It Must Be In The Genes

We all have our favorite pair of jeans. You know the ones. The ones that you have held onto for years. The pair that is perfectly broken in and is as comfortable as your own skin and make your butt look good. The ones that you hold onto and live in, even though they are well past their prime. They show all the wear and tear of the years of comfort they have provided.

The Weasels have taken this concept too far. They refuse to let go of these 'well loved' jeans even though they are too small and are completely falling apart. There are no longer any knees. They are frayed and tattered beyond respectable wear-ability. Jeans so loved they hide them from the regular laundry rotation because they know that mom will throw them out when no one is looking for fear of the laundry sock monster snatching up what would be the tastiest of morsels.

Boy Weasel is a huge offender when it comes to wearing these threadbare remnants of what used to be pants. On Saturday Mr. Weasel put his foot down and forbid Boy from ever donning his favorite pair again. Boy Weasel taking this news in perfect stride asked permission to further desecrate his old faithfuls in order to give them a proper sent off before their garbage can funeral. This was the end result:
It seems that Smallest Weasel is following her brother's example of loving her jeans to death.
Eldest Weasel does not seem to want to put in the time to properly break her jeans in and prefers that someone else does the work for her before purchase.
I have absolutely no idea where these kids got the notion that it is acceptable to dress like this. They really need to learn how to let go. Then again, maybe it's just in their genes.

Nurture Nature

Welcome back for another edition of Fatherhood Friday. Visit Dad-Blogs.com to read some really great fatherhood related posts from some talented bloggers.

You dads out there are scary. You read that right. You dads are scary. It does not matter what you do for a living. It does not matter if you work at home as a slave caretaker or work nights as a serial killer exterminator. As far as your kids friends are concerned, you may as well be the boogie man.

It doesn't matter how long you have known these kids or their families. It doesn't matter how many popsicles you hand out although cash works as a great comfort enhancer, starting right around school age your kids friends will begin to fear you.

This seems to be a phenomenon that passes from generation to generation. I remember feeling this way about my friends dads, as does Mr.Weasel. These dads had never done anything to offend. Yet, whenever they came home or entered a room, we felt the need to scatter like roaches for self preservation purposes.

I conducted a survey in the 12 year old age group and 100% of the respondents (okay, so it was just Boy Weasel) reported feeling this way towards their friends fathers. Even when those fathers were really nice.

Further inquiries (I asked Eldest Weasel) revealed that this natural fear starts to dissipate when the child reaches the Sophomore year of high school.

My research has led me to the hypothesis that this reaction stems from a baser instinct in human offspring, that any moment the adult males of the species will eat the young, for any threat real or perceived. Not a bad idea really, when you see some of these kids.

So if you find yourself impeded in your relationships with your children's friends you can always pick yourself up a tee shirt that sports the word cannibalism ensconced in that red circle with a line through it.

I however find that it's best to work with nature instead of against it and suggest that you harness this power you wield for your own benefit. It can keep unwelcome play pals away from your house, the room you are in will remain peaceful and quiet as neighbor kids scatter in fear away from you and will make it much easier to shake these kids down for snack/clubhouse dues if they are afraid you will eat them for non-payment.

I say nurture nature.

Weasel Updates

This morning I am running a little short on time and feeling a bit non sequitur. Thus, I am just throwing some fragments of life at you this morning.

Kissing a cat's butt (yes, above the tail) must be luckier than four leaf clover or rabbit's foot. The surgeries for boy Weasel and Monkey Weasel went extremely well and on time. It turned out that the head of the outpatient surgical floor, was one of our old neighbors. We were taken care of very well and kept informed every step of the way. The surgeries were successful and both Weasels came out of anesthesia just fine and feeling much better that anyone would expect. I was amazed. We were home by 11am and the hardest part was making them sit still. They felt so good they just wanted to run and play.

Yesterday was the first day of school(1/2 day) for 4 of the Weasels. Both post surgical Weasels went because they wanted to.

Yesterday was Smallest Weasels first day of kindergarten. She was not nearly excited as her older sibs and tried to refuse going or even getting dressed for that matter.
Turns out she had a wonderful day and came home happy and exhausted. Today will be the first full day of school and she is excited about eating lunch there.

Eldest Weasel has started drivers ed. She is old enough and ready for this milestone. However, her parents are nearly old enough to have a child a child who can drive. Nor or they ready.

Tom of Being Michael's Daddy has made this phenomenal promo for Suburban Wow. So have some other nice folks. Melisa and I really appreciate it. Check them out here.

Today being the first full day of school for everyone is the First full day of WeaselMomma's Freedom. I have had children home for 15 years. To celebrate, I am having breakfast with Melisa with 1 S. Yeah, I could get used to this.

No Way To Start Your Day

This morning Boy Weasel and Monkey Weasel are both heading into surgery. Not to worry, it's nothing serious, but it is the first time that either of them is having surgery or general anesthesia. They both showed signs of nervousness as bedtime grew closer, thus Mr. Weasel I allowed them to steal Mr. Weasel's spot in our bed. Monkey would sleep in the middle, Boy Weasel in Dad's spot and I in my regular place.

Sleeping close to mom was enough to comfort them and they quickly fell asleep, as did I.

When I awoke around 4am my face brushed past the soft, sweet hair of a sleeping Weasel. I quickly did the math and surmised this to be Monkey Weasel. After all she had been sleeping next to me. I leaned over to kiss her atop her sweet little head before getting up and staggering to the coffee pot.

At this sweet and tender moment in time a sudden light bulb went off in my head. That wasn't hair. That was fur! That wasn't Monkey Weasel. That was Smores the Cat, who never sleeps far from Monkey. Smores had her entire self cuddled up and sleeping on MY pillow and I had puckered up and kissed her squarely on the hind quarters!

I hope this in no way indicates how the rest of my day is going to go.

Summer's Over

*Don't forget that today at 10am edt/ 9am cdt is the next episode of Suburban WoW. Join Melisa with one S and I for the public debut of my new specs. Click here to watch. Tweet us @SuburbanWow to become part of the show. Spread the word.*

Welcome back for another edition of Fatherhood Friday. Visit Dad-Blogs.com to read some really great fatherhood related posts from some talented bloggers.

It's that time of year again. You know when parents are beaming and kids are sulking. School is back and you know that means, WeaselMomma has a headache.

For 3 entire weeks I have been running around like crazy trying to get all the appointments and school supplies. I really hate these errands. Some of them are asinine, yet mandatory. Some of them are scavenger hunt like and some of them are a wild goose chase.

An example of the asinine is that in certain grades the children must have a dental appointment and the paperwork to prove it. Don't get me wrong, I am all about dental hygiene and care. I just don't see how it's any of the governments business or a public health and safety issue. After all, gingivitis and cavities are not communicable diseases. I can understand being up to date on immunizations of serious and spreadable diseases, I don't see how the government tracking my child's dental health is anything more than an invasion of privacy.

The scavenger hunt comes from the dreaded school supply list.

• 20 blue erasable pens.
• 5 Pocket Folders (1 blue, 1 red, 1 yellow, 1 green, 1 orange)
• 1 pack of 24 crayola crayons.
• 1 pack of 8 crayola crayons.
• 2 pink erasers.

The list just goes on, etc, etc, etc.........
The wild goose chase is an extension of the school supply list. This is when a teacher adds an item to the list that is either too obscure or too specific to be found easily and you wind up running around to 10 different stores and using a half tank of gas to secure the elusive green folder with 1 eyed purple puppy on the cover, 2 pockets and 3 prongs. That is just when I say, you've got to be kidding me.

My reward for accomplishing all these tasks, HOMEWORK! I hate homework. I hated homework when I was in school and I hate it now. Yes, it's a necessary evil. Yes, it is for the good of the student. I still hate it more than brussel sprouts. I graduated. I earned my degree. Why am I still doing homework?

The one positive that I will have this school year. A moment that I have been working 15 years to achieve. For the first time since my trek into motherhood, all of the Weasels will be in school full time. Smallest Weasel starts Kindergarten on Tuesday and I will have my house back for 6 whole hours at a time Monday through Friday.

As far as what I will do with myself, don't worry, I'll figure it out.

Study Finds The Blogging Makes You Fat

*Don't forget that tomorrow at 10am edt/ 9am cdt is the next episode of Suburban WoW. Join Melisa with one S and I for the public debut of my new specs. Click here to watch and here for more updates and info. Spread the word.*

*Now that you have submitted captions for this hysterical picture @Big Bad Daddy Rant, go vote for you favorite*

Now onto the business of the day. I have a surprising newsflash for you. ********BLOGGING MAKES YOU FAT!*********
A recent independent study conducted by WeaselMomma over the past 14 months and released this morning, finds that blogging does indeed cause the blogger to gain weight at alarming rates. This very not so scientific study tracked one blogger over for 14 months and found that a net gain of almost 8% of total body weight had occurred.

The study tracked diet and exercise during the activity of blogging and researchers were perplexed at the findings. Although the subjects diet consisted of healthy and well balanced foods and beverages such as dairy and air puffed corn (cheesy poofs), vegetables (potato and corn chips), proteins and whole grains (fried chicken), herbs and yet more grains (hops and barley) with a healthy amount of water, the subject gained considerable weight.

Tracking the exercise of the subject found that even after exercising the brain for hours on end daily, the muscular systems of the body lost tone and strength. However, the subject does have the brain of an ox.

Researchers have decided to continue this study in the long term to see if the addition of vision correcting glasses has any effect on blogger weight gain.

Further confirmation of these findings of these findings can be found *here* with an independent article written by the one and only Melisa with one S.

Mac The Cat Speaks

*Today I have a Special Guest Post for you, by none other than Mac The Cat*

Hello all. Allow me introduce myself. I am Mac. You may remember me from such post as Ho, Ho, Ho'n in Weaselville and my cameo in The Dark Side of the Hundred Acre Wood. I have been residing in Weaselville for the past two years, ever since I conned Mr. Weasel into thinking I would be friendly to him and fun to cuddle up with. Today I am here with a public service message for all of you Tom Cats out there.

Tom Cats, do you ever get that "I've been neutered feeling"? With no one to climb the front tree with and talk to because you don't know who the heck your daddy is? You can't talk to the vet, because he is the one who amputated you in the first place? Your mind says, Yes! Yes!, but your body says, Meh?

Do you ever think to yourself, "I should want it but I don't. This never happens to other cats my age"? You see that sweet little calico climbing the banister, like she was born for the pole, and yet nothing? You've forced yourself to give it the old college try, cause let's face it, it's the only thing gonna shut up her incessant begging and whining, only to have her mock you to all the other cats because you weren't up to the job?

If you can relate, boy do I have good news for you. There is this wonderful product called Cat Nip! No, you will still won't be able to please that little calico in your life, but a few whiffs of this stuff and you really won't care! You will feel like Super-Kitty, no matter what your shortcomings.

So there you have it, Cat Nip. The solution to all of your Tom Cat problems. Now don't forget to regularly puke up a hairball on the carpeting, just to get some payback to those that did this to you in the first place.

And Then There Were Words

*Before we get started today I want to draw your attention to Big Bad Daddy Rant and his caption contest for this hysterical picture. Go click it, you can thank me when you get back.*

Any of you who have seen the livestream show that Melisa with 1 S and host together, Suburban WoW, are aware that I am unable to read anything at a distance of an arms length. You had heard me on the receiving end of a few friendly jabs about my eyesight.

Mr. Weasel has also been ribbing me for years about my inability to read signs at great distances. I ignore him. He has some kind of crazy hawk like super vision. I may need some mild prescription for reading, but my overall sight is just fine. I've never need glasses and haven't even needed an exam since 1992.

While making all the back to school appointments for rabies shots, et al, I decided to get an eye appointment for myself too. I figured it was time for my 17 year re-check.

After a quick puff of air in the eyes, the doc gives me some 3-D glasses to don and card filled with 10 separate sets of 4 circles each. "Tell me which one jumps out of each set. Right, left, etc", were the instructions.

Me ~ 1, left. 2, right, 3.......nothing is jumping.
Doc ~ Okay, go to 4.
Me ~ Nothing.
Doc ~ 5?
Me ~ nothing.
Doc ~ While visibly laughing at me ~ Okay, never mind. 1992 did you say?

Moving on to the semi-darkened room and the eye chart.

Read the bottom line.
Ummm, can't.
Okay, read the next one up.
E, V, G, T, H.
Em-hmm
Cover your left eye and read it.
E,.......V.........G?.......T..........H
You guessed.
Cover your right eye (and he switches screens) and read the same line.
You changed screens on me, just when I had it memorized.
Yup.
I can't read it. Let me use both eyes and I can.

Next step was to place some Mr. Magoo style frames on my face and switch out lenses. This or this, this or this, this or this......you know the deal. Doc hands me a card and points to section that he wants me to read with print so small it must have been a legal waiver of responsibility.

Me ~ I can't even tell you what language that is written in.
Doc ~ Well okay. ~ he grabs yet another lens and holds it in front of the ones I am already wearing.
--------And Then There Were Words--------
Me ~ Heck, that is English!
Doc ~ Read it for me.
Me ~ Only if I can hold it right here (about 8 inches from my face).

Doc, continued laughing at me.

Me ~ Okay, so we are talking glasses.
Doc ~ Oh, yeah.
Me ~ Do I have to wear them all the time? (the unspoken being, 'or only for reading or driving')
Doc ~ No, you don't have to wear them all the time. ONLY WHEN YOU WANT TO SEE! (Ba Dam Bump)

Bottom line, the Doc wrote me up for TRI-Focals, with a side of astigmatism.
I pick them up this week. If you want to see their public debut, you will have to tune in this Friday @ 10am edt/ 9cdt/7 pacific to watch Suburban Wow. Click right here for the quick cheater link.

Where Have I Seen That Before?

*SPECIAL ALERT* check out the update to me header. The Microblogolgist added 'Angel Weasel'(our Claire, who has passed) to it and Mommy always Wins installed it. I love it and want you to visit these wonderful women.

Welcome back for another edition of Fatherhood Friday. Visit Dad-Blogs.com to read some really great fatherhood related posts from some talented bloggers.

Mr. Weasel is often befuddled by the behavior of Boy Weasel. The Mr. will ask Boy a relatively simple question about his day and only get a half hearted one word response. A good example is

"How was practice today?"
"Fine."
"Well, what did you do?"
"I don't know, nothing. Ran."
"What did coach say about.....?"
"Nothing, I don't remember."

This conversation easily translates to school, friends, parties, anything really. I laugh because I have had many similar equally frustrating conversations with Mr. Weasel over the years. Mr Weasel has never understood my frustration, until now.

When Boy Weasel does have something to say, his mannerisms, facial expressions and enthusiasm crack me up. He is just a shorter version of is father.

The most recent light bulb moment for Mr. Weasel was this morning. While He and I sat drinking our coffee, checking email and watching the news, Boy Weasel made his way down the stairs and through the living room. Wordless and without eye contact he headed for the office.

MR. W ~ Good morning son, where are you going? What are you doing?
Boy ~without missing a step or turning his head ~ I just need to check something (on the computer).
Mr. W ~ You don't say good morning?
Boy ~entering the living room again ~ Okay, I just had to check my page. It's all good. Good morning. (complete with a good morning kiss for each of us)

Boy Weasel then proceed back to the office and computer. Mr. Weasel, just shook his head in confusion. He didn't understand Boy's behavior. I on the other hand got a good chuckle. "You start your day the exact same way". "Huh".

Check Out The View

Ever since our return from vacation, life in Weaselville has been filled with back to school preparations. School physicals, eye exams, paperwork, dental cleanings, etc. We still have lots to do and haven't even gotten to supply lists yet. All work and no play makes for cranky Weasels, myself included.

So the other day when Monkey Weasel had a birthday party to attend at a water park, I seized the opportunity to take the entire gang sans poor, thank God he's working, Mr. Weasel to frolic and swim while Monkey spent time with friends. I love impromptu fun!

The weather was beautiful, for one of the first times all summer, and it was a perfect day on the schedule to just kick back and enjoy. We donned our suits and hit the pools and slides. I am so glad that we did. Fun was had by all. Smallest Weasel hit the water slides for the first time ever - and loved it! We all took turns racing each other down the slides and having Smallest Weasel practice her swimming skills back and forth between us.

I also got to do a good deal of observing people in their pool habitat. Here are some of my thoughts:

• No matter how many daily sit-ups you do, if you are 45+ and have the leathery skin of a brontosaurus from years of tanning salons, do not wear a string bikini. You look ridiculous and it hurts my eyes.
  
• There is no need to wear 35 lbs of jewelry to the pool. Seriously, you will only sink to the bottom of the deep end, weighted down with more efficiency than mafia would bother with.
• If you went ahead with the tummy tuck and liposuction on your thighs, wouldn't you get a discount on the trifecta package and get the face lift too? You look like you've had a full body transplant.
  
• If you look like you are 6 months pregnant, but haven't been in 6 years, skip past the skimpy bikinis while shopping. I swear I heard whale song.
• Older moms seem to be trying to live in the denial of aging, by wearing suits intended for teens. While younger mom's seem to be going for medium, yet flattering coverage.
• Older moms should take a page from the younger moms book. Look harder and you can find something more flattering and appropriate for the pool.

So a great day with the Weasels and a few chuckles to boot. Sounds like a win/win to me.

No Need To Talk To The Doctor

Last night after I had gone off to bed, Mr. Weasel and Eldest Weasel (our 15 year old daughter) were sitting up and watching the T.V. together.

Another one of those incessant commercials for a prescription ED medication bursts onto the screen talking about how high blood pressure and diabetes can be causes of this disorder. Talk to your doctor, yada, yada, yada.

EW ~ Dad, I don't know if I have high blood pressure. I might have high high blood pressure.

Mr.~ Yeah, but I'm pretty sure you don't have erectile dysfunction.

I love my family. Also, I happen to know that Eldest doesn't have high blood pressure either.

Wait, I Didn't Order Room Service

When Mr. Weasel and I wed, 16+ years ago, we did so with all the bells and whistles due a princess and held our reception at a swanky resort where we would also be spending our honeymoon.

We actually could never have afforded this posh hotel, even now. However, my mother was quite a wheeler and dealer and happened to work at the resort. She had made friends with all the right department heads and made a good name for herself as a hard worker. Thus, she was able to secure an extremely lavish venue for our special day. Complete with church basement pricing.

Sounds good doesn't it? Well, it has some drawbacks too. I had been living about 1000 miles away at the time. The only decision I (or the soon to be Mr.) was included in making was via phone and consisted of "chicken of Beef?". We chose beef. I was informed that we were wrong in our choice and that we would have "chicken or beef with a fish option too". No big deal, right?

Most of my family, both immediate and extended, would also be traveling great distances to attend. I was grateful that they would go to such lengths to be there. Most of the family decided to turn it into their family's vacation and with such cut rates prices at this wonderful resort, you can guess where everyone decided to stay. No big deal right?

Everything went off without a hitch (well, there was one). The day was special and beautiful. We all had a wonderful time and after leaving the reception as the new Mr. and Mrs. Weasel, all we had to do was take the elevator upstairs to our honeymoon suite, where we found no less than 3 bottles of champagne waiting for us. Very Nice.

That is until the knock on our sweet suite door at 7:00 the next morning waking us up and forcing a groggy stagger around the room to locate some robes as the muffled reverb of 'room service' bounced off the walls around us.

I cured my disrobedness and answered the door to find a room service cart filled with fresh fruits, bagels, muffins and chocolate covered strawberries pushed into the room by none other than my mother.

Seriously. My mother. The Mr.'s new Mother-in-Law. In our honeymoon suite. Preparing the full service, napkin laying, high end room service treatment that we did not order. All while the Mr. and I are wearing nothing more than our all together suits and terrycloth robes. Can you say awkward?

We sat in the living room area, with full open view of our tussled sheets, while good 'ol mom continued to serve and then decided to sit down and visit a bit. I swear, you just can't make this stuff up.

I was mortified and had an odd fear that she was here in the old Italian tradition of inspecting the sheets to confirm the bride's purity and the groom's
virility before hanging said sheets over the balcony for the entirety of the village to view, and I'm not even Italian!

Dearest mother continued this morning ritual for all 4 days of our stay. I did mention to her, more than once, that this was weird and we did not require room service. My statements held as much weight as my choice of serving beef at the reception did.

Over the course of those 4 days, we didn't indulge in all of the amenities that the resort had to offer and not solely for the reasons you are thinking either. We tried to head for the beautiful outdoor pool area, only to spot my brothers and cousins hanging out poolside. We changed our dinner plans to offsite when we discovered aunts and uncles would be dining at our original choices. We found ourselves regularly sharing elevator rides with family members who anxiously asked about our plans and recaps of our days.

It's not that we didn't want to see any of these people. We really do like them, but we couldn't find any privacy even in our own hotel room. This was our honeymoon after all. A little space and privacy wasn't out of order.

And that my dear readers is why we have always continued to live at least 10 hours away from any of them for the past 16+ years.

Daadddyyy....

*Special Reminder* This morning at 10 edt/ 9 cdt/ 7 pacific, is the next episode of Suburban Wow. Tune in and have some Friday morning fun with Melisa (with 1 S) and I. Click here to watch.

Now onto our regularly scheduled FatherHood Friday, brought to you by the great people of Dad-Blogs!

I've known from almost day 1 that Eldest Weasel has her Dad right where she wants him. When she was 2, she wielded her powers during the lipstick incident.

Over the years she has honed her skill set to equal that of a Jedi Master when it comes to dealing with anything Dad. A soft gentle tone of voice, a lulling lilt with her use of the word Daddy and an innocent smile with a bat of the eyes all combine to systematically execute her attack on the heart strings of her father.

Eldest has become so successful over the years, that when she has completed a set goal, a look of 'it's as easy as taking candy from a baby' and a sly smile cross her face.

Just the other night she used her powers via the phone to get Mr. Weasel do her bidding on his way home from work. Flawless was her execution. Mr. Weasel agreed to make an extra stop on her behalf and she hung up the phone enormously pleased with herself.

I laughed and said "I know what you are doing when you say 'Daddy' like that". Eldest laughed and said "yeah, I know what works", with a look of 'he's putty in my hands' crossing her face.

"Dad knows what you are doing too". I duly informed her.
"Damn!" was her only response.

Getting Back Out There

Yesterday, this article was brought to my attention via NukeDad, a la Twitter. It outlines an interview with Ryan O'Neal where he admits the he made a pass at his own daughter (Tatum O'Neal) "You have a drink on you? You have a car?’ She said ‘Daddy, it’s me – Tatum!’", while at the funeral of Farrah Fawcett, his long time lover/common law wife.

There is so much wrong with this scenario on so many levels, but instead of discussing or psychoanalyzing what kind of man would do this at his supposed soul mate's funeral, NukeDad and myself, later joined by PJ Mullen and Mrs4444 can up with a thread equally as twisted to make fun of just what kind of an idiot would do such a thing.

Using the hashtag #FuneralPickupLinesForIdiots we came up with these twisted gems: *

• All this crying is thirsty work; what do you say we go get a drink?
• I went with the mahogany, that's how I treat my women. Do you like mahogany?
• If you were a tear I'd never cry for fear of losing you.
• They call me Milk, cuz I do a body good.
• I just feel really vulnerable; I don't think I should be alone right now.
• My bed feels way too empty now when I sleep alone.
• I don't have any plans tonight and the day off work tomorrow, you?
• So, the insurance company paid out all in ones, wanna see?
• We should totally grab dinner, it's what she would have wanted.
• You must be tired. You've been running through my mind all funeral long.
• Why, yes, I was named the sole heir.
• What's a nice girl like you doing working in a formaldehyde smelling place like this?
• So, how about we have some fun spending that insurance money.
• You shouldn't be alone at a time like this, how 'bout I pick you up around 8?
• It's so hard to find a date for these things.
• Just so happens, I'm free tonight.
• Your name must be Visa, because you're everywhere I want to be.
• Do you have any band-aids? I skinned my knees falling for you.
• Would you like a Gin and Platonic, or a Scotch and Sofa?

*I have not attributed individual tweets in order to protect the guilty.
**If this made you chuckle, not only are you a sick puppy, but you can follow us on Twitter.

Getting To Know You

I have been very lucky in this life when it comes to friends and neighbors that became friends. Having lived in 2-flats and duplex style up and down apartments, you have no privacy very close interactions with the people living in such proximity to you and your family.

Thirteen years ago, on Thanksgiving Day, The Weasel family -at the time consisting of the Mr. and I, a 2 1/2 yr. old and a 6 week old- moved into the 2nd floor of one such 2-flat. The people downstairs weren't home at the time. They had better things to do than lug boxes and furniture on Thanksgiving Day. We on the other hand pre-ordered some Boston Market with friends who were willing to help us move. See what I mean about being lucky in friendship? What kind of fool gives up their entire Thanksgiving Day to help you move?

All we had been told, via the landlord, about the people who lived downstairs is that they were nice and had an 8 year old. We met them over the next few days and they were nice and friendly and welcoming. We had to walk up the back stairs and past their kitchen door, that was often open, every time we were coming or going and always would smile and exchange nicities.

I tried to keep the Eldest (2) from running inside and making the light fixtures downstairs shake. They tried to keep their television volume low when the Weasels were sleeping. Sound traveled incredibly well through this old house. We were slowly getting to know the people downstairs and adjust to finding a balance to make this new cohabitation pleasant. Not an easy job being upstairs with a road runner high energy toddler and an infant that would not sleep unless being held and walked all night long. Mr. Weasel and I would take turns overnight trying to walk him quietly in 2 hour shifts while the other would crash on the couch. Not fun.

About a month or so after moving in, Mr. Weasel had to go out of town on business. I had my regular check up scheduled with the girly doctor. This was the visit that the doctor laughed at me with visions of the Island vacation I would be paying for dancing in his head and informed me that I was yet again pregnant. I was shocked! I had wanted more children, but I had a new baby at home. I went home in disbelief and fear. I wasn't ready to bring home a third. I was still trying to get adjusted to the 2nd.

As I walked up the back stairs to our apartment, K's door was open. We still didn't know each other extremely well, but she saw the look on my face and asked if everything was okay. I blurted out "I'm pregnant" and K starting laughing so hard she was bent over holding herself. There was nothing funny about this news to me and Mr. Weasel wasn't even home for me to talk to.

K apologized for laughing, but didn't stop, as she explained that every night her family could hear Mr. Weasel snoring in the living room and had been wondering what the deal between he and I was. K conitnued, "now we know that you must be in the living room too!"

That was the start of a beautiful friendship that continues all these years later and states away. I was overjoyed to have spent last week with K and her family on the lake.