Zombie Accents

Last night at the dinner table, the inmates officially took over the asylum. The coup came in the form of the Weasels realizing that ganging up on mom is a great team building exercise. After having lived with me their entire lives, the discovery came to light for them that I have an accent.

It's true. I am an east coast girl living in the midwest. I have an accent. I just don't understand how they have only noticed this now or how suddenly it has become hysterically funny to them every time I speak. "Please pass out napkins" had them rolling in the aisles. They found it gut busting to hear me say such names as Erin (I say Erin, they say Aaron) and Hannah (I didn't understand the comedy here). I could not even say "Okay, just finish eating" without a roar of laughter. I'm thinking someone slipped them silly pills or they have been hanging out with Pooh Bear.

I had completely lost control of the room and just had to give up and walk away. Let's just hope that the joke gets old today.

Another quirk of speech around Weaselville is what seems to be an all out ban on adverbs. This makes me nuts. It's a midwest thing. "my clothes need washed" is like fingernails on a chalk board to me. "No, they need To Be washed" is always my response. I tell them constantly that adverbs are free and that they can use as many as are needed, like unlimited texting. Boy Weasel informed me that adverbs are spotlight stealers and that he refuses to give them any extra publicity. This is the kind of thing I live with daily.

On a positive note, somebody appreciates me. Oscar, of the friendliest cyber bar I know ~ Oscar's Tavern, has given me an award and I'm going to accept it as a compliment ~ No matter what you say.

“The blogger who receives this award believes in the Tao of the zombie chicken - excellence, grace and persistence in all situations, even in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. These amazing bloggers regularly produce content so remarkable that their readers would brave a raving pack of zombie chickens just to be able to read their inspiring words. As a recipient of this world-renowned award, you now have the task of passing it on to at least 5 other worthy bloggers. Do not risk the wrath of the zombie chickens by choosing unwisely or not choosing at all.”

I am not one to take any chances at angering zombie chickens, so I am going to pass this one like a hot potato. Congrats to the following bloggers of note.

Being Michael's Daddy

Life of a New Dad

Surprised Mom

Seashore Subjects

I Need a Martini Mom

All of these bloggers are real and raw, mostly funny but honest and straight forward. Great reads that I enjoy daily. The list is also not all encompassing. I wish that I could choose more than 5. See my blogroll for other deserving blogs.

The Pitter Patter of Little Burglars

From the age of 8, Cal Ripken Jr. knew that sports was going to be his calling. Ron Howard threw his life into film making at age 5. Tiger Woods found himself passionate about the links at age 4. Arianna Huffington has been whining since early childhood. John and Matthew Farrer may have a promising future ahead of them indeed.

Toddlers Ransack Neighbor's House

That is the headline at Parentdish.com. These two enterprising toddlers managed to slip quietly out of their parents home and break into a neighbors house. The boys immediately sought out the items that toddlers place the highest value on, Teddy Grahms. These boys worked their way through the home quickly and quietly, as not to disturb the sleeping resident and moved onto toys and bunk beds. All the while evading the police and their parents who were searching frantically for them.

These kids are naturals! If they play their cards right and skip college in favor of lock smithing school, so many doors could open up for them.

Just think of the possibilities. With enough experience in breaking and entering they could open a security consulting firm. After all, who knows how to stop a thief better than professionals in the industry. They could even land their own reality T.V. gig.

In this case, I actually feel for the parents. Anyone who has ever raised a toddler knows that this could happen to anyone. Heck, I snuck out during my nap at age 2 and was brought home by a neighbor before my mom knew I was gone. My own kids have slipped into neighbors yards to play. Toddlers could give the Secret Service the slip if they are determined.

The aspect of this story that makes me laugh the most, and tells me that these kids have greatness within, is that the police were canvassing the neighborhood and didn't realize that a B&E was taking place right next door to where the search had started.

So as much as I agree New Dad Adam that speculating about future careers of the very young based on common traits is usually asinine. There is always the exception when true greatness shines at an early age. Good Luck Matthew and John.

Out To Lunch

It was a pretty busy weekend here in Weaselville. So much to be done and so little time. The weather was volatile with off and on torrential rains and temperatures fluctuating 30 degrees within hours. It was impossible to get the yard work accomplished that we had planned, so food shopping was the next doable thing on the list.

Recently, a members only warehouse store has opened up nearby and we decided to check it out after church. We piled all of the Weasels into the van and headed out.

Yes, this is insane.

Mr. Weasel has a propensity to be overzealous when shopping in bulk. I am more conservative when it comes to purchases and it usually takes as much energy to follow him around the store keeping him in check as trying to keep a toddler from touching everything they pass by.

Now top that off with 5 Weasels who would like to buy one of everything and all pulling in separate directions and I am busier that a 3 legged dog trying to bury a bone. Just to throw a cherry on top, it was free sample day! There is nothing that the Weasels like better than free food sampling while grocery shopping.

There were food samples all over the place. The Weasels ran from station to station as if they were trick or treating. All going in different directions and reporting back to each other where the best offerings were. Buttered toast was a big hit, along with cantaloupe and fresh baked muffins. There were Chicken nuggets, wheat pasta, pasta salad and let's not forget the Jelly Bellies and oatmeal cookies for dessert.

It was like the poor man's buffet and the Weasels looked as if they hadn't had any food for a week. While I was busy trying to keep them herded in one general area, Mr. Weasel was on the loose with the shopping cart.

By the time we were ready to check out, I was done. Finished. Kaput. Mr. Weasel had had a field day filling our cart, with help from his minions, of things I wouldn't have bought and some that I would have. We were all stocked on food for a week and when asked "when are we going to eat?". Are they kidding? My answer, "We just took you out to lunch!".

And just think, if that qualifies as going out to eat, next week I can take them to the pet store and call it a trip to the poor man's zoo.

And In This Corner....

The other night, just as I a had put the youngest Weasels to bed and started contemplating settling in myself, the phone rings. It's Mr. Weasel. He's on his way home with Eldest, who after completing her track meet wants to go swimsuit shopping. He asks that I put on shoes and grab Middle Weasel and he will pick us up in 3 minutes time.

I can't tell you the thoughts that went through my head. Really. I can't tell you. They were swirling violently in a funnel cloud of dread and anger and fatigue.

I have been strategically avoiding this shopping trip over the past month or so. I know that no good will come of it. I know that it will only cause anger and tears. I know they may wind up coming from me. Going shopping for any form of attire for a teen and a tween is an exercise in patience. Going swimsuit shopping with them is sheer torture. There will be no agreement. There will be no middle ground or compromise options. There will only be that throbbing vein in your temple and arguing.

In order to help fortify my position of what is appropriate for my daughters to wear at the pool, Mr. Weasel came along to share in the joy. He has never in 15 years of parenthood been a part of this yearly ritual. It has always been my job. However, the older the girls get, the more interest he has vested in it.

So we head out and hit the swimsuit departments, in girls and juniors. Both of these lovely daughters have had there hearts set on little 2 piece numbers. This is where the pain begins, for most of those are a bit too revealing. Yet, they each try a few on. I insisted that they must model each suit that they try on for Mr. Weasel. This way I can stand back and be a spectator to the knock down drag out that is about to ensue.

Yeah, I set the Mr. up. He did not realize how big the blast would be from the landmine he just stepped on. I had taken cover, and not even yelled 'fire in the hole'. Eldest came out of the dressing room, wearing what we had hoped would a medium coverage bikini. It wasn't. She loved it because she looked like she could pose for the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition. Mr. Weasel, on the other hand started to feel chest pain that shot down his left arm. Ding, Ding, Round 1! I wanted to have Middle Weasel model her choices around the dressing room holding the sign that marks the round #.

Round 2, Mr. Weasel heads back toward the racks and makes a few choices for Eldest to try on. I believe he headed for the Seniors department. He came back with a few tents that would alleviate any need for sun screen. Eldest was not amused.

Meanwhile, after having her first 3 options vetoed, I take Middle Weasel back to the girls department for some alternate selections. Mostly I did this to get further away from the ground zero dressing room. While there, I quickly make a few selections for her to try next and pick up 2 sure winners for the younger girls at home.

Eldest and Mr. W are in the middle of round 4 when we return. It was now getting reminiscent of Apollo Creed and Rocky Balboa's first meeting in the ring. I had to step in and call the fight. There was anger, frustration and tears. Mostly the Mr.'s. We made our purchases for Middle Weasel and the younger Weasels and gave up for the evening.

All in all, we accomplished 75% of what we had set out to do. Mr. W managed to not need medical intervention, and had a brand new experience in fatherhood. Middle Weasel wound up pleased with her new suit. Eldest lived to fight another day and I enjoyed having had a ring side seat. Next time I'm bringing popcorn.

Happy Fatherhood Friday.

Laugh Yourself Silly

Dearest Readers, I would like to draw to your attention to my left sidebar. There you will find a poll to vote for the Funniest, with a capital F, post to be found here at World of Weasels. You can find all of the links below, for your reading ease. I appreciate your input and hope that you enjoy reading the candidates.

*Ugh!* I can't change the color of the text in the poll!!!!! Bare with me and vote anyway. In order, the nominees are:

• Dear Coors Light
• Dark Side of the 100 Acre wood
• Do It Yourself Car Repairs
• Back To The Funny
• Parenting Moments That Take Your Breath Away
  

*Also, The Soup has been nominated but wouldn't fit in the poll.

Happy reading! And don't forget to vote!

Breaking News

Flat WeaselMomma is alive and well and so is Big Bad Daddy and family, according to a reliable source. She seems to be having a wonderful time visiting and vacationing north of the border. Go check it out and then decide for yourself if she is the danger to society that NukeDad has warned about.

Also today, I want to point a spotlight on some really great and enjoyable bloggers who don't get nearly the attention they deserve, Including the two fabulous dads listed above. If you already read them, great. If you don't, you are missing out.

Tom of Being Michael's Daddy
Surprised Mom
Otter Thomas of Life of a New Dad
Seashore Subjects
Nonna of Nonna's Nonsense

These are all wonderful additions to the blogging community and diamonds in the rough.

Flat WeaselMomma will be continuing her world tour with Melisa of Suburban Scrawl and then I have to check my list to see where to next. If you are not already on the list, but would like to be, just leave me a comment saying so.

Diary Of A Captive

Day 5,396 ~ Most of my captors seem to be away for the day. They have left the Smallest, yet most brutal, to stand guard between my freedom and I. They have also tried to distract me against the possibility of escape by leaving an endless array of physical labor to be completed before they return. The punishment if these 'chores' are not completed will be most severe. I have learned the hard way, and will complete them.

My Captors do not follow the Geneva conventions. They each have devised there own special torture techniques to serve the purpose of keeping me mentally weak and demoralized. Each has their own style and they seem to constantly try and one-up each other for entertainment purposes. I also wouldn't be surprised to find out that they have a side bet going to see 'who can make her snap first'.

The mental tortures that they seem to enjoy the most are as follows:

• Refusing to rinse out spit and toothpaste laden sink after teeth brushing has been completed.
• Opting not to rinse off or wipe down dirty dishes prior to loading them in the dishwasher.
• Handing me a large stack of school papers to be signed and returned 3.5 minutes before loading into the car to head to school.
• Not handing over field trip permission slips prior to the morning of the field trip (complete with teacher request that I chaperon and a need for a sack lunch).
• Complaints at 7:35 am on Monday of "I don't have any clean socks", after Sunday afternoon proclamations of "I don't have any dirty laundry, you already washed my school clothes!
• Failure to inform me of being out toiletry items in their bathroom until 3 days after they are empty and leaving the empty bottles of bodywash or shampoo in the shower as decoys.
• Using my toothbrush to exfoliate Barbie Dolls.
• Placing freshly washed and folded laundry directly into the hamper instead of the dressers (maybe thy are just trying to expedite the process for me).
• Calling to be picked up from practice 30 minutes early, only to have me wait for 30 minutes in the car.

I try to keep mentally strong in an effort to thwart these attacks on my psyche. I resist the brutality as best as I can. However, I seem to have fallen victim to Stockholm Syndrome. I have grown to feel sympathy and solidarity with my captors. Every May, they give me a day off and lavish gifts on me. That new mop they gave me last year really saved my back. Regularly they offer me their affections in the form of a cuddle probably just for the use of my body heat in the winter months. I love my captors and doubt that I will try to escape their clutches any longer.

Maybe I should just contact the U.N. and have them write a real stern sounding letter to the effect of "Please cease and desist in the act of psychological torture of your captive or at some date, yet to be determined, we will be forced to send you another letter". That should help.

When In-Laws Become Family

Happy Fatherhood Friday everyone! Welcome to first time visitors and old friends alike.

As late as last night, I had nothing for you today. Nothing interesting or funny to share not that I ever do. And then my phone rang. It was my brother-in-law, "So, what are you doing for breakfast?", was the greeting. Being that he lives about 12 hours away, my immediate response was "Having breakfast with you?". Ding, ding, ding, ding. I answered right!

He would be passing through the area to visit his parents and driving all through the night, but would be here in time for breakfast and a few hour visit. I just welcomed him at the door (5am) and showed him to a bed.

I love that he is here, even if our visit will be short lived. He doesn't have to be. He is choosing to fit us into his tight schedule because he wants to.

He has 3 daughters, almost all grown, and his wife died a few years back. We are the in-laws. In-laws that he has no obligation to. In-laws that he could just write off and be done with. Many of us I plead the 5th would love the opportunity to be done with our in-laws. But he makes a regular effort to keep in touch and keep the relationship going, always making time to stop in when he's with-in a hundred miles.

In reality I should hate this guy. I was only 13 the first time that we met. He told me that I looked like Ralph Machio and he was kind of right. Thanks for the bad haircut mom(you can stop laughing anytime now). This is not what a teen girl needs to hear. Our relationship was off to a rocky start.

I was still in high school when he married my sister and within a few years moved out of state, taking my much loved nieces and sister with him. Strike two.

As years passed, I remained close with my sister. We would visit back and forth with our families. His home was always open to us, but he didn't have much in the way of choice about it, he was married.

Over time we did enjoy each others company and got along better and better, but always in the context of my sister telling him he had to being our strongest bond.

It's now been 23 years since the Ralph Machio incident and we have found much more common ground than I would have ever thought possible. I almost feel bad for all those times in High School when I hid his car keys or gave him bad driving directions. Almost, but not quite.

In the past few years we have come to recognize that we would want to hang out together, even had he never married into the family. We share jokes and wine and memories and I am glad we do.

I am glad that he is here because he wants to be. I am glad that he feels welcomed and wanted and more than just an in-law, but also a friend. But most of all, I am glad that he brought me a bottle of my favorite ice wine from a great little winery near his home.

I better go pick up some bagels.

The Fugitive

All Points Bulletin
Name: Flat WeaselMomma aka FWM
Height: 11"
Eyes: Yes
Hair:Brown
Distinguishing Features: Hips and thighs that make Momo Fali want to throw things.

Last seen on or about 02-18-09 heading north, after being unfairly accused of a violent crime, presumably to the Big Bad Daddy safehouse north of the border in Canada.

In a phone interview with reporters, from an undisclosed location, Flat WeaselMomma expressed a desire to "clear my good name" and pointed fingers at the Nuke Beagles regarding the brutal slaying of Santa at the Nuke Residence.

FWM also offered up character witnesses such Bad Momma, the Microblogologist, and BusyDad to attest as to her being a well mannered house guest who would never commit such a heinous crime.

What does not bode well for FWM is that Big Bad Daddy and his family have not been seen or heard from since her arrival. Police are concerned about their safety and well being and hope to hear from them soon. Canadian Mounties have been unable to locate their home in the wilderness due to horses who can't work the GPS (No thumbs).

Still, FWM proclaims her innocence and wants to clear her name so that she may continue her World Tour with Melisa and then onto a well deserved vacation in Florida with McMommy.

If you have seen FWM, know of her whereabouts or that of the Big Bad Daddy family, or if you wish to host her at your blog please contact officials @ weaselmomma@yahoo.com or leave a comment.

It is not known if she is armed or dangerous.

Make Me Laugh

I feel like a good laugh and you my dear readers can provide it! Tell me your best PG rated joke. Leave it in the comments and I will post it here with constant updates and proper link love.

To get the ball rolling:

Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?
He was Dead!

Why did the 2nd monkey fall out of the tree?
Monkey see, monkey do.

Why did the 3rd monkey fall out of the tree?
Peer pressure!

Now it's your turn! Send me those jokes.

Tom, of Being Michael's Daddy Fame, offered up this gem:

A frog walks into a bank carrying a snow globe from Atlantic City. He sits down at the desk of Miss Paddywhack, the loan officer.

"I'd like to get a loan, please," he says.

Miss Paddywhack looks at him and asks whether he has any collateral.

"Well, I have this," he says, holding up the snow globe.

She scoffs, and says "Excuse me. I have to see the manager. May I show him this, please?"

The frog hands her the snow globe and she takes it back to her manager's office.

"Sir, there's a frog out there who's asking for a loan, but he doesn't have anything to put up for it except this." she shows him the snow globe, and he examines it.

She rolls her eyes and snorts "I mean, what is this thing, anyway?"

The manager hands it back to her and says: "It's a knick-knack, Paddywhack. Give the frog a loan."

And from the Magnificent Melisa with 1 s of Suburban Scrawl Stardom (I think this is payback for all those snarky comments about her contest):

Knock knock!
Who's there?
Banana.
Banana who?

Knock knock!
Who's there?
Banana.
Banana who?

Knock knock!
Who's there?
Banana.
Banana who?

Knock knock!
Who's there?
Banana.
Banana who?

Knock knock!
Who's there?
Orange
Orange who?
Orange you glad I didn't say banana?

Michelle of Honest and Truly, humors me with these two:

I gotta go with another knock knock...

Knock knock

Who's there?

Interrupting cow?

Interru--

MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!


Or the FIRST joke I ever learned:

What time is it when the elephant sits on the fence?

Time to get a new fence!


If Mom Says Okay's the lovely Tara left us this:

How many women does it take to change a light bulb?

None. We don't change light bulbs, we accept them for what they are.

In The Belief That Every Baby Should Live

Welcome to another addition of Fatherhood Friday, a Dad-Blogs spectacular! What, you still haven't joined dad-blogs? Get on the ball people, that place rocks. Would I be there if it wasn't cool?

No funnies here today, but if you read through this post you can reward yourself with this fantastically hysterical one.

By now, I'm sure most of you have read the news about Baby Maddie here. or here. or here. or here. Or at countless other blogs.

I don't know Maddie or her family. I only know of her, since her passing. I only know that she has obviously touched many people's hearts and that her family is in deep suffering right now. My heart aches for these people whom I don't know and for the long torturous road that they have just been thrust upon.

Mr. Weasel and I have walked that road. It's rough terrain, very hilly and rocky. It's full of potholes and landmines. There is no map to follow the road or any of it's twist and turns. There are not any paved patches or shortcuts. However, there are organizations that provide you with hiking boots and a walking stick. There are no band-aids for the unavoidable blisters, but these organizations and the people who run them will rub salve on the wounds and walk with you.

One such organization, that helped us through that dark wilderness, is Sudden Infant Death Services of Illinois. For 40 years, SIDS of IL, has been providing not only support for families who have buried their child (and I credit them for our own survival), but provided educational resources to parents about safe sleep practices (SIDS rates in IL have dropped 68% ((68% People!!!! That's a lot of babies saved!)) since the"back to sleep" campaign was implemented), has been helping to fund and support medical research in the hope of one day SIDS will be eradicated and has been offering professional training for first responders in an effort to educate and prevent situations such as Mr. Weasel and I encountered.

This organization saved our family and many others. Unfortunately, there is always another family in need of their help. Last night I was informed that SIDS of IL is yet another victim of our current economy. They only have enough funds to cover operating costs through the end of May.

There have been tight belts and close calls before and they have always found a way to keep the doors open and continue doing the important work that they do. This time, I would like to be a part of the solution.

If you can donate, please do. You can do it right here. Not all of us can donate, but you can tweet, link, stumble and spread the word. Somewhere there is an angel that can help.

So on this Good Friday, when we take time to remember that God gave his only Son to die, for us. Do your part to save another father and mother and family from this awful fate.

SIDS of Illinois ~ In the belief that every baby should live.

And A Cherry On Top

Oh what a beautiful morning! The sun was shining on my face at 4:30am to gently wake me, well okay, maybe it was the bathroom light, but it sure felt like warm sunshine. The birds are singing the flowers starting bloom and all seems right with the world. Today is a good day.

What's so great about today, you ask? Today is the day that I kiss Mr. Weasel goodbye and send him out the door to work! That's right, Mr. Weasel has landed himself a job!!!!!! Although I will miss having him around and and an extra set of hands around here, I am happy to kiss him goodbye and kiss a paycheck hello. Oh happy day! It's been a long winter and this is a great way to welcome in the spring.

This is also the last day of school before Spring Break. I love having the Weasels home and the chance to just enjoy being with them without having to worry about homework and rigorous schedules. We don't have any major plans, just a nice relaxing week doing whatever we feel like that day.

And just to throw a cherry on top of my day, I found this in my email this morning:

Ok, I finally did it. I started a blog. My first post is up. The address is www.surprisedmom.blogspot.com. I still can't believe I'm doing this, but what the heck. I need to write again. Who know's what will inspire me from day to day? Let me know what you think.

Surprised Mom

Surprised mom is a dear friend with a wonderfully sharp wit and humor. I have known her for years and have been encouraging her for a while now to start a blog. She finally jumped off that cliff and I couldn't be happier. I ask that all of you wonderful people give her a warm bloggy welcome. Stop by and say hi, introduce yourselves and click the follow button. You will thank me later.

The Dark Side Of The Hundred Acre Wood

Monkey Weasel's best friend in the whole entire world is Pooh Bear. She treats him like her baby, feeding and swaddling and talking to him regularly. Over the years she has accumulated a collection of Pooh Bears and treats them all with equal love. Disappointingly, he can not attend school with her. As he is a bear of very little brain. So every morning she brings him to me swaddled like this, and asks me to babysit.
When she returns from school she always asks if Pooh Bear was well behaved and never believes me or Mr. Weasel when we tell her of his wild and crazy antics and how he made us pull out our hair all day.

So today I decided to document the dark side of the Hundred Acre Wood.

First, as per usual, the rest of the gang came downstairs and they all headed straight for the liquor cabinet:
They drank so much they started seeing flying Heffalumps:
Pooh then decided to entertain his peeps by putting Monkey Weasels hamster in the hamster ball and making him Hamster Dance for his poor life while Pooh fished for cats:



Once they got bored with that, more friends were called to join the party. They grabbed some snacks and headed for the living room. Thus breaking yet another rule in Weaselville, that all food and drinks remain in the kitchen:


Seriously people, it was like a frat party around here! These guys were Phi Beta Snookered, all the way!

Soon enough, Tigger figured out the drinking and bouncing don't mix:
He swore he would not ever drink again, but that's what he said last week. So I'm not buying it.

Shortly thereafter, this is what my living room looked like:Now that folks, is exactly what happened and I have the photos to prove it!

Dad's Are So Much More Than A Paycheck

Welcome to another addition of Fatherhood Friday a weekly project Sponsored by the fun folks over at dad-blogs. If you haven't joined dad-blogs, get on the ball. It's fun over there.

Growing up in the home that I did, my Dad was always out the door to work in the morning well before the rest of the house was awake. We never saw him on school mornings. He was not a part of the morning routine. We usually made ourselves some cereal or toast and got ourselves out to school with a little supervision from mom. I was in elementary school in a time when we walked ourselves to school and everyone went home for lunch. Mom let us fix for ourselves what we wished to eat in the limited time we had to eat lunch and get back to school (12:30-1:20).

This was the very late 70's or the very early early 80's. Most of you will remember that these were some very tough economic times. The economy was in the tank, unemployment was high and American hostages were being held in Iran. I guess that pinpoints this story to fall of 1979- spring of 1980.

My Dad, like so many others, was laid off right before Thanksgiving. Ours was a house with 5 kids and a SAHM, just like almost every house on the block. This had to be a very scary time for my parents and especially Dad, who had the responsibility of being the bread winner.

However, we kids never saw the stress and the worry. We were too young or too naive, but most of all I think it's that Dad worked hard to keep us protected from how bad things were.

Every morning Dad would wake us up for school and tell us to get dressed while he went to the kitchen and made us breakfast. Oatmeal. With butter, white sugar, raisins and milk. Every morning. Every morning. Every morning. Do you remember the movie Groundhog Day?

When it was time for lunch, we walked in the door to sandwiches waiting on the table. Peanut butter and jelly or bologna. Any of the regular folks around here may remember that I am a picky eater. I'll eat a peanut butter sandwich on white bread, but you have to hold the jelly. I'll only eat bologna if it's 1 extra thin slice between 2 pieces of white toast. Dad didn't know these slight intricacies of my diet. He had never been around at lunch time. I didn't have the heart or the courage to tell him, so I would just sit and stare at my plate and Dad would get frustrated that I wouldn't eat.

We kids were used to our independence in these areas and we liked our routine. Dad was throwing a monkey wrench into the way we were accustomed to going about our day. We were cringing at being served and waited on, when we should have been appreciating it.

Eventually, Dad pulled out of me the issues that I had with the lunch menu and would then make sure my sandwich was made to specs. The oatmeal continued because he knew we liked it (although who could like it every single day?) and it was the cheapest way to feed us all a hot breakfast.

Sometime in the spring, right around Easter, Dad found a new job. Once again we would not see Dad in the mornings or at lunch. Like it used to be, we would not see him until he came home in time for dinner. Once again, I was too young and to naive to appreciate the significance of what this meant for our family. I was just happy to have that bit of independence back in my life. I was surprised to realize that I missed him and those meals, once he returned to the work force. Looking back that time holds some of my best childhood memories.

Mr. Weasel has been laid-off since early November. We have 5 kids to provide for. This has been a very stressful and worrisome five months. And it's a stress that we have striven to protect the Weasels from. Mr Weasel has been a big part of daily life around here. He has been making school lunches and steaming bowls of oatmeal. Eyes have been rolled. It took him a while to understand and remember the intricacies of our pickiest (Monkey Weasel) eaters diet.

He's made the most of this time off to chaperon school field trips and attend school parties. These are things that he never had the opportunity to do before. He's taken part in driving the kids to school and playing RockBand with them.

We are happily anticipating Mr. Weasel going back to work very soon. After all, it's almost Easter and everything else seems so parallel to my childhood. Not to mention there is very good prospect in the wings.

I know that I will miss him being around during the day when it does happen. And I think that will be true for all of the Weasels too. Even if they don't know it yet. Because dads are so much more than a paycheck.

Suburban Scrawl Meets The BiG Apple

The Fabulous Melisa of Suburban Scrawl fame is back from her whirlwind trip to New York City. What? You didn't know that she was on vacation? Well, she did leave us some auto posts so that we wouldn't start shaking from withdraw while she was frolicking with the family.

Melisa was sweet enough that even on a family holiday, she kept those of us in the blogosphere close to her heart and brought us back some souvenirs! How awesome is that? Since she couldn't take all of us on vacation with her, she has brought her vacation back to the internets so that we may all go on a virtual trip with her family and have the souvenirs to prove it!

Melisa is hosting a fabulous cat fight contest to decide who gets all the lovely vacation paraphinalia. Now I will let Melisa tell you about it in her own words, excerpted from Suburban Scrawl: Comments in read are mine.


Included in the Grand (and only) Prize?

----> An I ♥ NY t-shirt (size L) Great for use as night wear.
----> A I ♥ NY mug Because no one has enough mugs
----> A souvenir M&M World penny A 51 cent value
----> A nifty Statue of Liberty pen, featuring a ferry that moves when you tilt it. You know you want it!
----> 5 assorted postcards (unused, of course: DUH) To show off your virtual vacation
----> Peppermints from Dylan's Candy Bar Note that they sell chocolate, but she brought us back mints. I wonder if she's hinting at something.
----> A sample of Reese's Select Clusters (from the Times Square Hershey Store) It barely got squished at the bottom of her purse!
----> A totebag from the Times Square Virgin Megastore, which closed over the weekend Because people always laugh when I have any type of wear proclaiming "Virgin".
----> A purse-sized bottle of Bath & Body Works Hand Sanitizer (new: it was extra!) Could be another hint.

And now, for the rules. As I mentioned, I have posts coming up for the next ten days (at least!) about my trip. (I promise to do my best to be entertaining.) You will get one entry in the drawing each time you leave a comment on each of my posts, today through April 13. You can only get one entry PER POST, so there is no need to do any of that silly off-the-deep-end amount of commenting on each post sort of thing. So if I do ten posts between today and April 13 and you comment on every single one, you will have ten entries in the drawing. (If I go nuts and post every day, making 13 posts, you can get 13 entries! It's that easy! Crazy, huh???)

For the rest of the info click on the Scrawl Links and sit through Melisa's vacation slides Pictorial Virtual Vacation.

So go take an awesome tour at Suburban Scrawl and take the most economical and fun filled family vacation ever!