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Waking up as early as I do, I often find myself flipping through the channels while waiting for the morning news to start. Most of the offerings in this time slot are infomercials. I must say that many of them entertain me. I don't understand how this is effective advertising ~ I really have to wonder about some people out there ~ but I do find them humorous. They really are insulting to the intelligence of anyone capable of tying their own shoes.

One of my favorites is for the Heat Surge Roll-n-Glow Amish fireplace. This is advertised as a flameless fireplace that plugs in(Electric, Amish, Irony) and is room to room portable. An authentic piece of Amish handmade furniture. It gets even better, through the course of the program they are filming (through a soul sucking, against their religion TV camera) the Amish craftsman in the workshop. They are complete with Amish garb (store bought and brand spanking new) and fake beards. The Amish themselves have placed a strict limit of 2 per household on this 'not sold in stores' special offer. Wow, who is actually falling for any of this.

Another that makes me laugh is one in which they pretend that it is not an infomercial, but in fact a talk show. They strive to emulate the format of The View. Four women sitting on a couch 'grilling' a man sitting in between them about his get rich quick by signing up for my bull*$&% scheme book. The best part is at the end of this faux interview. This is when he wipes his brow and laments about how he was lucky enough to make it through such a tough and grueling interview. It makes me chuckle every time. Who are the people that actually think this is real?

Another relentless loop in the infomercial fabric is the doctor who is being interviewed in the Larry King with Boobs format all about his plan to make your colon the happiest place on earth. His recommended, self developed product will make you healthier, you'll lose weight and you're colon will sparkle and sing! Your pants will fit better and you will finally expel that filet mignon you ate on your anniversary 14 years ago! This always gives me a case of the giggles. He's telling me I'm full of Sh@%! Don't people know that eating bad clams works in the exact same way?

And then of course there's always lots varieties and flavors of "We have the perfect solution for the hair challenged individual". These are always amusing, especially the one that forgoes transplants that don't work and costly serums that you have to use for the rest of life with minimal results, in favor of spray paint! It looks so natural the legally blind won't even notice at 50 yards distance!

The only conclusions I can draw from these middle of the night experiences are that #1, I am easily entertained. #2 Advertisers believe that anyone up during these hours must be a total moron.
C. Bald people are insomniacs and have Spackle filled colons.

Classified

Position Sought
Live - in Housekeeper

Offerings:
Cooking, cleaning, windows, laundry (wash, dry and fold), toilets so sparkly Mr. Clean would be jealous (must have a clean place to puke after a good happy hour), happy hour pal, confidant and BFF.

Requirements and Compensation:
Warm climate year round, Living quarters fit for 7, love of (house broken) Weasels, unending supply of Coors Light, a 'it's 5 o'clock somewhere' attitude, in ground pool, 9-5 working hours. Must not be opposed to me blogging about you and your family. Salary negotiable.

Doesn't that sound like a great deal?

Nothing has popped yet for Mr. Weasel. He is starting to seriously going to talk to a company in Canada about a relocation package. I don't want to go to Canada. I really don't want to go to Canada. I would rather clean toilets and be warm.

Who wants a sparkly toilet?

Hot Wings, Beer and Cookie Dough

Welcome to all those coming from Half Past Kissing Time, where today I am the featured drunk.

Yesterday I had the chance to have one of those rare meals where I didn't have to cut up food for anyone else or clean up after and drink spills. At lunch time I snuck away from the den to meet Melisa of Suburban Scrawl Fame for for a little Mommy Time. This wasn't even a bloggy lunch, but just a girls day out. Nice, relaxing and lots of fun.
We had decided that Hot Wings would set the perfect tone. I love hot wings and they go so well with beer. Melisa is also a fan. We find out that we have more and more in common every time we talk.

Yesterday was no different. The conversation was great. The longer the meal went on, the freer the conversation flowed and we found ourselves talking about the time when, wait no, can't blog about that. Oh, I know, I told her about when I.....nope, not gonna divulge that either. Oh she told me about how she once, hmmm......no, we decided not to blog about that either.

Well let's suffice it to say, it was a wonderful lunch and it is a burgeoning beautiful BFFship. Really, what a great chic of complete hangout quality. She pretty much solidified this when she suggested we head out for dessert at the cookie dough place (yeah, I forget the name). They serve cookie dough in a cup like you would get ice cream. All kinds of flavors of cookie dough. With a spoon. This is a very happy place. Hot wings, beer and cookie dough. How could I not like this woman. Okay, she doesn't drink beer (nobody's perfect) but takes me to places they serve it.

I brought my camera for some fun pics, only to realize that the battery was dead. We decided to use her uber high tech does everything but kiss you kind of phone to get some shots. We asked our waitress to take a pic. She tried, but ran into technical difficulties. So we did a self pic and then I attempted to take one of Melisa (with some of Mr. Weasel's notorious soup - she defended it in my comments, so I assumed she would enjoy trying some), but had the high tech gizmo backwards and wound up with a self portrait and a good laugh. On my second attempt I managed to get it right.

We went on to cookie dough heaven before heading our separate ways. I am sure we will be doing this again and hopefully often.

The Soup

We are some very picky eaters around here. And by we, I mean Monkey Weasel, Smallest Weasel and I. There are some things we just won't can't eat. I don't mean that in a, "I don't like that, I want something else" spoiled kind of way. I mean a "I am perfectly content to go hungry, can't get that over my gums" kind of way. The rule of "When they get hungry enough, they'll eat it" does not apply here. If stranded on an island with nothing but bugs to eat, we would starve to death. We would beg to vote ourselves off Survivor. It's not that we won't try new things, it's that some foods will make us gag at the mere thought of them. Mr. Weasel on the other hand is a human garbage disposal. I'm not certain he has ever found a food that he would refuse to eat. He is unable to push past hunger pains. Eldest Weasel and Boy Weasel can eat just about anything that is placed in front of them. Although Boy Weasel will keep his portion small.

Keeping that in mind, Mr. Weasel decided to dabble in the kitchen yesterday and make a new Potato Cheese Soup recipe for a cheap and yummy dinner. He ran the recipe past me for inspection. I found nothing offensive (carrots, leeks, potato, beef stock, cheese) and thought it sounded kind of good. We could serve it with french bread and have a lovely meal. Or so I thought.

The aroma was wonderful as it simmered away stove top. Mr. Weasel had everything firmly under control, including a 'new to him' technique of using a hand blender to puree things up a bit. Soon he rang the dinner bell and proudly presented us with his culinary piece de resistance.

There were *crickets*.
Then came *snickers*.
And polite smiles, while holding back belly laughs.
Mr. Weasel looked distressed and unamused.
The rest of us held it together as much as we could as I said grace and concluded with "And thank you God for Mr. Weasel and this soup for us to enjoy". Spontaneous laughter and hilarity ensued. Mr. Weasel didn't laugh.

We tried to be good. We tried to be gracious. We tried to eat it. None of these efforts worked. We were silently jealous of Monkey Weasel who was eating dinner at a friends house. Spoons were swirled around bowls and tentative tastes were taken. The aesthetics of the soup made me think of the last time I needed Immodium. I reached for the bread. I hoped that it would help to get some soup down. I couldn't look at it as I tasted it, it would have never gone in. I sipped it off the spoon into the side of my mouth. The texture was exactly what I had expected. I forced my self to swallow and reached for more bread. Boy Weasel asked me "does the bread really help or are you just stalling?". More laughter. Everyone, sans Mr. Weasel, reached for bread.

Mr. Weasel asked us to save some bread for Monkey Weasel (the pickiest eater of them all). Because she would want to try his soup when she comes home. Riotous laugher broke out. Spontaneous, uncontrollable giggling. It was like the best joke ever told. He should go into stand-up. Only he thought he was being serious. We tried to be good again.

Eldest tried to bribe Smallest Weasel with "Take a few bites and I will give you a piece of gum after dinner". Smallest Weasel opened wide and Eldest fed her a spoonful of Dad's delicacy. She swallowed, made a face and immediately started up-chucking at the table. More laughter as we check to see if she's okay. Mr. Weasel is now angry and deflated and no one else can keep a straight face. Thanks to Smallest's stomache's immediate ejection of dinner, all others were excused from the table. Eldest Weasel found the turn of events so amusing she was put in charge of cleaning up. She became entirely grossed out and refused to clean up the vomit on the table, until I informed her that "the vomit all hit the floor, that's spilled soup on the table". More laughter ensued. In her defense, the similarities were astounding.

And that is why tonight I am making meatball sandwiches.

State Of The Weasels

The State of the Weasels is strong (That's how all of these start out isn't it?)

The State of Employment is none, but still being vigorously worked on. Mr. Weasel has been networking, interviewing, submitting resumes and actively seeking employment around all 4 corners of the country and further. Nothing has popped yet. We are still waiting to hear on some things and keeping all of our options open. We'll just have to wait to see what happens.

The State of the Muffin Top is growing. I want to shrink it before it is comparable in size to the national debt. In order to tighten the belt, drastic measures are being taken. Such as running and cutting back on beer consumption. These are tough measures, to be sure, but necessary in order to preserve the WeaselMomma.

The State of the Sleep Cycles are in complete disarray. Since exercise has been implemented into the daily routine, I have been sleeping in until about 5:30 am. This may still sound like a crazy time to wake to most of you. Let me assure you that when I wake between 3:30 and 4 am, I am a happier person. I like my quiet time. It's when I write most of my posts. It's my time. In a house where you are never alone, it's nice to have that solitude. It's a great way to start my day.

Now that I am starting to sleep longer due to complete exhaustion and muscle pain, it only follows that the Weasels are beginning to wake up earlier (about 5 minutes after me) in order to deprive me of my peaceful wake up and prepare for the day process. I may have to adopt a Benedryl at bedtime for Weasels policy to ensure that I get my 'quiet Mommy time' in order to maintain sanity.

The State of of the School Work is poor. January and February are miserable long months in Chicago. The State of everything goes to hell. Cabin fever digs it's heels in and everything suffers because of it. Lethargy and apathy start to take over. As a result the Weasels are not putting a proper effort into school projects and the hammer must come down. Potential jobs in Texas are becoming more attractive by the day.

The State of the House is in shambles. Constant efforts seem to be in vain. The slushy conditions outside always find their way indoors. The extra boots, snowpants, gloves, etc, just add to the regular amount of clutter that is hard enough to deal with on it's own. The house seems unable to stay clean for more than an hour at a time. Add to that Mr.Weasel being home fulltime and contributing to the Weasel's efforts of keeping WeaselMomma busy, and you now have an almost constant windstorm of chores. Can't. Keep. Up.

The State of the WeaselMomma is frenzied. I want my life back! I want Weasel's to sleep until it is time to wake for school. I want the Weasel's to pull it together where schoolwork is concerned. I want Mr. Weasel to find a good job soon. I want to put on my jeans without them screaming in protest for mercy. I want my quiet early morning hours back and my home to reflect my efforts to keep it relatively neat. Yeah, I'm asking too much.

Stupid Human Tricks

This is what happens when WeaselMomma heads upstairs briefly and leaves Weasels unsupervised. Eldest Weasel took the camera and decided to tease Boy Weasel about a crush he has and all decided to tear the house to shreds.



This is for you Mrs4444, I hope you like it! It should go into the Stupid Human Trick Hall of Fame. I still can't believe I am posting this.

Teachers and Cops

A friend sent me this in an email. I don't know how true it is, but was way too good not to share. Enjoy!

These are actual comments made on students' report cards by teachers in the New York City public school system. All teachers were reprimanded (but, boy, are these funny!)

1. Since my last report, your child has reached rock bottom and has started to dig.

2. I would not allow this student to breed.

3. Your child has delusions of adequacy.

4. Your son is depriving a village somewhere of an idiot.

5. Your son sets low personal standards and then consistently fails to achieve them.

6. The student has a 'full six-pack' but lacks the plastic thing to hold it all together.

7. This child has been working with glue too much.

8. When your daughter's IQ reaches 50, she should sell. *personal Favorite of mine*

9. The gates are down, the lights are flashing, but the train isn't coming.

10. If this student were any more stupid, he'd have to be watered twice a week. *close 2nd place favorite, pot calling kettle, come in kettle*

11. It's impossible to believe the sperm that created this child beat out 1,000,000 others. *Love it!*

12. The wheel is turning but the hamster is definitely dead.


These are actual comments made by 16 Police Officers. The comments were taken off actual police car videos around the country:

16 'You know, stop lights don't come any redder than the one you just went through.'

15 'Relax, the handcuffs are tight because they're new. They'll stretch after you wear them a while.'

14 'If you take your hands off the car, I'll make your birth certificate a worthless document.'

13 'If you run, you'll only go to jail tired.'

12 'Can you run faster than 1200 feet per second? Because that's the speed of the bullet that'll be chasing you.'

11 'You don't know how fast you were going? I guess that means I can write anything I want to on the ticket, huh?'

10 'Yes, sir, you can talk to the shift supervisor, but I don't think it will help. Oh, did I mention that I'm the shift supervisor?'

9 'Warning! You want a warning? O.K, I'm warning you not to do that again or I'll give you another ticket. '

8 'The answer to this last question will determine whether you are drunk or not. Was Mickey Mouse a cat or a dog?'

7 'Fair? You want me to be fair? Listen, fair is a place where you go to ride on rides, eat cotton candy and corn dogs and step in monkey poop.'

6 'Yeah, we have a quota. Two more tickets and my wife gets a toaster oven.'

5 'In God we trust, all others we run through NCIC.'

4 'How big were those 'two beers' you say you had?'

3 'No sir, we don't have quotas anymore. We used to, but now we're allowed to write as many tickets as we can.'

2 'I'm glad to hear that the Chief (of Police) is a personal friend of yours. So you know someone who can post your bail.'

AND THE WINNER IS....

1 'You didn't think we give pretty women tickets? You're right, we don't.
Sign here.' *I had no idea I was being taped!*

* These are my add on comments*

Lurking And Stalking

The other day was the official de-lurking day in the blogoshere. A day set aside for all of you lurkers out there to come out of the shadows and leave a comment. Of course I missed it. I never read the memo until after it's expiration date ~ always check before you drink the milk in my fridge ~ just ask my kids teachers, I'm sure they love me.

Anywho, I am making today my own special de-lurking day. Come on out and say hi. It's okay. It's only me. Sweet, caring, gentle, lovable, harmless WeaselMomma ~just look at the pic, I'm not so scary. Don't let the teeth in the header scare you, or the fact that I have written things like this, this and this. I really don't bite. I am reverse stalking you anyway. I know when you are here, so come on out and introduce yourself. I'm curious. Who are you Winston-Salem? Ashville? Random Canadians? Santa Clara? Say hi!

Sure I will publicly laugh at you for finding my blog by searching google for "Oprah adult diapers" and "girls who soil themselves", but I'm mildly curious that you read through the archives for the next two hours and continued to come back. Did you find what you were looking for? Don't be a wall flower, come out and join the party! It'll be fun.

Now with that said, I have to confess to being a stalker. Recently, Heinous linked to this wonderful lady, saying things like 'she is so wonderful and great and funny, and you soooo have to read her and your an idiot if you don't', or something like that anyway. He. was. right. Vodka Mom is hysterical. She is a Kindergarten teacher with the funniest stories from the classroom and fantastically witty takes on life. It is now a daily read for me.

In order to show her my appreciation for her blog and talent I have left her comments flat out calling her insinuating that she is a drunk, proclaiming my love to her, sending creepy virtual hugs from a stranger and I may have proposed marriage (happens a lot). I have also begged her not to call the authorities and then proceeded to follow her on twitter. I'm pretty certain that I have scared the bejesus out of her creeped her out a bit.

Maybe if she had read this, she would understand my affinity for Coors Light probably prompted those comments. Maybe she would understand that I am more like Wacky Aunt Wanda. You just have to sit me in the corner with a drink and give me a cookie every once in a while. Every family has one and in the blogosphere I think I'm it. It's just me. Sweet, caring, gentle, lovable, harmless WeaselMomma.

I am sure she is contacting the FBI, right. now.

And to Mrs4444 ~ Does outing myself like this count as my stupid human trick or are you holding out for my mugshot?

WeaselMomma Calling Margaret, I'm Not God

I am a good friend and a good listener, or so I've been told. This has many benefits. You manage to pick up a great many details and insight into people when you take the time to listen. If you pay quiet attention when someone is speaking about their problems and hear them all the way through, you can spout out any kind of fortune cookie/cracker jack/horoscope kind of advice and they will think of you as the Dali Lama. This has it's perks.

The downside of being viewed as a great listener is people feel free to talk to you about anything. And. I. Do. Mean. Any. Thing.

Seriously. What makes you people (no, of course I am not talking about you. You are the exception - eye roll) think I want to hear about all the TMI stuff? Really now, unless it it gut busting funny in a completely embarrassing, humiliating, self-deprecating kind of way, i.e. this or this, I. Do. Not. Want. To. Know.

Do not feel it necessary to tell me 'Aunt Flo' came to visit, unless it happened very publicly and unexpectedly in the middle of a vampire convention. I do not need the blow by blow of your issues with constipation without a story line including a campground and 12 interested pre-schoolers, and a lack of facilities or privacy. The bomb squad being called would be a plus.

If your breasts are tender and swollen, keep it to yourself unless they got there in a very unconventional type of way that I can make fun of you for. If your crotch is raw, only tell me if it happened by way of a freak accident with a cheese grater. I do not wish to here about marital relations unless you wound up in a neck brace. I don't want to know that you use Preparation H unless your spouse confused it with the toothpaste.

I really have no interest as to what kind of underwear you sport, unless it managed to cause an accident in a major intersection, involving a truck driver who was very excited or it was blocking his entire windshield. Do not tell me anything about your tampons unless your kids put them in a cage and named them as pets. Your dogs troubles with worms can be kept to yourself, unless it involves your mother - in - laws carpeting.

This is not to say that you can't turn to me with a personal problem. I am here for you. Here's an example of a acceptable exchange:
You: I'm all crampy and have a headache.
Me: Here's some Advil.
(Now we change topics)

Now please keep in mind that funny and absurd, like this and this, are acceptable. It you have the need to share these types things, without the benefit of a punchline, feel free to talk with your doctor. He gets paid to listen to this kind of crap.

Clarification Update: This is only a jest. Just the scary crap that pours from my head and amuses me. Completely not reality based. Just an excuse to link to 4 different gut busting funny posts. This concludes our jest of the Weasels Don't Get Paranoid System. This was only a jest.
Mr. Weasel said it sounded angry and funny, I was just going for the latter.

The Jokes On Me

It's no secret that I am not a fan of cold and snow. Winter is by far my least favorite season. Currently is -24F outside. Needless to say, I am not enjoying this. School is now closed for the 2nd day in a row (this I do enjoy), due to dangerously cold temps.

Last night I had to attend a meeting for a charity group I am involved in. It was bitter cold, around -30F or so. After the meeting, a friend and I went to have a drink(s) and good conversation. I arrived home at about 11:30pm, only to be locked out of my house! The keypad on the garage was frozen. The front door locked. Everyone in the house asleep. We started calling cell phones and the home phone numerous times. No. Answer. I banged on the front door, continued calling and freezing my butt off. Nothing. After about 20 minutes of sub zero temps and 3 toes later, we managed to wake Middle Weasel and she let me in. I love that kid! Eldest Weasel was asleep on the couch, with her phone (if it had been a boy calling she would have heard it). Mr. Weasel was asleep in bed with the house phone. Thank God the house wasn't on fire, They would have never woken up in time.

I also dislike moving. Be it down the street or across country. The packing, the boxes, Realtors and the whole shebang are very undesirable to me. When we moved into this house 4 1/2 years ago, I made a vow that if we ever had to move again (and preferably never), it would be to a warmer climate. Mr. Weasel always chuckled and told me not to tempt God that way, he likes a good laugh.

In the course of Mr. Weasel's job search we have clung to the Chicago area and only recently started discussing options that would require a move. We would entertain them, but the main focus is to continue searching in our own metro area.

Having said this, Mr. Weasel was almost immediately contacted by a recruiter and put in touch with a company that has his dream job available. It's the right position, the right technology and the right work environment. The preliminary discussion went very well on both ends. Compensation is in the right range. This could be a very promising opportunity. The only problem.........IT"S IN CANADA!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now, nothing against my Canadian friends. You have a lovely country, that I have absolutely no desire to live in! It's cold and snowy. It doesn't have the hot summertime that I enjoy so very much. At the same time, you go where the food is. God has a sense of humor and is laughing heartily. I just hope he is only joking. Stay tuned folks!

Today's Agenda

First of all, I want you all to know that today I am being featured at Mom's Marbles as a Mom with Marbles where they have re-published my post Perspective. I am honored to be a guest on this site (and a pretty cool sight it is for good parent types) . Thank you.

Secondly, I want to make mention that the newest arrivals in our home are actually working out quite well. I think I lost a marble or two to have let them in my home in the first place, but must say that they are pretty entertaining. Much more active than the remaining hamster. They tend to have many stupid pet tricks up their little sleeves. It's kind of fun to watch them climb up to the top of the wheel and fall. Maybe I'll try and get it on video for you.

C.) In that same post about the rodent population of our home growing, I mentioned that I had gone to the pet store to buy crickets. Many of you had 'ewww - mice' reaction to our newest pets, but no one, at all even seemed phased by the crickets (that are food for the toads). You all crack me up.

And 4, I must be the queen of blogdom already. (McMommy needs to step aside before I have to send her Flat WeaselMomma). I know this because both Michael's Daddy and Momofali have blog posts currently up under the titles of Fun With Doctors (okay, mine was fun with M.D.'s) and Perspective, respectively. It's nice to know that my posts stick it their heads and rattle around in their subconscious enough to come to the surface. Once again I am honored. (yeah, I'll take credit for just about anything now). This surely couldn't be just a coincidence. It must be a sign of my greatness!

D.) The weather here in the Windy City stinks. Has stunk. And will continue to stink till about May. The temps are beyond stupid, tomorrow we are looking at a high of -1. The wind is out of control, and I never want to see another flippin' flake of snow. I have mentioned before that it should only be on Christmas cards. Hence, I told Mr. Weasel that he needs to start sending resumes to Texas. It would be hard to move the kids, but if he had a job and in a place that doesn't have snow, I'm all for it! I may have to sign up for Spanish lessons. Texas Holly and Debbie would surely welcome the Weasels to Texas.

And the 6th and final item on today's agenda is that I haven't heard squat from Coors Light yet! I even emailed them this post link. The automated response message system said how much they appreciate my email and that they would respond soon and I'm so important to them and all the other sunshine they blow. I even had a hit from Golden Colorado on my stalk-o-meter. Then nothing. No response email. No comment. No job offer! What's up with that. I think you should email and badger them to tell them just how awesome I am and how they need to send me coupons for free beer or my own kegerator or something!

Another Weekend Round-Up

Weekends go by too fast and this one was no exception. On Friday Eldest Weasel had a 1/2 day because she was finishing up with finals. Mr. Weasel picked her up and told her that since the the others were still at school we were going to make the most of this rare parents alone with teen time. She would not be disappearing to her room with her phone, but spending time with us. Her response "Why? Who's sick? What do you want to talk to me about?". Ugh. That set the tone for her weekend as she was forced to spend time with her food and money sources. It set the tone for my weekend, as I felt the beginning of a migraine coming on. Funny how teens can do that.

Saturday we woke up to *surprise* stupid amounts of snow. More ugh. It was in theory going to stop snowing by 6 am. It was still snowing at 3 pm. As I sat lazily on the couch still fighting with my head, but not full blown, with my snail like trusty laptop, I spot my neighbor snow blowing my driveway! Yayyyyyyyy! "Mr. Weasel, you better take the hint and get there and help." I was so not about to leave the couch. And he did, but saintly neighbor type was almost finished and moving on to others neighbors houses. All in all, he did this for 8 houses. I owe that man a case of beer. We had to do it again in another 2 hours, but the heavy work was done and that makes a huge difference.

Saturday Night Mr. Weasel and I had a surprise 40th birthday party for a friend to go to. We did not know the people throwing it, so did not know what to expect. It would be a great party or total lameville, but off we went. The roads weren't great, but okay, and the drive was slow going. The oncoming headlights and the slushy spray on the windshield were just enough to push my head over the limit. Before we reached the party, I was full blown. This is not conducive to life, let alone a party. We were at the party for approximately 2 minutes before a total stranger approached me, reached into her purse and said "I recognize that look, Take 3 of these for a migraine. They work like like a miracle, talk to me in 10 minutes". When that's how a party starts, you know it's a good crowd. I washed them down with Mr. Weasel's beer and felt like a new woman in to minutes! What was this miracle drug?, You ask, Equate (Walmart Brand) of Excedrin. The only drawback is that it started to wear off after about 3 hours.

My new found guardian angel/drug dealer introduced me to her husband Larry and his friend Larry. Yes, that got a lot of mileage. Larry and Larry were a bunch of fun. Larry #2 impressed me with how he could use his wedding ring as a bottle opener. I was surprised that it didn't ruin his ring as he showed me it didn't have a scratch on it. That was the last beer he could open like that, then the started to get stuck on his ring and he scratched it! I must have been the jinx. He moved onto a bottle opener. The party was a great time with some really fun people.

Sunday came and it was back to reality. Sunday is my prepare for the school week day. Laundry, papers, groceries, all the fun stuff. I took Eldest Weasel and Boy Weasel with me to the store. I also had to stop at the pet supply store for crickets and to let Boy Weasel use his Christmas money from his Uncle to buy yet another Fire Bellied Toad to throw in his tank(the crickets are food). Eldest took advantage of my weakened state (still was not 100 %) and asked me if she could have mice. "we already have everything we need " (remember our empty hamster tank). That must have been something stronger in that Excedrin, because I said okay. She knows how to attack when Mom is weak.

Yup, I willingly let 2 mice into my home. Normally I would be setting traps, even in the garage. Now they are pets. Ugh x 3. How the hell was your weekend?

Interview With WeaselMomma Part II

This is a second a separate interview with questions submitted to me from the hysterical Heinous. It's like doing the same meme 2 days in a row, but with different questions. I was expecting some silliness and fun, Heinous surprised me with some real thought provoking and hard to answer questions. He made this challenging and I will get him back!
Without further ado:

What is the bravest thing that you feel you've ever done? Physically, emotionally, or whatever.

Not only is this the bravest thing, but it is the smartest thing I've ever done. I asked Mr. Weasel to marry me. That by itself says a little, but the real 'cliff jump' so to speak was that we never dated. We were friends. Best Friends. We hung out all the time, but nothing more. One night we went to dinner and it hit me. He's too good to let slip away. So I asked him over salads, "So, when are you gonna marry me anyway?" He kind of chuckled and assumed I was joking. When our entrees arrived and his mouth was full, I reminded him "You still have answered my question." He giggled and choked on his dinner a little, still not understanding I was serious. By the time we were having dessert I reiterated myself with "So, when are you going to marry me?"
He claims that was the point the Emergency Broadcast System sirens went off in his head "This is not a drill, this is not a drill". Obviously he said yes. We went back to my apartment to look at the calendar and set a date. It wasn't until the date was set that he kissed me for the first time. That was over 17 years ago.

What one talent do you wish you had that you don't?

Dealing with paperwork/any kind of authority or deadline. I hate being told what "I have to do" and when. I hate not being in total control of my life. Be it bills, school paperwork or anything from an outside source. I can't stand not being in charge and let's face it, I rarely have control over these things. I wish I had a less controlling and more humble attitude, without becoming a blind follower and slave to outside rules.

We all have our reasons for blogging but what would be your ultimate goal for your blog or as a blogger?

Self agrandizement and World Blog Domination. I started this blog as a hobby to entertain myself. I never dreamed that real people would actually start to read it regularly. I quickly became addicted to comments. I kept posting to get my fix. It's now to the point of I start to get the shakes until the comments roll in. The only way to satiate my thirst will be to continue to grow this to monstrous proportions, bringing fame and fortune and Web Domination.

You can trade lives with any one person for a month. Who would it be and why?

Mother Theresa(If She were still living). I constantly need to relearn humility of which she was abundant. It would serve me well to learn to serve others in the way that God intended, and to do so with the gratitude like she had would serve me well. To have that kind of relationship with God would hopefully carry over after the month was up.

There's a fire and your family is safe but you have the chance to save any one item from your house. What would it be and why?

This one is easy. I have a locket. A beautiful heart shaped locket of gold. It is carved with the likeness of a mother and child upon the heart. The locket is sealed closed, it's contents are too precious to lose. For inside it holds a lock of hair, tied in a tiny pink ribbon, that belonged to my daughter Claire. It is the only piece of her that I have to hold onto. Without question this is what I would save.

You have the chance to go back in time and warn yourself before making a bad choice. What choice would it be and what would you tell yourself?

Now this one is hard. I have made many mistakes in my day. Some of them Humongous. All of them have helped contribute to who and where I am today. Many were painful learning experiences, but learn I did. That makes them them worthy of keeping. If I could give myself advice in the past it would be to tell my teenage self that my parents were way smarter than I, and to listen to them. Though not perfect, they knew what they were talking about and always had my best interest foremost in their minds. I would tell myself not to be such a dumbass as a teen and not to live under the assumption that I knew better than they did.

Interview With WeaselMomma Part I

Father Muskrat, who sometimes says things that are inappropriate, has accepted my bribe to be interviewed and sent me these questions for your enjoyment.
Want to be part of it? Follow these instructions:
1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
I think I will accept bribes from 2 bloggers to send questions to.

1) How are you dealing with the rampant stereotyping facing bloggers named for rodents? Suggestions?
My ultimate goal is Blogoshrere domination. In that light, I try to use the stereotypes to my advantage. Who is going to take a rodent as a serious threat? So, I earn bloggy love by making them laugh and as soon as I have there guard down and they are convinced that Weasels are cute and funny and harmless, I send them Flat WeaselMomma. This is the death knell for any blog. I can put another notch in World Wide Web and move onto the next blogger to fall victim. I am not sure if I am Pinky, The Brain or the two rolled into one. As far as suggestions go, I think you should sign up to host Flat WeaselMomma.

2) More accurate portrayal of where you grew up: "Philadelphia" or "Rocky"? Incidentally, I love both (especially the latter).

I'm not sure that I have actually ever grown up. I was born and raised in South Philadelphia. It was the location where the Movie 'Rocky' was filmed and set. You must be thinking about 'Rocky and Bullwinkle". I grew up eating both Pat's and Geno's Cheesesteaks, but for the record (this is also the answer to a question from The MicroBiologist) Jim's at 4th and South Streets has the best in the city. I grew up in a small Irish-Catholic pocket (two-Street) surrounded by a heavily Italian neighborhoods that South Philly is noted for. It was a pretty interesting place to live.

3) Is your affection for Coors because you once lived in the Rockies? Or because you've never tried imported beer? I'm confused.

I have never even been to the Rockies (However, if Coors would like to Sponsor a Fact Finding Mission, I'm game). I acquired my lust affinity for beer in college, where cash was limited and it was cheaper than soda. Of course I was drinking the cheapest thing available, Milwaukee's Best. If Bud Light was on special, I would go all top shelf and treat myself. Iron City Light was another popular and cheap favorite. So basically, having cut my teeth on cheap American Light Beer, I formed an affection. I have sampled the imports, but my palate has matured and grown to leans towards the crisp, clean, light flavor of the Blue Mountains.

4) Besides the one giving Google the bird, what other angry poems have you written?
Hmmmm. I have never been a fan of poetry, but the Google Poem just seemed to write itself. Once, in grade school, I believe I wrote a poem about my brother that started with "Hickory, Dickory, Dock........ Maybe I have wasted my talent.

5) Who is your favorite "mommy blogger" and why? Favorite "daddy blogger" and why?

This is almost an unfair question. There are a good handful of each that consistently entertain me. I am a total sucker for a laugh. NukeDad is the most consistent in making me spray my morning coffee or have incontinence issues in the Daddy blogger realm. My absolute favorite story of his is "Careful With That Punctuation, Sport!" There are many other Dad's who make me laugh also, but in an effort to take over the blogosphere I have systematically been trying to take them off- line. Like how I kidnapped Joeprah (twice) and started the Flat WeaselMomma world tour with BusyDad, who is still in therapy because of it and not only hasn't been able to post about it yet, but also finds himself unable to post regularly at all. FWM is currently with NukeDad, as I see him as a major stepping stone on my way to blog domination. We'll see how well the plan works.
Now onto the Mom's. Tougher question still. There are a few that should send me regular shipments of Depends. Suburban Scrawl has issues with people touching her meat, funny stuff. Half past kissing time is married to Buddy the Elf , can put her whole fist in her mouth and is scared to death of Tony Danza. And Heinous regales us with stories of how to torture jerkwad neighbors (Jim, this is payback for sending me such great and hard to answer questions for another interview post to follow shortly).

Extreme Makeover ~ Blog Edition

TADA! I'm Lovin' it and am still trying to get used to it. Not everything transferred over from my blogroll, so if I missed you, drop me a line. Or if you have an awesome blog leave me the link so I can check it out and maybe add you to the list of my daily reads. Kudos to Nap Warden at N.W. Designs for the new look.

In other Weasel News, we had a death happen last night. Oreo the Hamster, pet of Middle Weasel, is no more. His funeral is scheduled for Friday morning around 6am. All who are awake (Me), and the city sanitation department are expected to attend.

Eldest Weasel(14) asked me how did he die? I told her "I assume that he stopped breathing". "No Mom, really, why did he die?". "we won't know until after the autopsy", was all I had for her. "MOM! for real!"(I love torturing Eldest). "Really. I swear he didn't bother to leave a note". At which point Mr. Weasel chimes in with what a note would have possibly said like " I just felt like I was always running in circles and never getting anywhere". We suspect he would have signed with a little paw print. No, Middle Weasel was not in the room during this exchange. Click here to read about our past hamster adventures.

That's all for now folks!

United Rodents Local 308

Lately when I say something to any given Weasel, like "clear the table for dinner" I get a response to the effect of "My job was to empty the dishwasher". If I ask a Weasel to wipe off the counter" I get "but I'm the floor sweeper".

If Boy Weasel is asked to change the trash, he will take it out of the can, tie it up and take it into the garage, but does not replace the bag. He thinks that is someone else's responsibility.

If I ask Middle Weasel to pick up the art supplies from the counter, I hear "That's not my mess". If it's a matter of asking Eldest Weasel to clean the litter box, the answer always seems to be "But that Monkey Weasels pet, I fed the hamsters".

When it comes to laundry, I wash the entire families white socks together. If I don't have time time to sort the bloody nightmare load right out of the dryer, I will dump then onto the couch (so no one can sit until they are put away) and ask the Weasels as individuals to pick their own socks out of the pile and put them away. This does not compute. It is someone else's job to do the sorting. They are only able to put their own pre-sorted socks away. They seem content to sit on the floor and stare at the socks claiming "none of those are mine".

If I ask a Weasel to do a chore that is not typically on their individual to do list, I am rebutted with the question "Am I going to be paid for this?".

This perplexed me. Then all of a sudden I figured it out. The light bulb turned on in my head. All became instantly clear. They think this is a union shop! They think this is a place where specific predetermined duties are there only personal responsibilities and are stated in a theoretical contract that is to be renegotiated if anything extra is asked of them. They expect overtime pay and holidays.

They are wrong. Very wrong. Management will not sign. I point them back to Our Weasel Constitution, explain that this is a monarchy and remind them that striking will only result in grounding.

Just for the record, skip the hate mail. This is not a dis' on Union workers, so save it.

Help Wanted

Mr. Weasel seems to be getting a little too comfortable with his unemployment. Don't get me wrong. He is actively searching for a new job, but without the need to leave his home for a professional environment every morning, he is reverting back to college living.

At first, it wasn't too bad. He deserved to sleep in a little while. He had earned a little down time to catch up on his computer game playing time (World of Warcraft). A little bit of comfort food, just like his mom used to make, was a good thing. Even if it did come straight out of a can. I let it slide that his shoes were left out for me to trip on in the dark, at 4 am. I needed to cut him cut him some slack.

My daily routine became interrupted with someone else in my work space, but that's okay. I enjoyed the extra company. Even if my to-do-list didn't get completed on schedule. I'm flexible. We are in this together.

However, after 2 months of joblessness, Mr.Weasel is starting to lose touch with civilization. He is as hard to get out of bed in the morning as the kids. He doesn't always to bother to get dressed for the day. Or shower. Or shave. He has now vowed not to shave again until he has a job. I ask him to get dressed because 'so and so is coming over'. He responds in the form of putting on a bathrobe. At least he ties it. I have found him eating Chef-BoyArdee ravioli right out of the can. Cold. In the office. Alone.

Well, not really alone. He is with his computer. "checking emails and stuff, waiting to hear about job stuff". Really? I didn't know that World of Warcraft was hiring.

It's like a have another child in the house. Only this one is the college washout who doesn't have a job and doesn't do any chores without whining and procrastinating. A lot of whining and procrastinating.

I was really doing okay with all of this. I have big shoulders and can let lots of things roll off of them, but there are lines not to be crossed. Yesterday, Mr. Weasel crossed that line. He started drinking My Beer. My Silver Bullets. My beloved stash cache. Mommy's happy juice. This is bigger than anything that Calgon can fix. Besides, I think he left shoes and clothes in the bathtub too. Somebody save me. Somebody Give This Man A Job.

Who Says Monday's are Bad?

Well, Usually I do. That's not the case today though. "Why?", you ask. Well that would be because it's back patting time for WeaselMomma!!!! The best part is, I'm not even doing it myself this time! Well, I kind of am, by bragging about it. So what. I'm entitled. Heinous of the gut busting funny Irregularly Periodic Ruminations has presented me with this wonderful award. Too bad there was no official ceremony to invite you all to. In the past Tom of Being Michael's Daddy fame and The Father of Five have each granted me this award and I am equally honored this time. I have never heard you complaining that so-and-so has too many Super Bowl Rings.
In other news, de-I of De-Intimidator has a unique and funny contest that is too twisted and precious to be ignored. This is right up my humor alley. Introducing "The Road Kill Challenge!" Click the link for the rules of play, but it's basically a tally of road kill hits for the year. I personally have never managed any hits, but in the spirit of competition I am going to give it my all. I urge you all to join the fun!

Also, Nap Warden is hard at work with my new blog design. It will be installed just as soon as it's finished. I love it and think you will too. If you don't, well tough boogies!(but you will). Thanks Nap Warden!

Also, there is a new blog out there that we should all watch out for. I already tagged her in a meme once, and want to mention again that you should all get over to Seashore Subjects. She and I used to live in a commune together. Well, not really a commune but a two-flat(Chicago style duplex)with Weasels on the first floor and Beach Bums above us. We did live with a 'kitchen door always open' policy and constant up and down to to point of our family members being almost interchangeable (kid swapping, no spouse swapping). Oh, and I can't forget to mention the terrorist who lived in the basement (pre 9/11) and the dimwitted landlord who lived on the couch in the office off the laundry room (I hope this prompts her to post about it all).

That's the news of day, Happy Monday to you all!

A Little Taste of Home

I haven't always lived in Chicago. I have only lived here for a little over 10 years. I have lived in Ohio and West Virginia, but I grew up in Pennsylvania. Philadelphia. South Philadelphia. 2nd Street (two street to the locals) to be exact. If you happen to know anything about the area, you know that is a very important distinction. South Philly is a pretty unique area. It is an inner city sanctuary filled with row homes that share party walls. Everybody knows everybody else and all their business. Many families have 3 and 4 generations all living on the same city block.

It is an area thick with culture and tradition. It has it's own unique foods like soft pretzels (get the super pretzel vision out of your head now) and 'water ice' (which is neither water or ice, but a refreshing summertime treat) and Cheese Steaks, mmmmmmm. We can't forget the unique shopping experiences like the Italian Market, a.k.a. 9th Street, and if you've ever been there, you'll agree that the stench is indeed unique. Basically, go rent Rocky and you'll see where I grew up.

Anywho, one of the coolest and most fun traditions that is uniquely South Philly is the Mummers Parade. It's is New Years Day extravaganza. An all day party in the streets (especially two street where many 'clubhouses' for the top String Bands are located) complete with food, drink (to the extreme - You have to stay warm somehow!) and entertainment. The parade used to last about 11 hours (but was cut to 6 hours this year because of budget constraints on the city) and the party even longer. There are 4 divisions of the parade, but the best part of the show is the String Bands. These showman are the stars of the party. Every member of the clubs plays a musical instrument. They work on their costumes, music, and choreography all year. Each club puts on about a 5 minute routine for the judges. These clubs are made up of your friends, family and neighbors of all ages from teens to retirees. It's Bob the fireman, and Dan the cop, Billy the plumber and his cousin Leo the trash man and the local butcher. They practice all year and show off tremendous talent on New Years day. The costuming is expensive and most of the sewing and embellishing is done by the wives, mothers and girlfriends of the club members. Completely amazing. This is 1st Place Winner ~ Fralinger String Band

Here is 2nd Place ~ Quaker City

And 3rd Place ~ South Philadelphia String Band

And I can't leave out my personal favorite of 2009(Melisa and de-I, may like this one too) 5th Place ~ Avalon String Band

The quality of the videos I have found do not do justice to the costumes, showmanship, and dancing that is being performed, all while playing there own music!

This New Years Party is the best in the country. It's kind of Philadelphia's version of Mardi Gras and it is one of the things I miss most about living there. If you ever have the chance to spend New Years in Philadelphia, take it. I now how to go quench my sudden craving for a Cheese Steak!

Perspective

About 13 years ago Mr. Weasel lost his job. This came as a tremendous blow to our small family. We had a toddler daughter and I was a full time at home Mom. Great job, no salary. We had barely been scraping by as it was without savings and without extras. We worried and fretted and lost sleep. I took a job waiting tables at a miserable little greasy spoon with equally miserable hours just to keep food on our table. Rent and utilities were something we crossed our fingers about. We felt like we were at rock bottom. How would we survive this? How long could we live like this. This was clearly the worst of the worst that could happen to us.

After a few months, Mr. Weasel did find a new job that was even better than the one he lost. We moved forward, always keeping that time as our measuring stick for how bad things could be. Our biggest fear was not being able to provide for our family.

The years went on and were fruitful, both in work and offspring. Our family had grown by leaps and bounds. We had moved cities to better and better jobs always to make sure that we could provide for mouth after mouth. We had to be proactive to make sure that we never had to be in such an awful, dark and scary place again.

When our 5th child, Claire was born, my doctor quickly tore off out of the room. "where does he think he's going?" left my lips without any response as she was being weighed. The nurse placed Claire into my arms and Mr. Weasel and I began to cuddle her. She was sweet and beautiful and smiling. Real smiling. The nurses were bouncing "It can't be gas when she hasn't eaten, she's smiling!" We were instantly in Love.

The doctor returned with another M.D. in tow. "She has Down's Syndrome. We are worried about her heart and there is a 50/50 chance she will die within her 1st year". That puts things into perspective very quickly. There was no time to wallow in our baby girl not being perfect. She was perfect to us and we now had a focus, keeping her alive.

Within the first 12 hours of her life she had already acquired 4 specialists of her own and countless tests. She had to stay in the NICU and I couldn't be there when she was having tests done. I waited in my hospital room for word from the doctors while Mr. Weasel ran to the bookstore to buy every book he possibly could on raising a child with Down's.

Soon, both the geneticist and the cardiologist came in to make their reports. "She is perfectly healthy in every way. Her heart is in great shape. She is the strongest and healthiest Down's child we have seen. You have absolutely no reason to worry. she is beautiful". These were the happiest most wonderful words that I could ever hear. She would stay in the NICU until her oxygen saturation improved, but that was to be expected.

A short while later, the hospital social worker came into my room to say "It's okay to cry and to mourn". "Huh? "It's okay to mourn that your baby is not perfect and that your hopes for her future are not the same as a normal baby. I answered her with "Mourn what? I just got the news that she is going to live, I have reason to celebrate! I want to do cartwheels! I have no reason to mourn. She is perfect because she is her, now get out and don't come back." And that is how our whole family felt about her. The other Weasels were excited about their new baby sister and were slowly understanding that she would not learn as fast as they did, but she would learn, especially with their help.

When Claire was a week old we got to bring her home from the hospital. Words can not surmise the joy that filled our house that day. She was ours. No wires or tubes. No nurses help needed anytime you wanted to pick her up. Just our baby to have and to hold. Our family had never been happier or more content.

And then it happened. She had been home for one week. It was the middle of the night. It was time to wake her for a feeding. She was not breathing. We started CPR and called 911. The fear and panic swept through us. It felt like an eternity before help arrived, according to the clock it was a little over 2 minutes. They whisked her away to the ambulance and to the hospital, but it was all in vain. She never took another breath again.

Our world stop turning. We hit real rock bottom. There was nothing but intolerable pain, both emotional and physical, that there was no cure for. As my heart was shattered into bajillions of little pieces, my arms ached with a tangible pain. They ached with a need to hold her. Just continuing to breathe took all the effort and energy we could muster.

Once again, we quickly had things put in perspective for us. Everything that we thought was important was no longer a priority. A job? they're a dime a dozen. Savings? It's only money. Retirement? So what if it never happens. We now know what's really important, Our Family. Everything else is icing. They are nice, enjoyable luxuries. Wonderful to have and worth working toward, but they are not important. They are not worth losing sleep over. There will always be a way to work things out. All we need in this world is each other. That is what is important.

It has been over 6 years since Claire died. Much healing has taken place. We took our experience and grief and have tried to turn them into a positive by helping other parents who found themselves in this dark place. We've tried to offer them hope. Hope that they will survive. Hope that they will never forget their deceased children. Hope that life will get better with time. Hope that they will someday know joy again. Hope that they will learn to live again. I will never consider it a positive that Claire died, but positive things have happened because of it. We have become better people and developed many cherished friendships and helped to guide others through these murky waters. We have learned what is truly important.

So this past November, when Mr. Weasel became one of thousands in this economy to be laid off, we refused to lose sleep over it. What happens will happen. He will work hard at finding something, we will tighten the belts, but we will never again think that this is the worst position we could be in. We will not confuse this with rock bottom. We will laugh off the small stuff and cherish what is important in a deeper way. We will never forget our ClaireBear or the gifts that she has left behind for us. Not the least of which is perspective.