Rollin' outta bed
4:30 in the morning.
Stagger to the coffee,
before I start my morning.
Pat the dog's head
and hope she don't pee on the floor.
Quarter to 5
and time to wake the mister
5 o'clock, I wake oldest sister.
Better hurry up and make sure they get out the door.
This ain't no 9-5
and I don't make my own living.
My days are long
and I'm only paid in kisses.
I must use my time
to make lunch and do the dishes.
And the best is when my family gives me credit!
This ain't no 9-5
it's all service and devotion.
and I love my life
and all of it's commotion.
It's my family
my time is what I give them
and my office is the
counter in the kitchen.
6:30 in the morning
time to wake the young ones.
pull 'em outta bed and make them put their clothes on
force feed breakfast and make them brush their teeth.
7:15 and time brush hair,
gather the backpacks,
and to get outta here.
Drop the kids off and get on with the chores of the day.
This ain't no 9-5
but it's is something I love doin'
Lose my mind
and get distracted from my mission.
It's my family
and lord knows how much I love them.
I have to hurry up and
get the meatloaf in the oven!
Ten til 3, and it's time to pick the kids up.
Get in the car and hope that there's no hold ups.
Open the door and have them climb in the car.
3;15 and how was your day?
Give out a snack and tell the dog to stay!
Time to do homework and finish the rest of the day.
5:00 have to pick up eldest,
Stuck in traffic listing to Elvis,
Make it on time, but only by the skin of my teeth.
Eldest drives home in rush hour traffic.
Trying to put her mother in a panic.
That's what we had the brakes installed for!
Gotta get home and dinner on the table.
Get School papers signed
and read them if I'm able.
Where's Mr. Weasel? He ought to be home soon.
Baths and bedtime
who has a quandary?
No time to sit, I have to laundry.
Boy takes the dog out before a kiss goodnight.
Mr. comes home and I just wanna kiss him.
He tells me his day and sit and listen,
All before he kisses me goodnight.
This ain't no 9-5
but there is nothing I love better.
Yes I, stay at home
and I wear a worn out sweater,
But my life is sweet
and there's nothing I love better.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
It was a dark and stormy night in the fall about 14 years ago. Okay, it wasn't really stormy, but it was dark. It is however dark and stormy as I am writing this. I was driving home on Interstate 71 just outside of Cleveland, after spending some time with a friend. Traffic was light as I traveled home alone. I must have been cruising somewhere around 65 mph in the left hand lane when suddenly my headlights shone on a man in a hat and trench coat who walked out onto the road right in front me.
I couldn't swerve without slamming into another car. I slammed my brakes, but it was futile. He was way to close. I ran right over him, or rather I should say I ran right through him. No thump, no thud, no anything. He simply vanished.
I looked in my rear view mirror and saw nothing. Cars that had been following behind me continued moving as if nothing happened. There was no place to safely pullover at night and although I knew I saw him step onto the road right in front of me, I also knew there was no accident or incident. No signs of distress, no change in traffic patterns, nothing out of the ordinary with the exception of my heart trying to beat itself right out of my chest and a cold clammy sweat covering me from head to toe.
I continued home on high alert and was quite shaken. When I entered our apartment I starting crying and trying to explain what happened to Mr. Weasel. I was so afraid that I had hit someone, but I knew that I didn't. I wanted to turn on the 11:00 news just to make sure there weren't any hit and runs on the highway.
As I flipped through the channels, Mr. Weasel scanned the bookshelf. A few minutes later, with nothing on the news about any such accidents, Mr. Weasel brought me the book he was looking for, Haunted Ohio by Chris Woodward (the 1st volume I believe). He had it opened to the story of a man who had been struck and killed on that section of highway many years ago. The story was accompanied with numerous reports of a man stepping from the median and into oncoming traffic at night and vanishing on that same stretch of road.
Many a driver has called the police to report hitting someone that then vanished. So much so, that the officers just send the drivers on their way.
Vodka Mom wanted to read some real life ghost stories, so there you have it. Maybe before the season is over I will regale you with some other stories of the past, but I think this is a good start.
Friday, September 25, 2009
It's Fatherhood Friday, so get on over to Dad-Blogs for links to some pretty great posts on all things Fatherhood.
*Today is the last day to enter the LeapFrog Tag Pen Bundle Giveaway*
Today's post is a continuation of the 'The Talk' on the birds and the bees that the Weasels gave to me! Part I, Smallest Weasels version, is here.
Monkey Weasel (9 years)
Monkey Weasel thought I would understand much better is she used visual aids in the form of her stuffed animals, Pooh Bear and a Heffalump, to act out everything she was trying to explain to me. I sure do wish I had video of this.
One day Mrs. Bird (an already married heffalump?) was going out. Mrs. Bird was flying and so was Mr. Bee. By accident they crashed into each other. They both said "sorry" and both said "it's okay". After that thump, they liked each other and then decided to get married. After 1 month they had a baby boy (who was the spitting image of his father -in the form of a 2nd stuffed Pooh Bear).
My two cents ~ That must have been one heck of a thump! Actually, I am not surprised about the baby coming 1 month after their marriage because I know what kind party guy that Pooh Bear really is.
Middle Weasel (12 years)
Middle Weasel used fruit metaphors, complete with grapes, bananas, grapefruits and peaches to explain the facts of life to me. I won't go into more detail on this one ~I do try to keep this blog PG rated ~ but they all did live happily ever after.
Boy Weasel (13 years)
Boy Weasel also decided to go with visual aids. Individual hand drawn stick figures to be exact, and boy do I wish I had a scanner!
BW ~ (barely able to keep a straight face) God made man, then God made woman. God told them to be fruitful and multiply and so they did. About 7 months into pregnancy.......
Me ~ How'd we get there? What about.....
BW ~ I'm skipping to the good stuff! On this wonderful journey called pregnancy....., This is going to make an awful blog ~chuckle~ OH! YOU ARE BLOGGING THIS!!!! I should have thought this through better. Okay, the mom was in excruciating pain. She started to yell things I'm not allowed to write down (complete with drawing of long haired stick figure and thought bubble $#%*@). Now onto lesson two, enter Praying Mantis'.
(complete with more drawings) They were fruitful and multiplied a lot! ~ Skipping to the good stuff again. After she um, lays her eggs, she bites his head off and lays them inside his body.
Me ~ How did.....
BW ~ All questions must be in the form of an answer. Now onto part three, on the computer! And here it is:
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Last night at the dinner table the Weasels were giggling and snickering about the birds and the bees. It was just I and the 4 younger Weasels as Mr. W and Eldest were not yet home for the day. Overhearing the innocuous conversation, I asked "what's so funny". "You know, snicker, snicker, the birds and the bees'. "What about them?" I asked. "Birds fly and bees sting." -----MOOOOMMMMM, you know........about the birds and the bees???????
I insisted that I didn't know and that they should give me 'the talk', which they all did one at a time after dinner. Thus begins our series The Birds and The Bees - Weasel Style
Smallest Weasel (age 5, Kindergarten)
SW - You know how the bee is the boy and the bird is the girl and they have bee babies and bird babies, but they are people and have people babies?
Me - Huh?
SW - They have this thing in their stomach that allows them to have babies and the babies come out of the bellybutton - but I'm just guessing.
Me - Do they have bird babies or bee babies?
SW - No the people do! They are all people! I can't believe you are writing this down. Can I give this to my teacher? She will be surprised.
Me - No, I am writing this down to make sure I don't forget anything. Yes, you're teacher would be very surprised, but these notes are for mommy.
SW - Or they give them surgery -all the moms- if they want to have kids.
Is this how 'the talk' works?
Me - What talk?
SW - The Talk. You're mom and dad never gave you the talk? You're not getting this are you? They (the other Weasels) told me once, but I forget it. The talk is about how they get married and stuff. Before they get married they have babies --No, no, no.--After they get married. Sometimes people make a rattle thing and it hurts for them to get the babies out.
Stay tuned to read what the other Weasels have to teach their mother.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
My maternal grandmother was not a nice person. Granny was a unique personality, with a 'get off my lawn' temperament, even toward her own family. She treated people badly, and was never known to keep her harsh opinions to herself.
Granny would bad talk my father, no matter what a good husband, father or worker he was. He had just 'made her list' for daring to marry my mother. Even with her grandchildren there was no gentility. A 5 year old wearing anything resembling the color purple would be openly called a tramp. Granny didn't like purple in any shade.
No doubt the woman was
a fruit cake not mentally stable and needless to say, I never enjoyed her company. Visits in 15 minute spurts were enough were enough to burn off years of time in purgatory long enough.
As a teen, growing up in the 'hood, I was
smart enough not get busted very often a relatively good kid, compared to the frequent precinct visitor cards of many my age. but when I did get busted by my parents they went completely old school on my butt. Hence, I became smarter if not wiser for self preservation purposes and limited these ungodly beatings teachable moments to a minimum. Still, from time to time my plans went awry and my parents would bust me. These were moments of great fear.
One morning, during Sophomore year, I woke up for school and headed down the stairs to find both my parents sitting on the couch together. Immediately my hackles went up and my body temp must have dropped by 10 degrees. Dad was always gone for work well before anyone in the house was awake. Dad never used sick days unless he was direly sick. Dad was sitting on the couch with Mom.
My life literally passed before my eyes, when Dad flatly said "Come here, we need to talk to you." Not in a nostalgic way, but like a Rolodex of all the recent activities I've been involved in and I had to quickly figure out which one I was about to die for. What had they busted me for? What would be my story? Did I have catchy epitaph? If Dad missed work for this I was surely about to be sent back to the manufacturer.
I know I was sweating and am surprised that I wasn't sweating blood. My heart raced as I approached the couch and feared for what would happen next. "Granny passed away overnight" was all my father said as he held my mother. It was all I could do to contain my relief and glee. I have no idea of how I held back a beaming smile or the pure joy I had for life at that moment. My relief was palpable, yet if noticed had gone unmentioned.
This was the kindest act my grandmother had ever done for me and I loved her for it.
I hugged my mother and told her that I was sorry for her loss before gathering my things and heading off to school with a bounce in my step and a new lease on life.
Years later, as an adult and with time having mellowed Mom, I told her this story and watched her laugh. She said "You can thank Granny when you see her see her heaven someday". I said, "if that's where she is".
I wonder is Vegas can offer odds?
*I have been busier than a pimp at a Senators convention lately. I haven't for gotten about you though. There's no time for me to write today, so I am offering you this gem that I found in my email today. I don't know who the author is, so I can't attribute well deserved credit, but you're sure to get a laugh.* Without further ado:
It is important for men to remember that, as women grow older, it becomes harder for them to maintain the same quality of housekeeping as when they were younger. When you notice this, try not to yell at them. Some are oversensitive, and there's nothing worse than an oversensitive woman .
My name is Jim. Let me relate how I handled the situation with my wife, Peggy. When I retired a few years ago, it became necessary for Peggy to get a full-time job along with her part-time job, both for extra income and for the health benefits that we needed. Shortly after she started working, I noticed she was beginning to show her age. I usually get home from the golf club about the same time she gets home from work.
Although she knows how hungry I am, she almost always says she has to rest for half an hour or so before she starts dinner. I don't yell at her. Instead, I tell her to take her time and just wake me when she gets dinner on the table. I generally have lunch in the Men's Grill at the club so eating out is not reasonable. I'm ready for some home-cooked grub when I hit that door.
She used to do the dishes as soon as we finished eating. But now it's not unusual for them to sit on the table for several hours after dinner. I do what I can by diplomatically reminding her several times each evening that they won't clean themselves. I know she really appreciates this, as it does seem to motivate her to get them done before she goes to bed.
Another symptom of aging is complaining, I think. For example she will say that it is difficult for her to find time to pay the monthly bills during her lunch hour. But, boys, we take 'em for better or worse, so I just smile and offer encouragement. I tell her to stretch it out over two or even three days. That way she won't have to rush so much. I also remind her that missing lunch completely now and then wouldn't hurt her any (if you know what I mean). I like to think tact is one of my strong points.
When doing simple jobs, she seems to think she needs more rest periods. She had to take a break when she was only half finished mowing the yard. I try not to make a scene. I'm a fair man. I tell her to fix herself a nice, big, cold glass of freshly squeezed lemonade and just sit for a while. And, as long as she is making one for herself, she may as well make one for me too.
I know that I probably look like a saint in the way I support Peggy. I'm not saying that showing this much consideration is easy. Many men will find it difficult. Some will find it impossible! Nobody knows better than I do how frustrating women get as they get older. However, guys, even if you just use a little more tact and less criticism of your aging wife because of this article, I will consider that writing it was well worthwhile. After all, we are put on this earth to help each other.
Jim died suddenly on May 7 of a perforated rectum. The police report says he was found with a Calloway extra long 50-inch Big Bertha Driver II golf club jammed up his rear end, with barely 5 inches of grip showing and a sledge hammer lying nearby. His wife Peggy was arrested and charged with murder. The all-woman jury took only 15 minutes to find her "Not Guilty," accepting her defense that Jim somehow, without looking, accidentally sat down on his golf club.
Friday, September 18, 2009
*Only one more week to enter the Leapfrog Tag Reader Bundle Giveaway* Click here to get your entries.
SUBURBAN WOW will be livestreamed this morning at 10 am edt/9cdt/7 am pdt. Click here for the hyperlink.
Welcome back for another Fatherhood Friday brought to you from Dad Blogs.
Go check out some fantastic and thought provoking articles and posting on everything parenthood related from moms and dads alike.
So, some days just go awry. We've all had them. Days that are so busy and filled with complications it's a wonder we survive them. Yet, somehow time does not cease for anyone or anything and we persevere. Sometimes coming out smelling like roses and sometimes looking like we've been rolling around in manure.
Sometimes these days roll into with each other and snowball out of control. Too many things on our plates at one time and not enough energy or hours in the day. We as parents still need to hold it together and make things happen the best that we can, for the sake of caring for our families
and resist the urge to go postal.
We are the Weasels and here are our stories.
*I interrupt this post for a crazy morning with complications break. I will return after Suburban Wow to give you the rest*
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Today allow me to impart on you some of the life lessons I have acquired. These are not any earth shattering revelations, but the small lessons that make life go a little smoother. Keep these tidbits in mind so that you can laugh at yourself for knowing better in the future.
Puppies that will grow to be the size of ponies leave horse sized landmines in the yard, even when they are just little puppies. These lawn biscuits will be reminiscent of Jurassic Park.
When your spouse chuckles and says that they are going to buy computer equipment of equal value to what you spent on a puppy, do not mistakenly assume they are joking.
Cats are not naturally fond of dogs, no matter how friendly the dog may be.
To ensure the highest probability that you step in dinosaur droppings at 5am when taking the puppy to do her business, make sure that every member of the family allows dog to find a different place to set these traps.
When a teenager is kind, helpful and compliant it means they want something. Most likely to invite 25 team mates over for dinner the night before a big meet.
No matter how well you plan and prepare your morning schedule, when a Weasel is involved, someone will have a last minute emergency (IE, Mom the button just fell off of my skirt and it's falling down!) that will have you running late and rushing out of the door. Safety pins are God's little gift to mothers.
Young children will it overly ripe bananas with joy if you convince them that the brown parts are candy.
Boston Market takeout dinners count as a home cooked meal. As does slaving over a hot phone to get dinner on the table.
Last but not least, and I have to give credit for this wisdom to good ole Ben Franklin "Beer, proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy", Cheers!
Friday, September 11, 2009
Ugh. Sorry this wasn't posted earlier, but my internet provider has been slacking. I won't mention any names,
cough *comcast* cough but my service has been in and out for a month. They won"t can't send anyone until Tuesday! This has been a great inconvenience to me personally, but also interrupted the livestream transmission of Suburban Wow last Friday and now has postponed my Fatherhood Friday post from being up first thing this morning. This service provider spends mega bucks mocking "The Slowski's" but doesn't mention that they are the "No-Ski's" of internet service.
Anywho, for being so patient I want to reward you dear reader. I appreciate you hanging around waiting for a regular post
while I curse at my modem with baited breath. In return, I offer you a Fantastic Give-Away!(and I wanted my regular readers and the wonderful people from Dad Blogs to get first crack) LeapFrog, a company you may remember from such wonderful products, such as Leapster (everyone who owns a pre-schooler, owns a Leapster) has offered me to give away a LeapFrog Tag reader to one of you! I get jack squat, but it's not about me -it's all about you.
Have you seen the Tag Reader? It's pretty cool. An over sized wireless pen and accompanying books. A touch of the pen to the words in the text reads the word out loud. How cool is that? Scanning the pen over the words can read aloud entire sentences and pages. Yup, that's cool. Plus, I get tired of reading the same books over and over and over to Smallest Weasel. This Tag Reader allows me to quit reading after the 176th time and let her work on the book all by herself (Santa brought us one last year for Christmas).
I am giving away a Tag Reader Bundle, consisting of 1 Tag reader with The Cat In The Hat book and 2 other books (to be chosen by LeapFrog) and the contest starts today!
Photo courtesy of LeapFrog website
Here are the rules:
- contest starts today and runs for 2 weeks, ending Friday September 25th at 12 midnight cdt.
- US and Canada only (sorry rest of the world)
- First entry is to leave me a comment telling me the children's book that you really DID love, but have read so many times it has become like a great song that got overplayed on the radio and how you may rip your own eyes out if you have to read it again. This is a mandatory first step.
- Second entry - Make me laugh while reading your first entry.
- Third Entry - Follow my blog, and leave me a separate comment saying as much. If you already do, just say so.
- Fourth Entry - Subscribe to my RSS feed and leave me a separate comment saying as much. If you already do, just say so.
- Fifth Entry -Trey Muy Importante- Visit *this* review of the Tag Reader written at Parenting By Trial and Error and tell her I sent you. After all, she set this whole giveaway up.
- Sixth Entry tweet this giveaway and link it back here. Let me know in a comment.
- Seventh Entry Follow Me on Twitter @WeaselMomma and let me know in a comment or an @ message. If you already do, just say so.
- This giveaway is being done on 10 blogs simultaneously! That's right, 10! I encourage you all to visit the other sites for even more chances to win! (you can only win once though I believe) Here are the other participating sites:
Thursday, September 10, 2009
*This is a re-post from September 10th, 2008. Today we are celebrating Middle Weasel's 12 Birthday. She could not have grown more beautifully. Happy Birthday Middle Weasel, I love you!*
Than I was on September 10th of last year. No, It's not my birthday. It is, however, the anniversary of the the birth of Middle Weasel. For the next few weeks I will be the mother of two 11 year olds at the same time.
I can hear what you are saying, "yikes they are close together!". And that they are. Middle Weasel has been a ball of happy surprises from the day we found out she was growing inside me. She was our big surprise. She was our "stop pulling my leg" child. She was our "I swear I wasn't involved child". As our son was a high maintenance infant who barely left time for parental sleep. She was our happiest and greatest surprise ever.
It took a little getting used to, the idea that I was going to have a baby, as I was holding my new baby in my arms. But after the initial shock wore off, there was no doubt in our minds that this would be a most wonderful gift.
She would continually surprise us throughout her life. She started by offering the doctor photographic evidence(via ultra sound) that she was in fact a boy. I still have that evidence. And it was so obvious on the screen, that I felt silly for asking.
I still contend that God had mercy on my sorry self. Eldest wanted a little sister for quite some time and put me through some serious trials when we brought home our son(#2) from the hospital. If she didn't get the sister she ordered, someone was going to pay. Even after we told her the new baby would be a boy she continued to insist that we were having a baby girl. Either she has psychic abilities without lottery numbers or God had been extra kind to us.
Next she decided to make her entrance 2 weeks early. Later that day we found out that she had fooled the specialist yet again and was 3 weeks early.
Mr. Weasel and I were in the delivery room, and had the nurses in stitches, still bantering and arguing about boys names. As she was born, the room fell silent. The cord had been badly wrapped around her neck and her color was purple. No one would tell me what was wrong. The Doctor and staff worked quickly and soon she pinked up. Her first apgar was 1, the second was 10. Then the laughter broke out. "What's wrong?" immediately switched to "What's so funny?".
They were all laughing because "You don't have to argue about boy names anymore". We had a beautiful baby girl. And I do mean beautiful. Most babies are kind of squishy and awkward looking at first. Not this one. She was a gorgeous cherub.
She brought so much joy and laughter to our home that Mr. Weasel, who had only ever envisioned 2 children, 3 at the outside, came over to my side of the fence and said that he wanted to have a whole brood. And he obviously meant it. And it gave Eldest Weasel her first opportunity to say "I told you so".
So Thank you to Middle Weasel. We love you and appreciate all the joy you bring to our home, but cut out the surprises. Happy Birthday!
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Now that all the Weasels are in school full time and my days are peaceful, yet still busy with the management and care taking of my family, I was wondering what I could do to replicate the levels of pain and insanity that I have been accustomed to for so many years.
finally use that gym membership that I am paying for go to the gym and punish myself by being a wannabe milfy gym bunny cougar in training type, but that would only cause me pain and headaches for an hour at a time 3x a week.
I could focus on bettering my writing skills and making this blog better and more entertaining for you all, while brushing up on my social networking skills, but that would only cause my jeans to scream for mercy even louder than they already do because we all have learned that blogging makes you fat.
A regular day job would not bring me the flexibility I would like like to do things like
Suburban WoW school field trips and sporting events. Let alone laundry and dinner preparations.
Yet, I felt a need to somehow
find a way to swear more often make my life harder and more challenging. Something that would make my days painful without taking me away from my home life duties. Something that will have me cleaning up poop on the kitchen floor.
Then I got an idea. A stupid idea. A wonderful, stupid, lost my dogone mind idea.
Me: Honey, We should get a puppy! (while pinning Mr. Weasel down and having his arms secured so he couldn't smack any sense into me)
Me: I found these great puppies on sale for 2/3 off. Mastiff puppies. With papers. I've always wanted a mastiff! I love Big dogs and these are gentle giants. They look really scary as adults too. They're great with kids and very smart. I always wanted one and would never be able to afford one, but they are cheap because of the economy and I really want one.
Mr.: you're nuts.
Me: But I want one. Come look at them online! I want one! The kids have always begged to get another dog and this is my dream breed. This could be my dream dog. This dog can scare boys away from coming near the house (and away from your daughters). Please (full puppy dog eye treatment used)?
Mr.: Whatever. You can have the dog. You're crazy. You know this. I'm not picking up poop.
Me: yeah, I know I'm nuts, but I'll never have a crack at this type of dog again. The Weasels will be on poop pick up duty and the puppies are only 4 hours away! (actually it turned out to be 5, c'est la vie)
Mr.: WHAT! Nevermind. Whatever. Go get your dog. Having a puppy will be less painful than hearing for the next 20 years about how you never got a mastiff.
So I went and here she is. The newest member of the Weasel Family, She who has not been named:
Yes. I have lost my mind. Yes, I am now housebreaking a puppy. Yes, I love her and couldn't be happier.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
only by the grace of God, barely competent stellar mother, I make sacrifices for the Weasels constantly. Most parents who have managed not to have the state take custody away regularly give up all sorts of things without even blinking. We give up our dream cars, nice furnishings, television privileges, romantic vacations and decent wardrobes without a second thought or a twinge of loss. We sacrifice our time and cash to see our children cared for and growing. It's what we signed up for and we are pleased when we see our children happy and thriving. It is even better when see them successful in the endeavors we have supported them in.
More times than not, I do these things without even registering them in my brain. It just comes natural at this point and I like it this way. I get extreme joy by doing for my children and don't even miss what I am missing. Most. Of. The. Time.
Let me tell you a little story. My mother did not like any scary movies. If it wasn't a Disney Feature, like say Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang
which scared the bejesus out of me with the 'child catcher' or a musical like Hello Dolly Barbra Streisand has always creeped me out in a bad way, Mom wasn't interested and thus Das ist Verbeten! We were not allowed to see scary movies with or without Mom. It didn't matter if it was Psycho or Halloween. Disney's The Headless Horseman (edited for TV) was as scary as we were getting. If she didn't want to see it, we couldn't see it either.
Enter the summer blockbuster Jaws. No way, no how. Wasn't going to happen. Years later when it was edited for television, I did get to see it when Mom was going to bed early anyway. Not the same as the big screen, but beggars can't be choosers.
Back to present day. Eldest Weasel is back into Cross Country season and thriving. She is running very competitively and making both her coaches and her parents extremely proud and joyous as we watch her thrive at something we have put a great deal of time, money, gas and moral support into. She is doing so well that she will be one of only a few on her team to be selected to run in a state level invitational. This is a big deal. This meet is a preview of 'going to state'. A place to run against and sum up your competition for the most important meet of the year. It is held a few hours away and requires an overnight hotel stay the evening prior. Only the teams elite are able to qualify to attend this meet and we have a pretty strong team.
Back to me. Jaws is coming back to a local theater. With special guest Richard Dreyfuss giving a talk prior to the movie. Not just any movie theater either, but the dinner and a movie theater that serves full bar and menu to you during the movie. In high back executive chairs. With nice tables and reasonable prices. I even have free passes. I finally get another opportunity to see Jaws on the big screen and in style!
Actually not so much. The Jaws special feature is showing the same weekend as the Cross Country meet. This movie showing is not an opportunity that I am likely to get again. Did I mention I have free passes?
I want to be torn, but there's really no contest. Eldest Weasel blows the competition out of the water, just as I hope she will do at the meet. I will not forgo the meet. I will be there come hell or high water. Not just because I have to be, but because I want to be.
Damn those maternal instincts.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Happy Fatherhood Friday everyone! Brought to you from the good folks of Dad-Blogs. Click on over to read some fabulous bloggers talking about everything parenthood related under the sun. This weeks theme, back to school.
The school year is now in full swing here in Weaselville. I should be doing a little happy dance, for this is the first time ever that all the Weasels are in school full time. There is no half-day pick-up of preschoolers and my days are quiet and peaceful as I work to get things scratched off of my to-do list. Yet, I still find the school year to be torturous. No Happy dance is taking place (although I did have an extra spring in my step on the first day).
Don't get me wrong. I enjoy the serenity of being alone and uninterrupted as I accomplish my tasks for any given day. I can be very productive and get some nice down time in to boot. What bothers me is that I don't get any time to simply enjoy my Weasels.
Mornings around here run like
the breakfast scene in cheaper by the dozen Marine Corps boot camp. Hop, hop, snap to, get in formation, uniform inspection, sound off in the car so that I know that I haven't left anyone behind. When we arrive at school and pull up to curb the doors fly open and the Weasels scatter quickly in different directions, reminiscent of illegal aliens fleeing from border patrol agents.
When school is over, blood sugar levels are low and it's game on. In the next 5 hours we have a mini marathon to complete. Snacks, homework, clothes changes, cooking and eating dinner. Mingle that with sports practices, chores, homework checks, paper signing and taking Eldest Weasel out to practice driving. Next thing we know, it's bedtime and if we don't get get the youngest Weasels to bed on time we will pay for it the next morning.
Weekends really don't bring too much relief to our time constraints. They are filled with sports meets and games, birthday parties and playing tag team with Mr. Weasel for such errands that we must bring the Weasels with (like buying yet more shoes when they outgrow them before they out wear them).
The school year brings very little opportunity to just enjoy each other. One on one time is rare commodity. Even the family dinner table is
more like a prison riot scene than a Hallmark commercial chaotic and rushed.
As of today we have 1 1/2 weeks down and only 36 more to go until we reach summer