Thank God, I Survived!

The eulogy's that I received sure made me glad that I survived the Mongolian Death Flu. I couldn't possibly die now knowing that my legacy is this pathetic. The Weasels were relieved that I pulled through, although Eldest was visibly disappointed that she had to put her book deal on hold. She had already written the first chapter of "WeaselMomma Dearest" entitled How I Suffered for 13 years Without Texting. Poor girl had already planned out how she would spend her advance money.

I have time now to build a bigger and better legacy, but I will still award the $25 Amazon gift card that has been sitting in my purse for eight months collecting dust.

This was a hard decision that I couldn't possibly make. So I read them to Mr. Weasel and he chose without the knowlege of who the authors were. He rarely reads this blog so there was no danger of him having insider information.

And the winner of that dusty Amazon card is:

WeaselMomma passed away on Tuesday, having spent a week in a coma after being hit by a beer truck. Her family and favorite bartender were at her bedside when she passed. WeaselMomma was the Mother of 5 children, having unsuccessfully lobbied her husband for a 12-pack. "At least 11", she once said "that way we can field a football team." Her dreams of becoming a neurosurgeon were dashed in college after she drank her Sophomore year tuition before Thanksgiving break. Going to work for the Government proved to be the wrong career choice as she lost her first 8 government jobs after refering to supervisors as "Idiots" "Dolts" and asking one supervisor; "Did your parents have any children that possess a frontal lobe?" Afterwards she concentrated on raising her children and mobilizing the local chapter of The Pick-Up Truck Owners Society (PUTOS) to provide relief when local beer distributor trucks broke down. The Budweiser distributor was always appreciative; the Coors distributor said that they seemed to take twice as long as neccesary, and only 1/2 of the load would show up. In a related story, the Bud Light truck driver who struck and killed WeaselMomma has committed suicide. He said he couldn't live with the knowledge that he was responsible for killing such a wonderful consumer of brewed spirits, even if it wasn't his brand. In leiu of flowers, please double tip your favorite bartender the next time you go out for a drink. Visitation and Kegger will be Thursday; Bonfire, burial and wet tuxedo contest on Friday.

Written by none other than, NukeDad!

An Honorable runner up award complete with the 2nd place consulation prize of some link love, has been earned for this entry goes to Momo Fali.

WeaselMomma was born a coal-miner's daughter and grew up on a hill in Butcher-Holler. She spent most of her life barefoot, which inevitably led to pregnancy. FIVE of them. She was kicked out of the holler for exceeding the four kid limit and moved to Illinois where she raised her family and made money by showing videos of herself drinking shots. There may also be other videos of which we are not aware.

I am sorry this eulogy is five years late, but Weaselmomma was found dead sitting at her computer underneath a pile of laundry and dirty dishes. Her family didn't see anything out of the ordinary and had no idea she was there. Weaselmomma, you will be missed. Now everyone, onto the fun part of the funeral! Beer and comfort food!

Once again, I'm glad I made it, 'cause with friends like these.....who needs an enema?

Nightmare

I haven't been sleeping well lately. I have had a tremendous brick wall of writers block. Sure, there are many stresses that are being juggled right now in Weaselville, but I know that they are not the root cause. I know what the cause is and I hate to look it in it's ugly face. Gnawing at my brain like a termite is a nightmare. The kind that you can't wake up from. Wreaking havoc in my head, preventing the flow of coherent thought and peaceful sleep, is what Mr. Weasel and I have come to refer to as the videotape.

I can't hit stop or pause. It just plays in a torturous unending loop and eats away at any attempt to live life as I used to know it. I am hoping that by writing about it and putting it out in front of myself that it will stop playing for the time being.

I have written about it some before, here and here, but never in complete detail. For some things are just too awful to say out loud. Today, I hope by acknowledging the gory, I can put them to rest for a while and find peace, at least for the short time.

The video that plays uncontrollably in my head is that of the night that our daughter Claire died (July 2nd, 2002).

Weaselville had been the happiest place on earth since we brought our newest baby girl home from the hospital. She brought joy to the entire family and was a very easy baby to care for. All of the Weasels loved their newest, best toy ever and helping to care for her. The Mr. and I were happy to have her home after a tumultuous first week of life that was spent in the hospital filled with worries about her health, that all turned out to right themselves, or so we thought. She was healthy, she was ours and she was home.

One week later, all the kids were tucked in their beds fast asleep. Mr. Weasel and I were in bed watching T.V. as I nursed Claire. When she was done, I was tired. Claire was wide eyed and wanting to cuddle and play (as much as a newborn can). Mr. Weasel took her to hold and love, so that I may get some sleep. He eventually fell asleep sitting up in bed with her tucked away in his arms.

At 3:23 am, I awoke abruptly to Mr. Weasel screaming in panic that she was not breathing. I assuming that he must be mistaken.  I calmly but quickly checked for myself. In that instant the world stopped turning. Mr. Weasel started CPR and told me to call 911. I froze in fear and disbelief. He told me to take over CPR and he called. I went into automatic. I couldn't think, I just had to do. I continued CPR as we waited for help. It wasn't working. I felt I must be doing it wrong. It was taking forever for help to get there. Mr. Weasel called 911 again to ask "WHERE THE F&$% ARE YOU?" It felt like hours. In reality it was less than 3 minutes. When the paramedics arrived they said they were taking her to the ambulance. All that ran through my head was "don't waste time telling me, just do it, Fast!".

They took her outside as we threw on some clothes. There were police, fireman and paramedics everywhere. Eldest had woken up, but we shooed her back to her room. For we did not know what to do or what was happening. Mr. Weasel went to calm her as I went outside to stand in the open doors behind the ambulance hoping for some hope. I was sure that this was not happening. I was sure that they would save her. Mr. W came out to join me and to hold me.

They closed the back doors and were heading for the ER. I would go to the hospital and Mr. Weasel would stay with the other children. The police told me to drive myself to the hospital. I was not fit in any way to be driving. There is no doubt that my guardian angel was doing that part. I called a friend on my way. She would rush to the house and stay with the kids so that he could come to the hospital.

Once at the ER, they put me in a claustrophobic little room with a couch to wait. All they would say is "we're working on her". I couldn't sit still and there was no room to walk. Every time I stood at the doorway a very large security guard was in front of me to make sure I didn't enter the curtain area. I was asked, "Is someone coming? Can we call someone?" every few minutes. I continually answered "Yes. My husband is coming. I don't know why he's not here yet.", as I grew angry and frustrated that he wasn't there and they wouldn't tell me what was happening with my baby. I cursed under my breath at my husband when he wasn't answering his phone and wasn't arriving at the hospital. Anger mounted inside of me. "This is no time to bother with the paperwork" was my only thought. He must be filling out paperwork. Why isn't he here instead? He should be here. Where the hell is he.

I asked for a priest. I needed to have my daughter baptised. They sent some greasy long haired, hippy freak of about 20 years old. I asked for a priest. Again and again I asked for a priest. I asked for an update on my daughter, "we're working on her". It was an endless circle. "where the hell is he???????"

"We're ready for you now" was all that was said as a nurse appeared briefly from behind the curtain. I hurried to see my baby girl. I pushed past the curtain prepared for wires and monitors and machines. I saw none of that. There was none of that. Just my baby girl, swaddled in blankets, laying on a gurney much to large for her little body. No beeps, no humming, no noise. Once again I froze. I had to ask the nurse "Is she breathing?". A simple "no" was muttered. I leaned my body over my baby girl like a blanket. The nurse sat me on a stool and placed her lifeless body in my arms saying "hold her", before exiting.

I sat and held her little self, rocking her gently, sure that she would start breathing again any second. This was not happening. It couldn't be. It all had to be a mistake. It. Had. To. Be. I prayed. Prayed like I had never prayed before. I was sure that she would breath again. She had to. I needed a miracle and I knew God would provide it. I cursed again that my husband wasn't here. Where are you. I need you. Where the F%$@ are you?. I sat and rocked and cried in disbelief. Eventually, a doctor walked in and sat beside me. I couldn't speak. All she said was "I'm sorry". I couldn't make eye contact. All I could do was rock my baby and cry. She left. I held my baby. I begged her to breath. I begged God that this be all a mistake.

Soon, a policeman came in. He would need me to come make a statement at the police station. "Is that where my husband is?" 'Yes" was replied. "Does he know?". "I think so" was all that was said. I needed to be with my husband. I didn't want to leave my baby girl. I made sure that they wouldn't move her until after we could come back together. I could be with him just as soon as I gave my statement. I asked if I could drive myself to the station and was told "you're in no condition to drive". I rode in the front seat of the cruiser. Everything seemed surreal. I sat in the squad room and the officer ran to go buy me a cup of coffee after apologizing that none was made. I answered some simple questions. All was in order and I asked to see my husband. I was brought to him. He had been locked in a cell. This is why he never came. This is why he couldn't answer his phone.

When our friend arrived at the house to care for the children, he went to the car so he could join me at the hospital. The senior officer asked him "where do you think you're going?". "To the hospital with my baby and my wife". At that point he was cuffed and stuffed into the back of a cruiser. He was arrested and locked in a cell. Without cause.

Once locked up and not understanding why or what was happening, he screamed and yelled for them to allow him to go to the hospital and was ignored. He continually hit the call button and was told to stop because he was being "annoying". He screamed that he needed to see his wife and daughter. The officer that had him arrested came to the door and stated coldly "Your daughter is dead" and then slammed the door shut again. It wasn't opened again until after he collapsed from a panic attack.

He was only released after I gave my statement.

We were driven back to the hospital together and for the first time to be together with our lifeless baby girl. A priest still not had been called. We baptized her ourselves in the little sink in the curtained room. We held her, but also knew that we must soon go home. Our other children would be awake soon and would need us. We didn't want someone else telling them that their beloved baby sister was gone.

When we arrived home the police were still there. The kids had remained asleep, with the exception of Eldest who never went back to sleep. As the kids awoke, we told them all individually about the death of their sister. None of them believed us. They all had the same reaction. Each went immediately to her empty bassinet to look for her as our hearts broke again and again each time we had to crush our children, their reality and their feelings of safety and security.

I went to the back porch to sit. My best friend and her mother were sitting and waiting, just wanting to help. They poured me some coffee and asked what they could do. I sat like a zombie and told them that I was sure that any minute I was going to wake up. I was certain of it. This had to be a nightmare. It was a nightmare, for this was far worse than anything life could throw at us.

I never woke up. In fact, I never actually slept again. At least not how normal people expect to sleep.

Later that day, after not knowing what happened or why. After fretting and fearing about why our precious baby had died, we heard from the coroner. It was her heart. A congenital heart defect, that usually does not interfere with any aspect of life, blew wide open and her heart stopped pumping correctly. All of her blood flooding into her tiny lungs and it was over immediately. It was a one in a million thing and the only lottery we have ever held the ticket for.

Welcome to all of you arriving from Dad-Blogs Fatherhood Friday. Thanks for taking the time to read this. If you got this far, you might as well leave a comment.

Contest Clarification

Many of you are submitting some lovely and fitting epitaphs (–noun

a commemorative inscription on a tomb or mortuary monument about the person buried at that site).

However, I have that under control. Your task is to write the Eulogy ( noun -
a speech or writing in praise of a person or thing, esp. a set oration in honor of a deceased person).

The deadline will be Friday at midnight. Winner will be announced Saturday. Please make sure to include your email address so that I may inform the winner.

Best Contest Ever!

I have been just a tiny blip on the radar lately, hopefully you've noticed. No big shakes going on, just busy family life, including an unwelcome house guest that doesn't know when it's time to leave. Influenza has descended upon our humble abode. I have been dispensing medication, taking temps and serving ice cream for dinner. All of the Weasels have contracted flu. Three of them were well enough to make it school today, but not wanting Mom to be left out of the latest family craze, decided to give it to share it with her too.

I had been been fighting it off really well. Using mind over matter to bounce the germs off of me as Weasels coughed on my face. I had willed myself to push away thoughts of that tickle in my throat and to ignore the feelings of fatigue and congestion. Yesterday I lost my battle.

I have begged Mr. Weasel to take me out back and play "Old Yeller", you know, just to end the suffering. He doesn't want to be the next Drew Peterson, so it's a no go. Everyone else seems to have survived and he thinks that I will too. I have my doubts.

Just in case, I am pondering possible epitaphs for my tombstone. The best I have come up with so far is "Please Curb Your Dog". I am also looking for a volunteer to give the eulogy. So that is your task boys and girls. Write WeaselMomma's Eulogy. Email it to weaselmomma@yahoo.com or leave it as a comment. The winner (whoever writes my favorite) will receive a $25.00 Amazon giftcard. Be creative and have fun.

Pink Cadillac

I am living the life. You know me, complete princess non grata. All the Glam, all the time. St. Patrick's dayjust like any other Tuesday found me with full staff taking care of all of my beautification needs.

The reality of it is, a friend recently became a Mary Kay consultant. She gets extra points (or something) for bringing 'a model' to practice on to the weekly meeting. I sit and apply multiple products to my face. They ooh, aahhh and applaud. I get a free gift. You have never seen people so sincerely excited about the application of eye shadow. Seriously folks. This group was way too into this.

My girlfriend saw how very amused I was with these kool-aid drinking, cult of skin care fiends, and laughed right along with me. There were only six people, including me. The room was no bigger than a pop-tent. There were no less than 30 applause breaks. Really, they applauded every possible accomplishment for the week from "I sold a Gabonzo amount of products" to "I didn't break any finger nails" My mad mascara application skilz had them down right giddy.

I was so glad that I politely turned down the coffee and refreshments that were being offered. I am sure they were laced with some mind altering substance.

Just when I thought I couldn't get any more amused and entertained by watching this over zealous group of skin care consultants and their unnatural affection for facial cleansers, it happened. One of the women, for her achievements this week, was presented ~ and I kid you not~ with the "Pearls of Sharing"! She stood up to raucous applause and was handed pearl earrings.

I said to my self: "self, They didn't actually just say that, they couldn't have. Oh, yes they did".
Just when I thought this night couldn't get any funnier, in a creepy way, The presenter followed up with "and here don't forget your Pearl Necklace". I almost fell off of my chair! My friend too was holding back her laughter for dear life.

I have known many Mary Kay consultants. All of them were very normal people. I like and use Mary Kay. I am a fairly normal insert NukeDad smartass comment here. These women were not normal. These women were like the the Octamoms of foundation and powder. Lip gloss gave them a star-struck kind of awe as if Brad Pitt just sent a personal love note. I kept looking for the ghost of Alan Funt.

After the cult jam, she and I headed out to share a few drinks and laughs about the evening. This was not her normal group to meet with and she agreed that they are pounding the kool-aid of skin care as a religion.

Overall, I had a great time. Lots of laughs, time and drinks with a friend and a free microderm abrasion set. Who could ask for more?

Brain Damage

Sometimes the most obvious answers are the most easily overlooked. Lately I have been pulling my hair out trying to make life run smoothly here in Weaselville. The most simple tasks seem to have become the greatest of obstacles.

Case in point, just now I asked Boy Weasel to close the back door as he happened to be walking past it. "Back door????" was his response with an entirely blank and somewhat confused cloud glossing over his eyeballs. He had apparently never noticed that we have a back door right smack dab in the middle of the kitchen. This must have been a life changing moment of enlightenment for the boy. He has been in and out of that entrance way many, many times in his 12 years on this earth, and now he finally has a name for it. This kid is so bright The Mr. and I call him son.

Example 2: Eldest sprained her ankle at track practice a few weeks back. The team trainer is keeping a close eye on it and she can still run. It swells greatly after each practice and race. He has given her instructions to ice it 4x daily @15 minutes each, icy hot over night and anti - inflammatory meds daily. She has been complaining that it isn't getting any better.

Well, have you been icing it?

Nooooo.

Have you taken the anti - inflammatory?

Noooooo.

Did you put on the icy hot before bed last night?

Noooooo.

Hmmm, this is a mystery. Why do you think it's not getting any better?

I Dunno.

And case study C ~ Today is Monday, March 16. The school year started back in August. Monday through Friday, with a few exceptions, the kids have to wake up and prepare for school. Same routine every morning. Wake-up, get dressed, eat breakfast, brush teeth, brush hair, gather belongings and get in the car. No major surprises. No major feats to accomplish. No real hard part to learn. Yet, here we are in March and they have not been able to master these skills.

Have you brushed your teeth?

No, I didn't eat yet

Why not? You've been in the kitchen for half an hour.

I dunno.

I have been banging my head against the wall. I don't get it. These are not hard concepts to grasp. Why can't they seem to understand? All of this has been frustrating the bejesus out of me. That is until the other night. I happened upon "Bill Cosby - Himself" on television. An oldie but a goodie that I have watched and laughed along with many times before, but not in years. An then with the kind of magic that Boy Weasel must have felt when he discovered the door in our kitchen, the light bulb clicked on at full wattage in my brain. I got it. I had actually known it all along, but had overlooked the obvious. My children have brain damage.

I just hope that they outgrow it soon.

The Reports Of My Death Have Been Greatly Exagerated

Once again, Welcome to all of you. Especially first timers and those of you visiting from Dad-Blogs Fatherhood Friday.

In all honesty, I really don't have a fatherhood post for you all today. I haven't posted anything in a week and people are starting to speculate that I might be buried next Jimmy Hoffa. The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated to quote the great Mark Twain.

In lieu of anything coherent to write, I offer you a post of Friday Fragments in order to catch up with the Weasels.

• The New Sea Monkeys have hatched and are doing well. Just in time for Smallest Weasel to lose interest in them.
• Mr. Weasel has a job, kind of. He is working toward creating a start-up with another business contact. He's not bringing in a paycheck or benefits or any of the other silly things you would associate with working, but he is doing work. Simultaneously he is still interviewing for paid positions in hopes of acquiring gainful employment.
• Track season has started. Eldest is a distance runner (3200(2 mile)) and this makes me a distance driver.
• I received a phone call from the school yesterday after Boy Weasel took a shot from a failed attempt to spike a volleyball to the nether regions. I only add this tidbit for comic relief. You Dad's might not find it funny, but when he called me I just couldn't hold back the laughter.
• Our hot water heater died. I realized this as I was about to wash the dishes and before I had showered for the day. I had 3 important appointments to attend that afternoon. Thank God for neighbors. Two different neighbors offered me use of their facilities and one of the dads, who was preparing to shower himself offered that we could just shower together. What a nice guy! To put himself out there like that for my sake! I have such wonderful neighbors. Luckily, it was a minor repair and I have hot water back in my life.
  
• I haven't been to the gym in weeks. Life has just been stupid busy trying to keep up with Weasel life and I have been to lazy to go during any free time. I was going to go this morning, but knew that you, my lovely readers, would be completely devatated if I didn't post something soon. The sacrifices I make for my adoring fans!
• On a good note, My RockBand Skilz are becoming Mad. This is what I have been doing with all of my free time. I just wish that they would expand the downloadable content for the Wii at a faster pace.
  
• The time change to daylight savings is wreaking havoc on my internal clock. I am going to bed a little later and getting up a lot later. This bugs the bejesus out of me. Early mornings are my blog time and I need peace and quiet to drink my coffee, read my blogs and write before the house starts running for the day.
• This past week had me running in circles so much that I felt like I was drowning, but now I can at least drown in warm water!
  

Dad's and Daughters

Welcome to all, and a special welcome to those of you visiting via dad-blogs. Fatherhood Friday is a weekly feature at dad-blogs. It's where all the cool kids hang-out. If you haven't already joined, well go do it.
My parents had 4 sons and 3 daughters. I was #6 out of 7 and only the second daughter. My Dad was very gung-ho about having the macho trophy that is producing sons. That is, until he had daughters. It wasn't that he didn't want girls, but rather he hadn't clue what do with daughters. They were just too alien. After having a daughter and feeling that special protective bond of what is Daddy's Little Girl, he was hooked.

Dad had special and individual relationships with each of us. His sons were loved, but his daughters were beloved. Mom was no longer the #1 girl in his life, and she was always a little bit jealous about it. As daughters, we knew what heartstrings to pull to get whatever it was that we wanted from Dad. Each of the 3 of us had Dad wrapped around our finger in a different way.

Just this morning, I remembered something that happened just 2 weeks before I went off to college, the last time I would live in my parents house. All of my older siblings were already off and living on their own. My mother and younger sister were 'down the shore' for the summer (the Jersey shore was about 1 1/2 hours from home and the entire city would vacation there). They had rented a cottage and picked up summer jobs to pay the rent. Dad and I were left back in the city where our jobs were. Dad and I rarely ran into each other. When I would home from work, it was a quick shower and then out on the town with friends. Dad would come home from work after I had gone and would be in bed before I came home. On Fridays, he would come home from work and pack a weekend bag, fight traffic and spend the weekend with mom and little sis.

One particular Friday near the end of the summer, my shift ended at 2 pm. I decided to hit the grocery store before heading home. With what little cash I had I bought 2 nice steaks (I forget what variety) and two huge baking potatoes. This was a favorite meal of both Dad and I. I would have dinner for 2 ready when Dad got came home from work and he could eat before fighting the weekend traffic toward the shore.

He was surprised and grateful when he got home. It was probably not the best prepared meal. It may have been slightly overcooked, but Dad thought it was the best meal he had in ages. We sat and ate and talked. Time was slipping away and Dad knew that he had to get on the road. He didn't want to leave. So about the time that mom would be expecting him to pull up, he called her to say he wasn't coming. That he was going to stay home with me instead.

Needless to say, Mom was pissed. And jealous. Dad was in trouble, but he didn't seem to care. Not that any man revels in his wife being angry with him. He just said "It's worth it". We had a great weekend together doing nothing exciting. I still had to go to work and I did spend time with friends, but we also spent time just hanging out for a few hours in between.

I have always treasured my relationship with my Dad. It meant so much to me to know how much I meant to him.

Now I get to watch my 4 daughters and there relationship with their dad. I get to see how each of them have him wrapped around their finger in a different way. I watch how they each know how to pull his heartstrings to get what they want from him. I see the way he looks at them, and I am not at all jealous.

I Am Become Death, Destroyer of Worlds

I felt a great disturbance in the Force, as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced. I fear something terrible has happened.

~ Obi Wan Kenobi

This past weekend we celebrated Smallest Weasel's 5th birthday. She had been bouncier than Tigger in the days leading up to the big event. We didn't plan a party, but just had a modest celebratory day where she was able to choose the dinner (Wendy's with frostys) and what type of cake (pumpkin roll). All the Weasels gave her the presents they had specially picked out for her.

The present that had the most excited response was a kit for growing Sea Monkeys. We opened it up to start the process. Step 1, add the purification pack to room temperature filtered water and let rest for 24 hours. That's a long time for an excited 5 year old to wait. Step 2, add packet of Sea Monkey eggs and place in a dark place with no sunlight for 4-5 days. This is really testing her ability to be patient, but she knows that the end result will be worth it. Step 3, after the Sea Monkeys hatch add the food. Let's not even worry about this step yet.

I'll now let her tell you what happened next:


WeaselMomma's Translation:
Every morning this week she and Mr. Weasel would check on them to see if there had been and progress overnight. And every morning there would be slight disappointment and the knowledge that it would be at least another 24 hours of waiting.

That is until this morning. In the midst the chaos that we call getting ready for school, Smallest and her Dad were elated to see the eggs had hatched and teeny tiny Sea Monkeys were swimming all around their small plastic aquarium. Everyone came running to see. Ooh's and Ahhs abounded with exclamations of "I see one" and "There's another one", that is from everyone but me. I couldn't spot anything in that aquarium. Everyone started to point them out to me. Still I could see nothing. Finally, I asked Mr. Weasel to hand me the container so that I could get a closer look under better lighting. He did so, and about 2 seconds after I took possession of my daughters newly grown pets, I. Dropped. It.

Sea Monkey infested water covered the counter top, cabinets and floor. Mega Mommy Fail. It was destruction beyond any hope of salvage. Complete annihilation of their entire Sea Monkey world. There were no survivors. The Sea Monkeys had come upon doomsday. Armageddon had taken them all out in one fell swoop. All by the hand of "WeaselMomma, destroyer of the Sea Monkeys".

The look on Smallest's face was heartbreaking. Utter shock and disbelief crept across her features. I immediately hugged her and apologized profusely. She quietly started to cry. No loud sobs. No angry tantrum. Just silent tears streaming down her sweet and traumatized cheeks. She quietly walked back up the stairs, crawled into her bed and pulled up the blankets to hide in her own safe haven sanctuary as grief washed over her.

Mom. Of. The. Year.

I convinced her to get dressed, so that we could be waiting at the doors the second that Target opened. We would get her new Sea Monkeys immediately. Well not really. It would take another 5-6 days of her practicing the patience of a 5 year old saint, but we would buy the kit and start the process immediately.

Needless to say, Mr. Weasel and I are not saving money for college. Instead we are saving up for therapy.

Desperate Times

Anybody who has spent more than 10 minutes of their life reading this blog needs to get a better hobby knows of my affinity for Coors Light. I have gone as far as emailing my bloggy love letters to the wonderful folks at Miller/Coors Brewing Company, offering them an opportunity to send me free beer place advertisements here and/or help me bring in some scratch sponsor World of Weasels. I haven't heard back from them yet, although I did have 1 hit from Golden Colorado, even though the lovely automated response system said how much they appreciated my email and someone would get back to me shortly, but it's only been 2 months.

Anybody who pays regular homage to reading this blog needs professional intervention knows that I gave up beer for Lent.

NukeDad left me a comment in an effort to yank my chain filled with fatherly concern
about a possible conflict:

Not to harsh your mellow; but what if Coors Light calls you between now and Easter to take you up on your offer?

Being the industrious innovative genius that is WeaselMomma, I have come up with the perfect solution.Now before you all go screaming what a cheat I am, I will remind you that I did not give up alcohol for lent, just beer. This abomination is an affront to beer drinking humanity refreshing adult beverage does contain <0.5%>much the same way as eating deep fried Rocky Mountain Oysters satisfies hunger. As far as beer substitutes go, I do rank this better tasting than anything else on the market.

And so I am off to beg shamelessly for a sponsorship email this to the folks at Miller/Coors Brewing Company and urge you all to do the same. Maybe with enough harassment encouragement, They will see the unique marketing opportunity that could be 'Coors Light Presents World of Weasels'.

Men Are Hot

Continuing an impromptu series on what us Mom's find Hot about you Dad types (Ciara started it here. Momo, I vote you go next). I will share with you what gets my motor running when checking Dads out.

The short and answer of what I find Hot is: Men.

Do not confuse this with the term male. Not all males are sexy, but all men are.

Now let me define for you what it is that makes a male a man. The absolute #1 trait on my hotness-o-meter that all men must posses is fidelity and devotion. There is nothing in the world hotter that a man completely devoted to his wife and family. A man who is completely and totally in love with his wife and devoted to caring for his family is sexier than any 25 year old pool boy you can throw at me.

A real man actively participates in life with his family. He sets the standards, by example, of acceptable behavior, how his sons should treat women, and for his daughters of how they deserve to be treated.

A real Man is the Alpha Male in the house. Not in a control freak kind of way, but in a 'this is what is expected of you, and you will not disappoint' kind of way when raising children. A real man will cuddle, joke and play with his kids, but will also 'bring it' when it comes to disciplining the Children. He is both the softy and the heavy at different times when raising kids.

A real man gets the job done. Any job. Whether it be homework, job related or taking out the garbage, he sees what needs to be done and does it. No whining. No complaining. No matter if he's tired or not.

A real man treats his wife as if she is his greatest treasure and his children his greatest joy. He does for them out of love, not obligation or nagging.

A real man provides moral compass for his offspring. He teaches them right from wrong and works together with his wife to always do what is right for them.

A real man admits when he makes mistakes, works to fix them and learns from them. He sets an example for his children that we all will make mistakes and it's how you deal with those mistakes that builds character.

Real men always put their families before themselves.

Real men are intelligent. Not to be confused with educated. They think before they open their mouths and put their foot in it. They are focused and well thought out. They consider their actions and choose words carefully. They know the weight which they carry.

Real men are compassionate, without being wimpy. None of that 'women want a sensitive guy who's in touch with his feelings' nonsense you were spoon fed in the 90's. We want a a man who is sensitive to our feelings.

Now it doesn't hurt if a real man happens to look like the shirtless hunk of eye candy that put the roof on my neighbors house last summer, but looks and age really don't matter that much. Hotness resides inside a man and beams out of him like sunshine when he looks upon his family.

I have seen plenty of eye candy in my day that was completely ruined the moment they opened their mouths to speak. That is so not hot.

Hot Dads look but would never touch. That would immediately make the needle on the Hot-O-Meter fall to Zero.

So you tell me, Are you a Hot Dad? If so, you have bragging rights. You can tell everybody "WeaselMomma Said I'm Hot". I wish I had a badge to give you.