is bred to sit quietly, enduring sub-freezing weather until she receives the command to jump into ice cold waters and retrieve all manner of water fowl, stepped in a hole and sprained her foot. This would be vet visit number three.

Vet visit number four was scheduled as a well-visit for Layla with just a routine exam and shots...except she started REFUSING to jump up on anything. The couch, the bed, the car for our daily Sonic rides. You could tell she WANTED to, she'd approach the target, but she'd stall and whine and look at us with a really sad expression. She didn't even want us to help her and she'd run from us when we tried to hoist her ample self up.

Of course, most women would see that as a natural reaction. All women know that if anyone (and I'm talking males here) ever actually tries to LIFT us, the jig's up and we can no longer be coy about how much we weigh (which is always a lot more than they THINK we do).

Luckily (?) Layla's gimpiness happened the weekend before her Monday appointment, so Roger and I spent the weekend preparing ourselves for what might happen at the vet's office.

I explained to Roger that they might want to do x-rays and Layla would have to be sedated, which meant we might have to leave her overnight. One thing led to another and we found ourselves discussing the possibility that at the young age of 4 years old, Layla might be experiencing some early joint problems that would make it necessary for her to adjust her lifestyle and activities.

Daily walks might be a thing of the past and jumping up and down from the bed, even with her helpful step stool, might be too hard on her. We even talked about taking a huge financial hit, trading in our 2 year old SUV and buying something closer to the ground so she wouldn't have to jump, but could just step in and out.

Now, let me just stop here and say this should make perfectly clear to you, how very much Roger loves Layla. Usually, I'M the one who goes insane over things like this. I don't just go overboard, I HYSTERICALLY FLING MYSELF OVERBOARD, wholeheartedly. Roger, he's the calm, reasonable one. The one who keeps me grounded and reins me in when I start to run amok. Unfortunately, in this instance, he was just as amok as I was and we were in big trouble. We even went so far as to tell Alex that he had to give us HIS car and he could just drive ours. Uh huh...we were willing to drive a used (and I mean used HARD) six year old car and PAY for our 22 year old son to drive our almost brand new Santa Fe. I told you we were out of control.

Fortunately, none of that was necessary. We took Layla to her vet appointment and, when we walked in, a miracle happened. Layla, who, minutes before, had been laying around at death's door, walked into the vet and saw two of her very favorite things on Earth....a PUPPY and a FOUR YEAR OLD BOY! The retail stores are right!! Christmas DOES come before HALLOWEEN!

Roger wrestled Layla a safe distance away from both the boy and his puppy and I signed us in. What followed would have broken your heart - until you laughed out loud. Layla started whining and moaning something pitiful, trying her hardest to get to "her" boy and "her" puppy.

When she wasn't whining she was wiggling and wagging her tail, beating it on the wall behind her; and beating it hard enough and long enough, that a picture fell OFF the wall and crashed to the ground; slicing Roger's arm open and barely missing giving me a concussion before it hit the floor and shattered into a dozen pieces.

They got us in an exam room pretty quickly after that (big surprise). I DID offer to pay for the broken frame, but they refused. I think next time I'll just see if we can run a tab. Do you think they'd have a payment plan?

I know the economy is bad and employment is down, but do you ever wonder how successful some people would be if they put as much effort into legitimately WORKING for a living instead of, oh, I don't know, STEALING mail out of your mailbox? Specifically, MY mailbox?

I got a surprise call one day last week from an extremely observant and conscientious teller at our bank's Duncanville location. She was calling to verify a check, written on our account in the amount of $600.00, payable to someone I'd never heard of, and signed, supposedly, by Roger.

After she described the check, giving me the number and who the check was payable to, I assured her the check being presented was NOT written by either Roger or myself. She replied she had thought the check was bogus from the beginning because it had a strange appearance and looked as if Roger's name had been traced over in two different colored inks.

She immediately contacted the police and I'm happy to say the thief was arrested and is now on his way to felonyland, where he might even learn an honest trade...or maybe just figure out how to do a better job of forgery and brush up on his acting skills.

How did this all happen? Roger made the mistake of thinking mailing our bills in our mailbox in front of our very own house was a safe thing to do. We really didn't seriously consider the fact that someone would come along, see the raised red flag (NOW you know where that flag gets it's name, don't you?), pull to the curb and actually STEAL OUR MAIL OUT OF THE MAILBOX.

This still amazes me whenever I think about it. On the rare occasions we've had a neighbor's mail accidentally delivered to our house, and I've taken the mail to the right address, I'm always afraid to put the mail in their mailbox, even though IT BELONGS THERE. I know I'm not doing anything wrong, but in the back of my mind I keep expecting an alarm to go off and a booming voice to instruct me to STEP AWAY FROM THE MAILBOX, PLACE YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD AND NO SUDDEN MOVES.

This whole episode has been a learning experience and I've picked up a few tips along the way. The first tip is from our mailman, who tells me NOT to use our mailbox to send payments. He, himself, mails anything of value from INSIDE the post office; and don't EVER raise the flag on the mailbox - it sends a signal to EVERYONE, not just the mailman.

The Mesquite Police officer I spoke with suggested we start writing our checks with gel pens. Apparently, the ink in gel pens makes it more difficult for a thief to "wash" and successfully forge a check. My sister, a Vice President for Comerica Bank, still finds it hard to believe someone managed to steal mail out of our mailbox in Mesquite in the morning and make it to Duncanville with a doctored check by 10:00 a.m. that same morning. I say that's what happens when people don't take the time to do quality work.

And, while I'm at it, I'd like to give a tip to the Failed Forger in this story: Pay attention to the details! The suspicious look of the sloppily "washed" check, and the different colored inks on the signature were bad enough, but what REALLY blew it for you was your note on the memo line that read"for painting services".

If that check had been 100% perfect in every other way, I would have known it was a fraud the moment the teller told me about that memo note. The day Roger pays ANYBODY $600.00 to paint our house is the day AFTER he's hit the billion dollar jackpot and, believe me, Publisher's Clearing House has NOT been ringing my doorbell.

She was beautiful, with thick, luxurious hair that she would never color and flashing black eyes that could show love or anger, but mostly love and always understanding.

She was loving and giving and so very kind-hearted; a true and loyal friend, but you got the feeling she could also be a formidable enemy if you made the mistake of hurting someone she loved.

She knew many people and the ones she loved, she loved in spite of, and sometimes because of, their shortcomings.

She always cared for others, yet never got around to caring for herself.

She was gentle and wise, creative and talented, although she never thought so.

She was mysterious and secretive, an open book and a plain everyday housewife and mother.

She loved parties – giving them AND attending them and her home felt like home to everyone who ever visited.

She shared her love and life with her husband of over 60 years, their children, grandchildren and even great-grandchildren.

She died not knowing any of this…who she was, who her family was or how very much she was loved by them.

She was my mother and she died a year ago after a 10 year battle with Alzheimer’s disease.

If you’ve ever known or loved someone with Alzheimer’s Disease, this story is familiar to you. If you’ve been lucky enough to escape the shadow of Alzheimer’s, it’s a journey you can’t imagine; a nightmare you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy, much less your cherished friend or loved one.

Alzheimer’s Disease is waging a war, but it’s a war that doesn’t get much attention from the average citizen, not until that citizen gets an up-close and personal view of the everyday battles. Battles that are as ugly and destructive as any military operation could ever be.

Our only hope to win these battles and, ultimately this war is to find a cure for Alzheimer’s Disease. The American Alzheimer’s Association is committed to finding a cure and eliminating the threat of Alzheimer’s Disease. But dedication and good intentions don’t fund the necessary research to find a cure or the programs to help those already afflicted with this dreaded disease.

The Memory Walk is a fun and inspiring event, held annually, to help the Alzheimer’s Association fulfill their mission statement to eliminate Alzheimer’s disease. This year’s walk, Memory Walk 2008, will be held November 15 at The Dallas Zoo. Teams of different sizes will meet and walk to raise money for the cure.

Everyone is invited and urged to participate. Volunteer to walk, or sponsor a walker. For more information about Memory Walk 2008, call 214/540-2411 or visit the Dallas Alzheimer’s website at: www.AlzDallas.org.

Join me on Nov. 15^th at the Dallas Zoo. I’ll be walking and I’ll be remembering.

The Garland/Richardson Aggie Moms Club would like to invite you to our next meeting, Monday, October 13th at 7:15 p.m. at the Garland Women's Activity Building, 713 Austin Street in Garland. Our club was established to aid and support Texas A&M students from the Mesquite, Garland and Richardson ISD's, as well as their families.

Our Aggie Moms club is a great way to find support, information, and share problems and solutions concerning our Aggie students. Join us and meet other moms who will help you navigate through Aggieland.

Are you and your Aggie starting to worry about upcoming semester exams? Are you wondering what you can do to make your Ag feel special and help relieve some of the studying stress? Well, here's your answer....DEADWEEK CARE PACKAGES!

Our Aggie Moms Club is currently taking orders for Deadweek Packages to be hand delivered to our beloved Aggie students during the week before their final semester exams. The packages are $10.00 each and are guaranteed to put a smile on your Special Aggie's face. The deadline for ordering packages is October 15th, so get your order in NOW.

Let your Aggie know you're thinking about them with our special delivery. To order your Deadweek Package, visit our website at: www.garlandrichardsonaggiemoms.org, or contact me at melindaproza@yahoo.com. Better yet, come to our next meeting, you'll be glad you did, I guarantee!

Gig 'Em!

I went to my first-ever Texas A&M Aggie Moms Club meeting the other day and I have to admit I was a little bit nervous at first. We've all experienced it - the uncertainty of going somewhere you don't know a soul, not knowing if you'll make friends or even fit in.

I shouldn't have worried. The Aggie Moms made me feel welcome immediately, even forgiving my obviously bad decision of carrying an orange purse (orange, as you know is the color of our arch enemy, The University of Texas in Austin, a/k/a "the OTHER university"). The Aggie Moms quickly forgave me my mistake and corrected it by giving me an official "Aggie Moms" tote to disguise and hide the offensive orange error.

While visiting before the meeting, several of us were discussing being brand new Empty Nesters. We traded stories of adjusting to a much quieter house, with only the family pets to keep you company. Sympathy and heartfelt encouragement were offered by the moms who have already experienced this trying, emotional time, and we first-timers consoled each other and traded news of when our fledglings would be returning home for their first visits, followed by lots of sad head shaking and deep sighs all around.

Finally, one mom, with a twinkle in her eye, admitted that maybe this empty nest thing wasn't all THAT bad. There's less cooking, cleaning and laundry and she and her husband had actually gone on a spur of the moment date night during the week, without having to worry about anybody's dinner but their own and the dog's.

Another mom chimed in that she and her husband had tried to go on a romantic get away weekend, but they couldn't get anyone to watch their pets, so they had to stay home.

We stood there, silently considering this new phase in our lives, both the positive and the negative. At last, one brave mom voiced the thought we were all thinking. "So, what's the life expectancy for the average family pet, anyway?"

I'm sorry, but I've given this job my best shot and I've decided I'm not cut out for it. No hard feelings, I just feel that it's best for all of us if I move on. Please accept this as my two week notice, effective two weeks ago.

If I'm being fair about it, I have to say that the fault for this failed relationship rests mainly with you.....BOTH of you. I've tried, I really have. You've been walked EVERY SINGLE DAY, even though you know how much I hate to exercise. You've been taken for daily car rides, allowed to sleep on the furniture and given more treats than I think is legal. And, still, you fail to do your fair share, to meet me halfway. Life, as you BOTH know, is give AND take, and that doesn't mean I do all the giving and YOU do all the taking. Two of us need an attitude adjustment, if you ask me.

It was bad enough, dealing with your lick granuloma, Dudley, and the "troubled mind" the vet said is the cause of your behavior. It's not enough that I have to deal with huge scrapes on my wood paneling from the gigantic plastic cone on your head, not to mention the fact that you knocked me flat when you hit me behind the knees with it yesterday.

Nope, now I have to deal with the fact that maybe this is my fault...maybe somehow you've caught my OCD behavior. Maybe living here with us is just too stressful for you. Must be the fact that you're not TIED TO A BOAT ANCHOR IN THE BACKYARD, ANYMORE, and you receive regular exercise, love and affection in a safe, caring environment. Must be quite a cross for you to bear, I guess.

And, because Dudley was getting too much attention, you, Layla decide to wander where you SHOULDN'T have on this morning's walk, ignoring my commands to "place" and what happens? Yep, you wind up cutting your foot and limping home like you've dislocated your entire shoulder. I was so worried I was practically hyperventilating, only to discover, upon examination that it's just a tee tiny cut that didn't even bleed until I was poking at it.

Really, you two are just asking too much, without giving your fair share in return. I guess it would surprise you to learn that there are dogs in this world who DON'T go for daily walks? They DON'T go for daily car rides? They DON'T spend every waking (and sleeping) moment of the day underneath their owners' feet? LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU! Do you think it's NORMAL for dogs to have "Popcorn Time" every day? I can tell you both that it's NOT!

Nope, I'm sorry, but I'm through. Oh, I'll miss you both, I'm sure, but I feel that my services are being underappreciated and I could better use my skills in another position. I hear there's a couple of cats who are looking to hire.