Today is FatherHood Friday over on dad-blogs. If you haven't yet joined dad-blogs, go do so here. It's a great community forum of Dad Bloggers, and a few Moms too. There are some great articles to educate, entertain and provoke conversation.
I am obviously not a father. I did however, have a father and am married to a man who is a father. So, I too have enough experience to speak about Fatherhood, from a viewpoint of Mom and Daughter.
As with Motherhood, Fatherhood is not not something that you are born knowing how to to do. Some parts of it come naturally, like the love you feel for your offspring. Other aspects, are things that you learn on the fly along the way. Mistakes are bound to be made and it is in learning from those mistakes and rectifying the aftermath of them that you grow into becoming a good father.
Let me give you an example of how Mr. Weasel grew and learned in the early weeks of fatherhood.
Our Eldest was only about 10 weeks old. We both loved her dearly. I was her main caretaker as a nursing SAHM. Mr. Weasel was involved mainly with cuddle duty, and lots of it there was. He would help in all areas that he could, like sterilizing pacifiers, going out to buy diapers, occasionally changing them and helping out at bath time. I took the bulk of hands on baby needs like feeding, diapers and dressing.
One weekend, friends of ours came to stay with us and visit. A great couple who had yet to jump off the cliff of parenthood. Saturday morning I took the opportunity to enjoy a long hot shower while I had 3 other seemingly competent adults to care for my baby girl while I indulged in this special treat. Over the past few weeks, all of my showers had been extremely rushed, as Eldest would cry the second I started running the water.
I had only been enjoying the steamy hot water running over my tired back for about 2 minutes when I heard a blood curdling scream from the living room. Within 10 seconds the bathroom door came flying open and Mr. Weasel jumps into My shower fully clothed and screaming as he pushed his way under the shower head.
As soon as he is able to speak, he yells "she shit on me!!!!!! I was changing her diaper on the couch and she shit on me!!!!! It's all over everywhere!!!!". "Where is she?" is my first question. "She's still on the couch". "You left her on the couch? To roll off and fall??????" was all I could care about.
I grabbed my robe and rushed to the living room, where I find our dear friends had finished diapering her and picked her up to safety. I found 1 tiny tiny smudge of baby poo on the blanket that she had been laying on for her diaper change. Furious, I storm back into the bathroom to rant at Mr. Weasel for taking care of himself before his daughter, leaving her endangered on the couch and taking away my one small luxury of a hot peaceful shower.
Once he had the opportunity to reevaluate his actions, via his wife and the mother of his child spelling out for him everything he had done wrong (I'm helpful like that) in no uncertain terms. Mr. Weasel realized the errors of his ways and how he should handle this situation differently in the future.
This was both a learning and growing experience for him as a father. I can't say that I never had another shower that was abruptly interrupted, but it was never again with this circumstance.
From then on, he brought poop laden child to hand to me in the shower.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Well folks, Yesterday was Ash Wednesday. The kick-off of the season of Lent for us Catholic types (you can get the Lent for Dummies cliff notes here).
Some of what is required of Catholics is:
- Ash Wednesday and Good Friday are days of Fasting and Abstinence. That means No meat (abstinence) and no snacking. You may have two small meals and one regular, but light meal.
- You are to 'give something up'. Housework, homework or dishes don't count.
- No meat on any Friday during Lent.
This is not my favorite time of year. I like meat. It's my favorite part of most meals. I can regularly go through a day without meat or snacks and eating minimal amounts without even thinking about it, but the second I'm told that I can't have it and it is forbidden, I can't stand it. It calls to me.
Now you may be asking yourself "I wonder what WeaselMomma has given up for Lent?". I thought about this long and hard. Many of the typical things like chocolate or candy, I can give up without a second thought. I enjoy them, don't get me wrong, but they are not a daily staple for me. They would not be in the spirit of penance. I decided instead to give up beer.
That's right. Go back and read that again. Your eyes are not failing you. WeaselMomma, 40 (46) days, no beer.
This shouldn't really be too much of a problem. Except that, it is a daily staple in my life and now that's it's a forbidden it will be calling to me. The good Lord decided to help me out and make it easy for me to forgo both beer, meat and snacks yesterday. While at the same making sure that I was able to have suffering to offer up as penance for my sins.
"WOW! How he do that?" you must be asking your computer screen right now. I tell you how. I awoke at 2am Ash Wednesday with a migraine. In all of it's throbbing, puking, pulsating, am I having stroke?, glory. I was in too much pain to speak. I was violently sick countless times until about 9am. I dehydrated and was not able to get any water or pain medication to stay down.
Mr. Weasel got the kids out to school, sans smallest. He had a meeting down town for a job prospect that he had to go to. With me being completely unable to function, we had a problem. Our dear friend Patsy stepped up and had smallest spend the day at her house. Yay, for Patsy! She's really awesome and I can't thank her enough. I pulled it together enough to function minimally in time to pick up the kids after school, but we also had 3 different places that the gang had to be. Patsy kept everyone at her house as I chauffeured individual Weasels to and fro. This continued until Mr. Weasel came home and took care of dinner and homework and I went back to bed. I never made it to mass, but that's not a mandatory on Ash Wednesday.
On the positive side, fasting and abstinence were not a problem for me at all yesterday. I didn't even think about beer once all day!!! One day down, 39(45) more to go.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Middle Weasel has been grounded, for reasons not to posted online. She has already served 1+ weeks of her sentence with no light at the end of the tunnel. No T.V., no friends, no phone, no computer, no video games, no iPod, or Nintendo DS. She can read and do homework. She can do anything that's not on the restricted list. She can't go outside, it's too darn cold.
Being the resourceful kid that she is, she has found a way to entertain herself:
Maybe it's time to cut the kid a little slack.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Reading this, written by the beautiful, tiara wearing Melisa, reminded me of a childhood memory involving Dear Old Dad.
When I was a kid, we had a dog named Bugs. He was an ugly as sin, medium sized mutt from the SPCA. Aptly named because he looked like the kind of dog that lived under a porch and had, well bugs. Not your average pet by any means. Bugs was exceptionally smart, highly protective of us kids and took his roll as protector very seriously, but never saw himself as a pet or a house dog. He had his own social life and to do list for the day, but always managed to keep tabs on the family.
He actually had his own crowd that he ran around with in a pack of sorts. I kid you not. Every morning, some neighborhood pooches would start to gather and wait across the street from our house. No owners. No leashes, but a definite agenda. Bugs would wait patiently for his moment of opportunity and the second someone opened the door for anything, he would escape. The pack would wait for Bugs and then all take off for the day to run around the neighborhood. Over the years, we figured out of few of their daily stops. A regular favorite was the back door of a local diner, where the cook would feed them some leftover scraps. The last stop of the day for Bugs would be to show up as my Dad was getting out of work and into the car. Then he would follow the car home and be in for the night.
There would often be complaints and mothers up in arms, as the pack found themselves getting into constant trouble for picking on someones pedigree dog (really, they hated a pedigree), chasing someones cat or my favorite, hunting and catching pigeons in front of small children (they really got a kick out this ~ the dogs, not the kids).
Every once in a while Bugs would get picked up by the dog catcher. Probably just so his buds could get away clean. This unnerved Dad. It was $25.00 to spring him. Dad loved Bugs, but didn't believe in putting out money that he didn't have, especially for a dog. A dog that we couldn't keep in the house no matter what amount of effort was made.
Bugs was becoming a regular in the slammer. The people at animal control were never pleasant when bond was being posted for him. Dad would have to drive a 1/2 hour, fight parking and in his mind waste another $25.00, 3 of his least favorite things to do on his day off.
One Saturday, I woke up to Dad emptying the penny bucket onto the kitchen table. I asked what he was doing as he counted it out in piles. "I'm going to spring Bugs, he was caught again". "with pennies?" I had to ask, "yup" was Dad's reply.
It wasn't that Dad didn't have cash to use, he was just aggravated. If he had to drive to the dog pound and deal with less than friendly desk workers and pay the fine, he was going to make sure that it wasn't pleasant for them either. So he counted out $25.00 in pennies (not rolled either), bagged it up and headed to pick up his dog.
He was greeted with the same level of deference and disapproval as ever. He put his bag on the counter and stated "here it is". Mr. 'I hate you and your dogs guts' said he couldn't accept it, "it's pennies". Dad informed him that it was indeed U.S. currency and that he had to accept it". He wasn't taking no for and answer. Counter dude starting counting the money. It took a while and when finished counting, looked to Dad with a nasty smirk "you're 22 cents short". Dad, having known this and having stashed that last 22 cents in his pocket, answered back "count it again". Deflated, Counter Dude said that he would just put the rest in himself.
Dad retrieved Bugs and headed home, maintaining a little spring in his step for the rest of the day.
As an aside, if you haven't *read this* yet, go do it. NukeDad has Flat WeaselMomma on the lamb and she's had to leave the country.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Being a stay at home mom and raising 5 active kids ranging from preschool to high school, I often get asked "How do you do it?". I always have the same answer, "I Drink!". And now I will share with you why.
After a happy and busy 3 day weekend, Monday was devoted to making sure everything was set and ready to go for Tuesday, the official start of the shortened week. This is the day spent gathering school clothes to be washed, making sure we have everything necessary for a weeks worth of lunches to be made, completing any homework assignments and tying up any loose ends.
Last night I went to bed with a calmness that stemmed from everything being in order. There was one more load of laundry to be done for the morning, but Mr. Weasel said he'd handle that. Rock On!
5 am ~I awoke, slightly late for me (strange, I'm already aware). After pouring my coffee I set myself up with my aged laptop that should really be in hospice care. I can tell that years of constant use are taking it's toll. It groans and moans and moves painfully slow in the morning, much like an arthritic dog. I restart it 3x before it actually responds and even then it has trouble scrolling. I feel it's pain and love it dearly but can't wait for the day I can bury it in the garden with the toads and get a younger, faster, stronger bionic model.
6 am ~ As soon as I get Mac up and running, it's time to wake up Eldest ~I'm not even kidding, this morning it took an hour. I have time to read two blogs before I wake the rest of the family 45 minutes later (Mac is running extremely slow still).
6:45 am ~ I pull the Weasels from their beds ~physically pull them, mind you~ and bring Mr. Weasel a cup of morning joe. That's the only way to ensure not being torn to shreds when waking him. "Where did you put the kids school shirts that you washed?" is my morning greeting to him. He mumbles "I never put them in the dryer. I also have to wash my shirt for an interview downtown today". I grab the load and head back downstairs to quickly dry the kids immediate needs and put a fresh load in for the Mr.
6:50 am A thought strikes me, "Monkey, is your report done?". "Wait is today the 17th?, I DIDN"T DO IT!!!!!!" is followed by panic and tears. So much for yesterday's rendition of "all my homework's done".
7:am ~ I heat the car and then continue to calm Monkey Weasel as Eldest Weasel is ready and waiting for her ride to school. Mr. Makes his way downstairs and proceeds to check his email. I ask the other Weasels "Do, you have your reading logs? All your papers signed? All the stuff you said you had finished yesterday?". Of course they didn't. Time is now limited and everything super rushed. I remind Mr. Weasel that if he wants to wake up slowly and check email, have coffee, etc that he needs to wake up before the Weasels!!!!!!!! I have to take Eldest, so he has to handle paperwork, NOW!!!!!
7: 10 am ~ I drive Eldest and return home about 7:30 to help get everyone out of the house on time with everything they could possibly need. "Can you drive them to school and stop to get gas on the way home while I start folding laundry?" I ask of Mr. Weasel. "I can't. I have to shower and have a phone interview with Amazon at 9am and then have to head downtown for a 4 hour sit down. Is my shirt ready?". UGH.
7:50am ~ I take the younger Weasels to school ~making sure that everyone has backpacks, lunches, paperwork and everything they could possibly need, before I leave the driveway~ and stop for gas on the way home.
8:20am ~ I return home and start about my repairing the aftermath of the morning tornado.
8:25 am ~ After making minimal headway, the phone rings. I ignore it, cause that's what I do when I don't feel like answering. If it's important they'll call back or call my cell phone. My cell phone rings and now I have to answer. It's Boy Weasel calling from school "Mom, I forgot my book for class. Will you bring it right now?" UGH. "Mr., can you bring the Boy his book, right away?". He replies, "I still haven't showered and have that phone call at 9, and have to make the train for my interview". He still hasn't showered? He has got to be kidding me. Back in the car I go, complete with book I had to search through the Boys dirty laundry to find.
8:35am ~ I arrive at school, take the book to the classroom and threaten Boy Weasel that if he ever does this again (it's regular occurrence) that I will come in hair curlers, a housecoat and bunny slippers and stay for the lesson.
8:50am ~ I return home and Mr. Weasel is finally in the shower. Smallest is watching morning cartoons and I take a minute to sit. That didn't last long. About 30 seconds into my relax time a voice from upstairs penetrates my head "can you bring me my shirt". Done and done.
9:04am ~ Mr. informs me " I am a moron". Tell me something I don't know (I was already haggard and cranky~cut me a break). "My phone interview is at 9 am PST!!!! That not until 11am, but I have to make the next train so I can be take the call downtown and still be on time for my face to face. Will you take me to the train? I'll never find parking in time." I'm sure this is all just a sick joke.
9:20 am ~ We pack smallest in her car seat and head for the train. Mr. Weasel asks what else is on the agenda for me today, as he''ll be gone until 7 or 8pm. "hit the store for project stuff for monkey, figure out dinner, finish the laundry and finish the house work I have already started, pick the younger ones up at regular time, Eldest has track practice until five". "And don't forget you have to pick me up again tonight" is added by the Mr. Thank God I gassed up the car.
10 am ~ Return home and start
this post my day.
And this my dear readers, is why I drink more before noon* than most people do all day.
* For my non-regular readers ~Total hyperbole ~ don't go calling child services or sending AA brochures.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Once upon a time there was a beautiful young Queen, called WeaselMomma. WeaselMomma's was a modest kingdom, filled with
Weasels loyal subjects who made enormous messes loved the queen very much, and a handsome, loving King.
All of the loyal subjects in the Kingdom of Weaselville had individual chores that they would
half-ass perform for the Queen while grumbling under their breath with a song in their heart. The King, knowing how much a clean Kingdom meant to the Queen, contracted a mercenary cleaning lady to come help with the upkeep of the Castle twice a month.
WeaselMomma was a queen of very simple pleasures and few luxuries. Having a mercenary brought her much joy. The entire castle would sparkle and shine simultaneously. This was a feat WeaselMomma could never get accomplished on her own. As she would make one room twinkle another would come under attack by
Weasels gremlin forces.
On the days that the mercenaries would come, WeaselMomma felt happy contentment. The skies would open and rays of sunshine would enter the castle directly from the heavens. When WeaselMomma was happy, the entire Kingdom was happy.
Soon a time came when the economy of the Kingdom suffered because the King
was laid off no longer could exchange services for money from larger Kingdoms. In order to preserve the the castle and protect the Kingdom from bills piling up attacking enemy factions, WeaselMomma discontinued the mercenaries services and other joyous luxuries. She would have to perform these duties herself and follow behind the Weasels to complete the chores they have half-assed.
During the long, cold winter, The King and Queen managed to preserve and protect the Kingdom and live simply and happily. Grey clouds hovered over the Kingdom and the sun rarely shone, but they would persevere.
Soon it was time for the annual celebration of
Valentine's Day the "We love Queen WeaselMomma Festival". Having such little means for extravagant festivities, and knowing how much a sparkly castle means to her, The King and the loyal subjects honored WeaselMomma with a gift of "We ourselves will spend the day cleaning the castle as well as the mercenaries have in the past, while you take a long hot bath with a good book".
Once again, Warmth and Sunshine entered the castle. It didn't shine down from the heavens, but streamed from the hearts of the King and the loyal subjects. This brought the Queen much joy. Queen WeaselMomma was happy and so the entire Kingdom was happy.
Happy Valentine's Day to all!
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Smallest Weasel, who is soon turning 5, and I were having a conversation yesterday about marriage. She is amazed that The Mr. and I have not always been married grownups.
I asked her "What kind of things did I have to know about Dad before I married him? After a moments thought, she came up with this.
1. Did he have money?
2. Would he sleep in your bed?
3. Could he make the coffee?
4. Would he get you a beer?
If this is a litmus test for what makes a good husband, he scored 75%. I however, think I hit the jackpot.
Monday, February 9, 2009
That's the thought that goes through my mind every time I see the television ad for Kay Jewelers. The tag line and jingle of 'Every Kiss Begins With Kay' bugs the bejeezus out of me. If every kiss you share is only because that special person in your life just bought you a piece of jewelery, you are nothing short of a ho.
Jonah Goldberg, of National Review, has taken up this topic before.
The message behind the ad diminishes the gift of jewelery and the spirit of Valentine's Day. As opposed to an extra day set aside to tell spouse or special someone in your life how much you love and appreciate them for all that they mean to you or to express a little romantic sentiment that may get lost during the daily vitriol of 'please finish your homework' and 'don't put the cat in the dishwasher', it equates your romantic relationship to turning a trick. Give me diamonds and I'll give you a little sumptin', sumptin'.
Romance is slow dancing in the kitchen and breaking into laughter when your hear the cat crying for help from inside the dishwasher, realizing that you've been duped by a preschooler. Romance is stealing moments together in the midst of life's chaos to kiss while dinner is cooking and the kids are making gagging noises to show their disgust. Romance is making time for each other and to remember how all the insanity that surrounds you started to begin with.
This is not to say that diamonds aren't a romantic gift, but that they should not mean 'I owe you one'. They should mean, I want to give you something as special and precious as you are to me. Then again, if you have children, you've already done this.
There will be no diamonds or jewelery in Weasleville this Saturday, but there will be extra stolen moments and a little twinkle in the eyes, just like any given Saturday. I hope you all have a wonderful and romantic Valentine's Day.
That said, I have to add, I am such a ho.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
We are in the midst of a heat wave. Yesterday reached 51°F here in Weaselville. The sun shone and the angels sang. We saw the glimmering light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. Heading outdoors was not a painful experience for the first time in months. We actually wanted to be outside. Days like this are entirely uplifting for the soul.
With the extra vitamin D coursing through my veins I headed out to clear the last remnants of ice from the sidewalk and driveway while the kids pulled their bikes out of the garage and broke free from the chains of cabin fever. The snow that had been piled up everywhere was melting quickly and we could actually see the ground and the brown death that will transform back to lawn in the spring.
I went for a 1 mile run
that almost killed me and just enjoyed being free of below freezing temps. I actually worked up a sweat that didn't form icicles on my eyebrows or leg hair.
Boy Weasel asked if he could take his younger sisters to the park down the street. No problem. That would give me opportunity to get some chores done and a nice hot shower without interruption. I love when I can send them outside to play! And they love not being imprisoned in the house.
With the washing machine going and the dishwasher running I headed upstairs for a glorious, unrushed, relaxing shower to soothe my aching muscles. Mr. Weasel took to the solitude of the bedroom to answer some emails and hack out some code for a potential job.
And then it happened.
While wearing a robe and towel drying my hair, an unrecognizable mud ball came tearing into my bedroom. Voice recognition told me that it was Monkey Weasel. She looked as if she had gone swimming in elephant dung and was speaking in a rushed and panicked tone something about needing help. Following quickly behind her was a slightly larger pile of mud that we identified as Middle Weasel from the tell tale tag line of "don't worry, I'm okay" (that usually follows behind a loud crashing sound). "Smallest Weasel and Boy Weasel are in the garage and need help cleaning themselves up before they can come in". The thought crosses my mind that if these two Weasels thought is prudent to traipse through the house in this condition, what must the others look like.
I followed the thickly laid trail of mud from the bedroom, down the hall and the stairs, through the living room and the kitchen and into the garage, height was the the only identifying feature left to tell these two Weasels apart.
One by one, we started stripping the Weasels in the kitchen and wrapping them in towels to send them for showers. We started with Monkey Weasel and Middle Weasel to stop the amount of destruction they were leaving in their wake. There was a lack of hot water remaining due to my shower, the washer and the dish washer all having been run. Great.
Smallest Weasel started to cry "They made me pee my pants!" as we peeled the layers of what used to be clothing from her. What do you mean, 'they made you pee'? Boy Weasel pipes up "She was stuck in the mud and said she had to go. I knew we would never get her out of the mud and home in time, so I told her she would have to pee in her pants". The Mr. and I couldn't hold back our laughter. In Boy Weasel's defense, a little extra pee didn't add anything much to her soiled state.
As we continued cleaning up the gang and the trails left behind them, we really just had to laugh. The whole story of how this debacle happened came out slowly in segments from all 4 sources. We could piece this much together. They decided to run across the baseball field, that has damn near turned to quicksand in the thaw. They all managed to fall numerous times and would get stuck if they stayed stationary for more the 5 seconds. Smallest Weasel got stuck while trying to escape to a bathroom. After she wet her pants ~from inside, they were already wet from the outside~ Boy Weasel thought it prudent to try and clean her up using a still pristine snow pile and water from the mud puddles.
I asked them "Was it at least a lot of fun? Please tell me you at least had fun". Three out of four Weasels answered "Yeah! It was great!". Smallest Weasel whimpered "no". I asked her "was it fun before you peed your pants?", "yeah, it was bunches of fun then".
Socks and underwear ~ total loss ~ $15.00
Extra use of laundry detergent and water ~ $7.00
Clean up time ~ 4 hours (rinsing clothes in sink, removing mud from carpeting and flooring, showers and laundry.
Thinking of their smiling faces while relating their tale of adventure to me ~ Priceless.
My only regret is that in name of damage control, I didn't stop to take a picture.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
It happened! BusyDad finally got his therapists 'go ahead' to post about Flat WeaselMomma's trip to Los Angeles ! From the look of things, I had a very good time. Go check it out.
Soon you will be reading about FWM's Adventures with the Nuke Family, where it sounds like she is tearing up the
house town. He'll be posting any day now.
Her next stop will be North of the border for snow boarding and winter fun with Big Bad Daddy!
(as soon as he sends me an address to send it to).
After that, is girl time with Melisa and the Suburban Scrawl Family. Maybe I can make it the Fab
On another note I am a finalist @ A Good Husband in the Pro Flowers Valentines Day Giveaway. So stop by and vote for me. It's quick easy and fun! You only have until midnight tonight.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Introducing a new feature here at World of Weasels. A
hopefully weekly column devoted to giving guidance of the best and worst restaurants in the western suburbs of Chicago. I hope to give you a brutally honest and unbiased opinion from the pickiest palate in the tri-state area to help you make your plans for the weekend. For my lovely readers who are not in the area, you too should enjoy these reviews, as they will be written with the signature WeaselMomma flare.
Yesterday Mr. Weasel suggested that we head out on a first venture to "Taste of Himalayas" located @ 110 North 3rd Street, St. Charles, IL. I managed to shock him by agreeing. Any of you whom have read *this* understand that my food intake is not very adventurous and I am extremely hard to please. As the name suggests they serve very authentic Indian and Depali cuisine.
Pulling into the parking lot, I started having second thoughts. The outside of the building resembled a mom and pop fast food joint. The scent of curry wafted strongly through the air. I almost chickened out. As we entered the building, the door was opened for us and we were greeted by a waiter wearing a fez. The tables were covered in fresh white linens and the decor was not at all what I had expected, nice surprise. None of the surroundings matched my expectations from the parking lot. A sign in the front window advertised a lunch buffet for $8.99.
The waiter came to take our drink order and suggested a 'Himalayan Long Island Iced Tea' when I asked if there was a signature traditional Indian offering. Mr. Weasel and I headed for the buffet to take a look and get started. I must admit that my sensitive palate and I almost wet our pants in fear. I have never before tried Indian Cuisine
I don't think boxed couscous from the supermarket counts. This was going to be an adventure. The Mr. on the other hand loves the stuff and has a love of good cuisine that borders on 'foodie'.
Our waiter quickly came running up behind us to give a tour of the buffet and the offerings and make suggestions. He pointed out the salad and the sauces and explained all of the hot dishes and what the best compliments for each item were in his best broken English. He could not help but notice the
panic trepidation on my face. He was very sweet and gave us both the Indian names and English translations of all the offerings. Mr. Weasel laughed out loud at the look on my face when our waiter pointed out the goat meat. I had to interrupt, "Did you just say goat meat?". Yes indeed, he did say goat meat. Khasi Ko Masu, bone in goat meat cooked with traditional village style spices and herbs. Good thing I was feeling adventurous. I filled my plate with a green salad and a touch of the yogurt dressing, a rice dish (that I forget the name of) and some batter dipped vegetables. Mr. Weasel was excited to try everything and thrilled to see some of his favorite dishes in the buffet.
We returned to the table and were brought some grilled, warm, pita like, and very yummy Tandoori Nan bread and a sizzling skillet of Tandoori Chicken and stir fried vegetables that were included with lunch. My drink arrived and resembled a Long Island Iced Tea. One sip told me otherwise. This was not like any drink I have ever had. It hit your tongue resembling southern sweet tea and finished like straight whiskey. Woooo, that baby was strong. Mr. Weasel tried a taste and commented "I didn't know that Long Island Ice tea is supposed to burn on the way down?" It came with a hefty and unexpected price tag of $12, but it easily had that much liquor in it. About 1/2 way through the drink it started going down much smoother, surprise!
I daintily worked my way through my plate and found the food to be not as alarming as I first feared. Mr. Weasel was enjoying all of the offerings and raving over the Chicken Curry. He shared a piece of his goat with me, and it was surprisingly good. Not enough to make me go chase down some more, but enough for me to admit that it was tasty. That was a pleasant surprise. If I can only get over a mental food block, the world would be my oyster
I don't eat them either.
Mr.Weasel was laughing and enjoying what a good sport I was being about trying new and exotic foods. I thought I was being very gracious and open to these new dishes, and for me I was. However the staff interpreted things much differently.
Noticing the way I carefully picked food from my plate, a waiter came to check that everything was okay. I gently explained that this was my first time and that I am very picky, but that Mr. Weasel was enjoying everything immensely. The Tandoori chicken was my favorite offering and went very well with the rice dish that was served.
Mr. Weasel and I decided to share a very large bottle of Hercules Beer (it filled two 10 oz. glasses) that we had spotted at another table and looked wonderful and tasted even better. I had never heard of it before, but it was something special.
Dessert at the buffet consisted of Gajar Halwa, which was translated as carrot cake but didn't resemble any cake I had ever seen. It had more of a pudding consistency and was very wonderful and extremely rich. It was served warm and was similar in flavor to carrot cake (now I understand the comparison). They also offered a chilled yogurt sauce over apple slices, both tasty and healthy.
Overall, the service was fantastic. Sweet, attentive without being overbearing. The food was good. Mr. Weasel loved it and I ~who am impossible to please when it comes to new and foreign foods ~ although limited my intake, enjoyed it as well.
They boast "A taste beyond the ordinary" and they deliver. We would both be willing to go back and try it again. Mr. Weasels gives it 3 1/2 stars, I'll give it 3. If you like Indian food, it's worth stopping for lunch.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Yesterday I went about disproving Mr. Weasel's theory that I have a heart of stone and ice water coursing through my veins. I donated blood. Genuine red, hot American blood. Whouda thunk it?
Manic Mommy is sponsoring a virtual blood drive on her blog, complete with raffles and a chance to win a vacation in Florida.
Last Sunday she called me out personally on her blog and challenged me to give up a pint. Normally I would rather have a bartender give me a pint, but in the spirit of a good cause
and feeling like I was back in the schoolyard and not able to walk away from a triple dog dare I obliged and headed to the Heartland Blood Center and gave it up to some of the nicest, most gentle and kind Vampires I have ever met.
After a quick questionnaire, Georgia took my blood pressure, temperature, pulse and pricked my finger for an anemia test. Did I mention how gentle she was? I hardly felt it!
Next step was to hop up in the comfy contour chair, where Jennifer made sure I was comfortable and went about about her work with a smile and gentility. I barely even noticed the needle. We were chatting the whole time and the staff was just thrilled about the virtual blood drive that was taking place. They were also more than happy to oblige in taking my picture so I would have the necessary proof to offer Manic Mommy that I did indeed accept and complete her challenge. I even signed up for their "4 Seasons Club". It's an agreement to come in once a season over the next year. After 3 pints they give me a stadium blanket and after 4 pints a nice hoodie.
When all was said and done I got to enjoy a Coke (and lots of smiles) and a bag of chips. Mr. Weasel picked me up and took to me to lunch while we could enjoy the fact that all the kids were still in school, but that is an entirely different and upcoming post.
I encourage you all to go visit Manic Mommy and to participate in her blood drive, you never know when you will need a pint yourself. Now I think that I'll go pour myself a pint of well deserved beer.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Taps is quickly on it's way to becoming the most played song on my iPod. Death has once again visited the burrow. Syrup the mouse (I introduced you to her here) has become the latest Weasel pet to go to the giant hamster wheel in the sky. She was one of a set of tawny and brown mice that resembled the color of Waffles and Syrup ~ hence the names.
Yesterday at about dusk. Eldest came into my bedroom to inform me that Syrup had expired (I hadn't even looked at the date stamped on her butt. This reminds me - check the milk). Her counterpart and companion Waffles seems to be coping well with this tragedy. Eldest informed me, "I told Dad and he didn't even stop playing RockBand. He said we'll take care of it after dinner." I told her that I was sorry and attempted to give her a hug. "You're not going to hug me, are you? It's okay, don't hug me", teens. I don't get them. I agreed that after dinner would be the correct time to handle things, as we were preparing to eat.
Monkey Weasel entered the scene and added her two cents, "Maybe you shouldn't eat first. You know, cause you might ~and proceeded to enact a very flamboyant rendition of losing her cookies, I couldn't control myself from laughing. Thank God that Eldest Weasel had left the room. Then Monkey Weasel looked at me with the sweetest of faces and stated that there is a bright side to this latest visit from the Grim Reaper, "At least I will be able to tell them apart now!" I lost it. The sense of humor around this place is insane.
Services, as usual, will be held on Friday morning. We have chosen a lovely casket. It's a ziplock bag and have vaulted it in a large garbage can in the garage.
I'm beginning to think the Weasels could have successful careers as exterminators. Disagree? Read about our other
comedic adventures with dead rodents 'tragedies' see here and here, and see if you don't change your mind.
Monday, February 2, 2009
After almost an entire weekend of being horribly ill, that followed a very harrowing week, I woke up this morning to what looked like a refugee camp. There were mountains of clean laundry, yet unfolded covering 4/5 of furniture in the living room. The kitchen looked like it had been ransacked by hungry burglars who had time to cook. Ugh. This is why Mom's don't have time to be sick. It's too much work when we feel better.
I go about the immediate tasks at hand and flip on the news. It's Groundhog Day, I almost forgot. I watched in anticipation as I continued
reading blogs cleaning and having my morning coffee. After all the ritualistic hulabaloo, Punxsautawney Phil was pulled out of his burrow in a drugged out his mind state. He looked pretty ticked - off about it, like a mean drunk.
As payback for being woken up while trying to sleep it off, and wanting to go back to bed for 6 weeks, he said he saw his shadow and sentenced us all to 6 more weeks of winter. Now, this is probably joyous news for Seashore Subjects, but not for anyone living above the Mason-Dixon line.
It has been a harshly cold and snowy winter. February is the epitome of miserable. This is when cabin fever starts to make all the nuts crack (myself included). Just because that selfish, fat, lazy, useless, drug addict of a rodent wants to go back to bed. He has no consideration for anyone other than himself. He doesn't think about his rodents-in-arms, The Weasels, who do not get the benefits of hibernation. Hey laughingly mocks us with "Suckers! I saw my shadow. Next time you should think twice before waking me up!"
This seems to be his attitude more years than not. He can't even give us the benefit of hope that we may soon be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Jerk.
I for one vote that we lynch him. Or perhaps some of you rural folks may enjoy a nice Groundhog Stew.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Weasels aren't noted for our love of football. We have nothing against it, it's just not of big interest to us. There is one exception, that would be the Super Bowl. It's not so much the game itself, but the food and commercials that surround the game. The Weasels love that we prepare a little "Super Bowl Party" just for them. They love all kinds of snacks (that they get to eat in the living room) in lieu of traditional dinner.
With that in mind, yesterday, Smallest Weasel, Monkey, Mr. and Myself headed to a 'new to us' grocery store that I had heard many great things about. People rave over the deli, bakery and produce at Caputo's, so off we went.
Upon entering the store, Monkey Weasel(9) grabbed a big cart and Smallest Weasel (4) grabbed a kiddie cart. They had decided to plan the Super Bowl menu themselves. Right away they found the display of chips for the game and proceeded to empty it. We managed to put some back, telling them that 3 bags would be more than ample. On our right we discovered the bakery. This is where I had to be reigned in. They had cannoli. Fresh filled, homemade cannoli. I am in love with cannoli. I am a cannoli snob and will only eat fresh made fresh filled cannoli. Do not refrigerate, they get soggy. Fill and eat ASAP. This is a rare find and brings much joy to my life. If you don't know this joy, Go. Find. It. The man behind behind the counter found himself laughing at the childlike excitement in my eyes
and the happy dance I was performing.
Next we moved onto the deli, where the sale prices on nice looking selections were incredible. As I took my number, Smallest Weasel was loading her mini cart with whole salamis (she's a fan) and when told that we didn't need 10 of them she started to hug them. Like you would a teddy bear. She had started to name them.
In the meat section we found Rib Eye roasts on sale for $3.99 lb. No. Way. I bought a 4 lb roast and will cut it into steaks for 3 or 4 meals. Beef Tenderloin was $4.99 lb, but last week it was $3.99. This isn't 'must eat today because it's about to expire' meat either. I was feeling kind of happy.
At the fish counter, Little neck clams were $6.99 lb. 22 were in a pound. Can't turn that down. 1 lb would make a nice treat for the Mister and I (we are the only ones who would eat them). Our cart was being filled through the course of the store. The sale prices were fantastic.
When we reached produce, strawberries were $1.49 a quart, they looked great too. Peaches were juicy and .99 lb. We stocked up on all kinds of fruits and veggies that were on special. The kids looked like they were in a candy store. Weasels love fruit.
Once we returned home the cannoli's were pulled out and devoured immediately. Wouldn't want them to get soggy. I started to steam the clams and melt the butter, as the Weasels claimed them as pets and started to name them. Middle Weasel cried as we ate her new best friends.
Later we pulled out RockBand and started taking turns having a family jam session. We were having a great time as I made sure dinner was on the stove (smoked keilbasa cooked with sliced potato and onion. Mr. Weasel and I schooled the Weasels in Buffet (the Jimmy variety), I stated that I didn't feel well. Reflux, like I haven't felt since pregnancy with the boy and indigestion were overtaking me. I rocked it through Volcano. I earned a 'flawless' with Margaritaville. I said to Mr. Weasel that I thought I would be sick. There was so much acid in my throat. I'm a trooper and pushed on. This is Buffet. We don't want the kids learning this stuff on the street after all. We continued with Cheeseburger In Paradise. About 4 lines into the song, I gently and calmly put the microphone down and proceeded to sprint through the house to the bathroom. This is where I lost my cookies
Mr. Weasel went to grab towels
I have no stinking idea why while Middle Weasel came in to 'help Mommy'. She wanted to hold back my hair like I do for her. It was already in a ponytail, but she is sweet nonetheless. Immediately her reaction was "Ewww, that's just sick!" and "Mom, that's soooooo nasty". Eh, she tried for sweet. I won't go into the TMI without making you laugh (at me not with me), so I will disclose that this was such a violent event that after 6 kids, my bladder couldn't take the extreme pressure. Yeah, I'm just waiting for you all to send the funny notes in the mail attached to a box of Depends. I was shaking and weak. Mr. Weasel ran a bath and got me upstairs. I cleaned up, put on some pajamas and crawled into my bed. Soon round two happened. Happened to the point reminiscent of college dry heaves. Happened just in time to soil my fresh clean PJ's and require a second bath. Go ahead, insert second depends joke here. Mr. Weasel put me to bed and stayed there with me. Even with the imminent threat of me soiling it - that's love.
This morning I am running a fever. I suspect stomach flu and not bad clams (no one else was sick, even after the cannoli - clam combo). I can hardly speak. All the acid managed to burn away the lining in my throat (I told you it was violent). Anyone who has met me in person will get a huge laugh out of that. It's pretty hard to keep these lips quiet.
That is unless you hand me a cannoli.