Pit Bulls and Pit Falls

Yesterday, I was sitting down playing some cards with six of my closest friends whom I had never met before, when howdy do's and conversation erupted at the other end of the table.

One man, who completely fit the bill of expectation, decided to share with the rest of us that he breeds pit bulls.  I actually have nothing against pit pulls.  I grew up with a real sweetheart of a pit bull, but any who......

This particular man held much pride in announcing that "I breed them myself.  I do it all myself".  He even pulled out his wallet to show pictures o his puppies off.

I, being me, had to interrupt him right there and backtrack for a moment.  "Hold on a sec......, did you just say that you breed pit bulls, yourself?".

Walking right off that cliff the man reiterated in a boastful fashion that yes, indeed "I do it all.  I breed them, I clip their ears, tails, all myself".

I couldn't let this go, "Your telling us that you don't contract the breeding out?".

"No, ma'am.  I personally breed them".  I didn't even feel bad anymore about pulling the metaphorical rug out from under his feet.  After all, he called me ma'am.  I don't look old enough to be a ma'am.  Shut up.

It was time for me to pull that trap door lever now that he was squarely standing atop it and let him pit fall.  "Well, okay then.  I personally would have another dog do the breeding part, but to each his own".

The rest of the table found this highly amusing, sans breeder man.  The dealer nearly fell over laughing and announced that I am very funny.  Maybe I am funny, but maybe I am just a little stupid too.  After all, I just ticked off a man who breeds pit bulls.

Halloweekend Weasels

We had a great time this past weekend at Cedar Point Amusement Park.  Our family has been going to Cedar Point for years, but had never been there during Halloweekends festivities, that run every weekend from now until Halloween. 

The entire park is decked out in subtle and not so subtle Halloween decor that was very well done.  There are haunted houses that are appropriate for every age level and every and every courage level.

What I liked the best is that they scare old school style.  The scare level in the haunted houses for the teen/adult crowd were high, but they didn't need to rely on gore and chainsaws to pull it off.  They instead relied on well designed and decorated haunts, acting and costuming to get your heart pounding.  I can't even tell you about about my favorite bit of camouflage.  I wouldn't want to ruin it for you.

The rides were as great as ever.  The Weasels had a fun filled day at the park and I got to make a fun video to document it all.  The only thing I would do differently next time would be to take two full days in the park in order to have time to see all of the haunted houses and hit a few more coasters and to stay at one of the hotels on the premises.  That way I could stay with the older Weasels at the park longer while Mr. Weasel could take sleepy little Weasels off to bed when they were ready.   Yeah, there was just that much to see and do.

*Weasel Family admission to the park was complimentary.

That's Not Her Style

I'm not that kind of girl.  Stop Laughing.  I'm not.

Sure I have been seen drinking beer with on some swanky dates on the arm of some Public Relations and marketing types at local bars A-list parties.  I've had a few drinks, some good times and a lot of laughs, but I have always been treated like the consummate lady of virtue and none of these romancers have ever attempted to defile that virtue.

I've not done anything to sully my reputation as a blogger.  If you have the pictures to prove otherwise, you were at Blogher '09, you are not in PR and I will disown you if you ever go public with them.

I will only court gentleman callers PR reps that treat me like a lady.  Sure, you can buy me dinner, but there is no quid pro quo.  I want to court and to be wooed by your charming brand and fabulous product before I am going to wear your letterman jacket lend my name to give you endorsement.

That is why I am disgusted that some person who calls themselves a PR professional would ask me to basically go dumpster diving into their SEO (Search Engine Optimization) and ask if I can bring a few friends to the party.

Case in point: The actual subject line of this email is Come Party With (Redacted)!


Dear First Name : (<----I didn't change this.  It actually said Dear First Name)

We are SO psyched about our brand-spanking-new REDACTED program – a great opportunity for moms to check out fun products at home with friends – complete with giveaways, coupons, party ideas and more, all included! We’re launching NOW and would love to invite you and your readers to participate.

 

Can we interest you in signing up for yourself, and/or mentioning the launch of REDACTED on your blog/Facebook/Twitter – wherever you feel it would fit best? Here's the link (I took the link out) for more information and an application form.

 

Sound good? Let’s party!

 

 

Julie REDACTED

FROM REDACTED

Wow.  Talk about social media marketing gone wrong.  This is reminiscent of college days when the local townies would try to entice some of us to their parties with the promise of Joey's cousin is going to bring a keg.  Can you bring some friends too?  

You haven't done any research, not even enough to know my name. I don't know you. Yet, you want me to use my name, and any respect that it has garnered once again I will ask my readers to stop laughing to pimp your launch out to my readership that I have worked incredibly hard for 2+ years to build and gain a reputation of trust with. Huh.

I have no problem working with brands. I have no problem getting paid for links hint, hint. I have no problem reviewing the occasional product if it makes sense and is a good fit for Weaselville, but in all such cases you better know me. You better know that words that carry my name will always be my own. You better know that I will never sell out my readership with fluff about something that I don't believe in. I won't even sell ad space to a company that I wouldn't use myself.

You had better know that I will always be treated like a lady.

I do have a problem when you pitch me blindly. I do have a problem when you don't even try to get to know me a little better. Have you ever even heard of google or bothered to read the blog that you just pitched? I do have a problem when you pitch me and want something enormous for nothing. I should go check out your website and find out what on earth you are talking about? I should pitch my readership on your behalf? I should take the time to think about and coherently write a post about your company and it's launch? That's a lot of time people. This garbage doesn't write itself. For my effort, endorsement, research time and reputation lending, I get what in return? Come on buy a girl a drink first !

Lots has been said recently about this very problem. There are a few brands/companies that manage to do it right and there are many, many more that are still far behind the bell curve. I just wish that they would stop pitching me until they actually read this post and figure out that that's not her style.

Thank God For Women

I hate making school lunches.  After 11 straight years of this chore, I'm really ready to be done with it.  Unfortunately for me, there is no young and upcoming padawan around here to pass the torch onto.  I may be sentenced to 12 more straight years of this Sysiphus type enslavery.

I've been trying to pass the torch, but to put anyone around here in charge of this chore would make as much sense as putting Homer Simpson in charge of a nuclear reactor.

I know because yesterday I tried it out.  Boy Weasel and Mr. Weasel were tasked with making school lunches.  I gave a few simple, yet helpful, directions to save them some time, "Use the kiwi and the other fruit.  Monkey won't eat a sandwich and Smallest Weasel hates mac and cheese in her thermos because it dries out".

With this, I went to go get dressed and ready myself for the day ahead.

When I reemerged into the kitchen, I noticed that they did indeed use the fruit as instructed, but I had to ask, "Why didn't you put the fruit into sandwich bags?".  The answer came in the form of 4 blank, blinking and confused eyes staring back at me. *Note, I have been placing fruit in sandwich bags for school lunches for 11 solid years.

Mr. Weasel: (genuinely curious)  Why would I put fruit in a sandwich bag?

Boy Weasel: blink, blink

Me:  This way when they toss around their lunches and beat that piece of fruit into a pulp it won't ooze all over the rest of their lunch.  Plus they then have a place to put the kiwi spoon when they are done eating so that it doesn't make their entire lunchbox sticky.

Mr. Weasel: Huh.  I would have never thought of that.

Boy Weasel: blink, blink

Mr. Weasel: (talking to boy) .......and that son is why you should drop to your knees every night and thank God for women.  We'd never survive on our own without them.

Boy Weasel: (in a trance like state of astonishment) Yeah.

I guess I better go start making those lunches for today.

The Un-Post

Blogging is great and I love what I do.  I have a place to share my thoughts, quirky as they may be, and tell the stories of life around here through the lens of Looney Tunes glasses, just the way I see them.  Aaaaand...........people actually like to come here and read all about it, voluntarily!  That rocks!

It's like I can have my own little stand up routine, while I am plastered to my couch!  I have an audience thanks to both of you and that, my friends, is Weasel crack!

The draw back to blogging is what I can't write.  There is almost a physical pain of not writing some of the most hilarious conversations, situations, observations, irony and antics that happen near or around me.

Out of begging pleading threats against my person respect for family or friends, some things are just un-blogable.

Some things fall under the category of you had to be there.

Some are just too quirky and odd.  You wouldn't get it, even though I may have been laughing in the aisles.  I find humor in some pretty strange places.

Some things you just don't post on the Internet.

What's that, you want an example?  Okay,  I can't post about when Melisa said...........hey wait, you almost had there.  I'm not falling for that old trick.

Some of you are no holds barred when it comes to blogging.  Your friends and family may not ever bother to read your ramblings even know that you have a blog.  I on the other hand need all the readers I can get  am very open about the fact that I blog.

There is so much going on in and around Weaselville and yet so little that I can write about today.  That's why I am calling this the un-post.  Yup, you just read 250 words that I wrote about absolutely nothing and you are still here.  There goes your time waster for the day.

That's what I call talent.

9 Years Later

I remember the smoke billowing from the towers. I helplessly witnessed as victims jumped to their death to escape the flames and I remember the inferno that poured from a hole in the side of the Pentagon. I remember where I was and what I felt as I watched them burn and the towers later collapse.

I remember the fear in my heart for the safety of my family before all of the planes in the air were accounted for and on the ground.  I can still feel the hot tears that ran down my cheeks when the towers fell and watching live as people searched the streets for their loved ones with fliers and pictures as they prayed that someone would bring them good news later that night.

I remember in detail the events of that day.  The way that they happened in my life and the way that they played out on the news.  I remember the overwhelming emotions and sadness of the day that were not only my own or my family's, but were shared by a nation.

Our country had been sucker punched that day 9 years ago by cowardly terrorists, in the name of Islam, to the tune of almost 3,000 innocent American lives.  Our eye was blackened, but our patriotism renewed.

I also remember that just a few miles from my home that there was rejoicing and celebration going on in the streets, that day and for the days that immediately followed, on the part of Islamic radicals that were claiming a victory, as the rest of our nation mourned, watched, hoped and prayed that survivors would emerge from the rubble.  They sang and celebrated publicly under the protection of the local police department, who were there to serve and protect despite their personal distaste and visceral feelings toward the goings on, the same as their now deceased brethren had done in New York that very same morning.  You never saw these happenings on the news.  I saw it with my own eyes.

These were people exploiting and indulging in all of our freedoms and protections as Americans, people who would just as well see all Americans dead.  They are much the same as the cowardly sadists that rocketed those planes into the World Trade Center Towers.

Today there is talk of building a mosque just a few hundred feet from where the towers were attacked and fell.  There are claims of intolerance, bigotry and Islamophobia against anyone who views this concept as inappropriate or distasteful. 

Now, the would be Imam of the proposed Ground Zero mosque, Felsal Abdul Rauf, is willing to exploit and indulge in all of our freedoms and protections as Americans to disrespect the sensitivities of a country that still mourns by choosing a completely inappropriate location to house a mosque.  The Imam now warns that:

"Parts of the Muslim world would be violently inflamed at the news of the center's relocation".

Seriously?  It's Americans that find the proposed project distasteful, disrespectful, hurtful and offensive that are intolerant?  How's construction coming along on that Synagogue in Mecca?

If this is not a victory mosque, as the Imam claims, why wouldn't the ministers of the Religion of Peace be respectful and sensitive to the emotions that envelop that hallowed final resting place?  Choosing a different location that wouldn't cause pain and hurt to most Americans would also dis-spell any suspicions or appearances that this is a victory mosque.

The sights and emotions of that day are etched into my soul.  The pride that I feel in our great nation and the heroes that sacrificed their lives to save others and watching firefighters erect a flag amidst the ruble.  The coming together as a nation and the resolve we shared when we shared this moment:

 

9 years later, so much healing has taken place that we are able to get caught up in our individual busy lives.  Some around the world, and even some within our own borders, have misinterpreted this healing and moving forward as having forgotten or that we have become lax in vigilance and reverence.

Let us stand firm in our resolve as Americans to continue celebrating our freedoms and our way of life.  Let us show the world that the black eye that was thrust upon us by terrorists is now a beacon of hope that shines from hollowed grounds in Manhattan, Virginia and Pennsylvania and that we will not have them disrespected.  Most of all, let us never forget.

Cruze

Most of you know that last week Eldest Weasel smashed up Mr. Weasel's car.  The insurance company has decided the car is a total loss.  It's all okay though.  Eldest, nor anyone else, was injured and my body shop says that they can make the repairs so that's what we are going to do.

What you don't know about last week though is that GM reached out to social media and held an event that gave me the chance to test drive the brand new Chevy Cruze before it hits the dealerships later this month and have some fun with friends new and old over drinks and sharing food.   Eldest Weasel was very bummed when I told her that "no, you can't come with me.  GM doesn't want you driving their brand new babies.  You're just still too young and inexperienced".

 I, WeaselMomma, being as cool and hip as I am, drive the sexiest of sexy  mommy mobiles ~ the minivan (better known as the hot mobile).  Mr. Weasel drives the cute little commuting sedan or rather I should say he did until last week.

The Cruze is cute and sporty little eye candy, but I must admit to laughing to myself when I heard about it's 1.4 L turbo engine.  For those non-motor head readers out there, that's an itty bitty engine.  1.4 L is great for gas mileage, but not thought of for it's performance qualities. WeaselMomma is all about performance. Adding the turbo boost almost seemed like an oxymoron.  At least that's what I thought until I drove it.

Va -Va-Va-Voom!  Baby could move.

The Cruze was responsive to my touch, as if we were dancing.  The slightest movement brought immediate response and it was putty in my hands. The racer steering column felt smooth and light.  All I had to do was caress and my every lead was followed.

This thing made my hot mobile look like a minivan.  The Cruze was zippy, fun and comfortable to drive.  The rack mounted electric power steering (just like they use in a BMW) had me at first touch.  It's 1.4L engine can get up to 40 mpg and thanks to the turbo never makes you feel a lack of power under your right foot.  This car was much, much, more than I expected it to be.

Chevy says that the Cruze is redefining compact.  I say that they are right.  Head out to your local Chevy dealer and take a test drive yourself, just for fun, and see if you agree.  Tell them I sent you so that they can look at you funny with absolutely zero recognition of what you are talking about.  You can have a free test drive on me.

After test driving the Cruze, hanging out with the likes of Michelle, Maria and Connie for a few drinks and more laughs than you can fit into a 10 lb bag. If you don't follow these ladies on twitter, you want to.  These ladies are total hang out quality.  That's the highest WM peep rating.

And as for Eldest Weasel, after she smashed up Daddy's car I could point to it and say "And that is exactly why GM doesn't want you driving their car".

Lucky 13

I am now the Mother of three teenagers.  Yikes!  How did that happen?

Today Middle Weasel turns thirteen.  Thirteen!!!!!!

My beautiful baby girl who was chuck full of surprises from the day we found out that I was expecting her has worked her magic yet again and caught me by surprise as she has grown so quickly right under my nose.

I must have been distracted by the way her eyes sparkle when she smiles and her constant ability to make me laugh.

Happy Birthday to my rosey faced baby.  Dad and I are very proud of the wonderful young lady you have become.  We love you.

Proud Moments in Parenting II

Last night was back to school curriculum night in Weaselville.  You know, the night that parents get to go school, sans kids.  The teachers go over the class syllabus and talk about how their individual classrooms run.  It's all very nice, friendly and informative and I hate it!

Yes, I like the Weasels school.  Some of the teachers we met with have been working with Weasels for years and some are having their first experiences in getting to know the Weasels.  They all are wonderful, loving and caring teachers dedicated to their students.

"Well then WeaselMomma, what's the problem?  This sounds like a positive experience.  Why on earth would you hate it so much?", I can hear your gears grinding now.

My problem is that this night is too informative.  It's not that I get information that I shouldn't  know, it's that I get information that I didn't want to know.

Case in point; File # W752.4-S

The first grade teacher, who is quickly becoming familiar with the Weasels via a school supply list flub of not having school supplies labeled and thus causing confusion in a room of 20+ six year old wild natives, told a story regarding snack time to the parents sitting at miniature desks around the classroom.

"There was one child who appeared to be eating chocolate cake.  The sweet lovely little child informed me that it was not actually chocolate cake, but 'a look alike' when I questioned the snack choice and reminded them that snack time is for a healthy snack only.  'See those chocolate chips?  Those are healthy.  My Mom would never send me to school with anything that wasn't healthy".  I gave the student the benefit of he doubt, but it sure did look pretty moist".

I bowed my head to allow my hair to cover the combination of shame and amusement that were broadcasting across my features.  I instinctively knew who that student was as I collapsed my face into my hands and shook my head.  I did not want that information.

Now that I had that information, I had to address it.  I don't need this kind of nonsense cluttering up my brain.  It's already a mess in there.  After the talk/presentation I now had the honor of introducing myself to the teacher in person, meeting for the first time the woman who I have consistently sent in late paperwork, unlabeled supplies and now, unwittingly, chocolate cake.

"Umm, hi.   It's nice to meet you" flashing my pearly whites in stark contrast to my blushing cheeks.  "I'm Smallest Weasel's Mom and yes, that was indeed chocolate cake".  I went on to explain that the cake was for her lunch dessert and that she always has an appropriate healthy snack in her lunch box for snack time.  The teacher smiled, chuckled and was very kind and I assured her that I would bust Smallest Weasel when I returned home and to feel free to call SW out on any snack that seems as questionable and moist as chocolate cake.

She explained that it was not her intention to get the child in trouble, just to share a funny ice breaking story with the parents.  I told her, "Welcome to Weaselville".

Mr. Weasel had been covering the 7th and 8th grade presentations while 1st and 5th grade had been my conquests.  He heartily laughed as I related the story to him as we exchanged mental notes in the car.  "It's a look alike?, that's awesome!", but soon we had to put on our game faces to enter back into the house.

"Oh, Smallest Weeeeassseelll.............come tell mom and Dad about snack time".  She tried to talk her way out of things, but we let her know that wouldn't fly and I asked about healthy chocolate chips and how to go about getting some.  Tears started to flow with an immediate request of, "I'm tired and want to go to bed".  Her passion, inflection and mini meltdown sent Mr. W and I into an uncontrollable  laughing fit.  We kissed her and sent her off to slumber, where she had a fitful night of bad dreams that for the first time in her six years she didn't want to talk about.  I'm sure that they all involved getting in trouble at school.

Yes, I acquired much good information last, but I also managed to bring home with me shame embarrassment and laughter.


Now do you get why I hate actually talking to teachers?

Paranormal Intervention

The Weasel children live in fear of an unseen force.  An entity that strikes them with fear deep within their souls.  Whenever they feel its presence threaten to invade close to there personal space they are struck with sudden bouts of nausea, headaches or an urgent need to secure themselves into the bathroom until the danger passes.  When directly confronted with it, it causes them to go into terrified fits.  This entity causes them such extreme amounts of anxiety that they can't even speak of it.

Although it does have a name.

Everything that I have come to learn about demons says that you should never say it's name aloud.  Saying the name has a summoning power and gives it greater power and control.  I avoid it's name.

I only refer to it as it's manifestations, and even then only in a whisper.

I tell Eldest Weasel, "Don't fear the vacuum. It can't hurt you".  Still she is scared that I am wrong and that there may be danger involved.  "What if you're wrong Mom?  What if it does bite me?".  Even after my assurances, she just doesn't feel safe enough to push it around a room.

Boy Weasel is a little more brazen in that he will confront the manifestation of the dishwasher, but refuses to load it correctly in any sort of ritualistic manner.  I keep telling him that it is not only okay, but safer and more productive to load it using the ritual that I have taught him, but alas, he fears the demon.

All the Weasels live in such fear of the washer and dryer that it causes extreme amounts of obstinance and pain in Weaselville for them to gather a load a of laundry for me to wash to feed into them.  It often causes Monkey Weasel to hiss and Middle Weasel to speak in tongues.  No wonder our orthodontist makes so much money.

At first I thought that it was the high EMF (Electromagnetic Field) readings that emanate from the manifestations that cause the aversions,   but the mere thought of any kind of chore causes a severe adverse reaction in the Weasels.  So much so  that they find themselves unable to accomplish tasks that do not even involve appliances, such as putting their shoes away or hanging up wet towels when they are finished with them.

I have blessed the Weasels with Holy Water.  I have sprinkled the appliances with Holy Water in the sign of the cross.  I have called a Catholic Priest, because these are the dudes most prepared to deal with such things only to be laughed at told that this was beyond the realm of expertise.  

You know what?  I'm going to go all Harry Potter here and say the name of the evil demon that taunts the Weasels. out loud.  There will be no more fear!  It is time to stand up and take the power out of the name.

The demon's name is Housework!

The only way to defeat this demon is to confront it and complete it, but it always returns.

There has to be a Paranormal Intervention in Weaselville.  We need a class A cleaning lady full blown exorcism to cleanse the house.

Maggoty Goodness

Friends don't feed friends children bugs.  Unless that is, you are friends with Weasels.

Seashore Subjects and I have been friends since long before either of us ever starting blogging.  We have shared stories, pregnancies, homes, landlords and countless laughs together.  Now we have shared the culinary piece resistance, chocolate covered bugs.

We were lucky enough this past July to sneak in an overnight visit together and this is the chaos that ensued.

We'll Be Right There.

And so it happened.  The phone call that as parents we knew to expect sooner or later, came in last night right around dinner time.

It was Eldest Weasel and she was out of breath.  In a shaky voice she began apologizing to me.  She was obviously upset and was not making much sense.  "Calm down kiddo and tell me what's wrong".  She had been in her first car accident.  "Are you okay?", yes she was.  "Where are you?" prompted her to tell me her location.  "Mom, I can't find my front end!".

"We'll be right there" flowed from my lips instinctively.  There was no conscious thought on my behalf at that point in time.  I didn't need any.  Natural instinct kicked in and I swung into action to get to my child.  I knew she was physically okay, but she was shaken and scared.  She needed her Mom.

Maternal instinct coupled with years of experience worked together like a well oiled machine to allow me to have the entire situation under control without having to put any thought into it.

1. Call Mr. Weasel and have him drop what he is doing and come pick me up with the other car.
2. Calm and assure the other Weasels that their sister is safe and Mom and Dad are on our way to help her.
3. Put Monkey Weasel in charge of setting the table for dinner.
4. Have Boy Weasel finish preparing dinner and feed his sisters.
5. Grab my phone and be waiting in the driveway for Mr. Weasel.

We reached the scene within a few minutes to find Eldest Weasel outwardly holding it together very well, making me proud of how she was handling things and keeping her head together, even while on the inside she was pretty shaken.

She had been on her way home from Cross Country practice.  Three cars had been involved in the accident, two of which (including ours) were team members.  After calling parents and police the girls had the presence of mind to call their coaches*.  Smart move to call trusted adults that you know are only 2 minutes away from you when you know that the police will arrive before your parents can.

*Her coaches are a credit to coaching.  Not only do they love what they do and do it well, they care about their athletes as a whole and not just on the course.  They were there immediately and even after seeing that everyone was okay, stuck around in case we needed any help.  They even offered the cash they had on hand to post the bond on the girls tickets.

Hugging Eldest and continually trying to convince her that it's all okay, was not working.  She felt awful that Keith (her name for the car that she most often drives) was in bad shape and the lurch that would put our family in.  She's never had to deal with the police before and was quite overwhelmed by the entire incident.  The sound and feel of impact are not pleasant experiences.

We changed tactic to what would assure her that all was okay.  Her dad and I starting joking.  That's how we roll.  If Mom and Dad are joking around, she knows that everything will be all right.

I told her what to expect from the police (paperwork, report and a ticket) and let her deal with the officer.  I let her know what to expect from insurance.  She handled everything very well and I was proud of how she composed and carried herself.

All in all, I think that this accident was good thing.  Two important lessons were learned.  Eldest Weasel, being a fairly new driver, learned that  accidents will happen even if you were driving just the way you should be and that you need to be hyper aware of what everyone else around you is doing and all without anyone getting injured.  She will be a better driver due to experience.

I learned that my little girl has grown into an independent and responsible young woman.  Sure, she needed her Mom, but she only needed me for emotional support and reassurance and a ride home.  She handled the situation all on her own in a way that any parent could be proud.

Still, anytime in life that she reaches out to us we'll be right there.

Book Ends

I have come to the conclusion that parenting is a huge waste of my time.  Not entirely, of course and I do mean this in the most positive of ways. 

Let me explain.

Eldest Weasel is 16.  She is a talented athlete, a gifted scholar, sharp witted and self challenging.  She spoke in full sentences by the time her 1st birthday rolled around and was running circles around the neighborhood by 10 months of age.  She would engage me in logical debate by the age of 3 and all to often win the argument.  She learned to ride a two wheeler within 15 minutes of her first attempt and taught herself to read at age 4.  She was reading at a high school level in the first grade.

I was Mom extraordinaire!  All of her meals were well balanced and her schedule was very disciplined.  I would read to her constantly and we made regular treks to the park.  PBS was the only television that she was exposed to.   I went out of my way to do everything right and my return on investment was my just desserts.  I could hold my head high with a superior pride in my parenting skills.

I had my own hobbies, that led to having five more Weasels.  Of course this led to much less one on one time with individual Weasels and I started loosening my tight grip on the bubble world that I raised them in.  Priorities change, time constraints change and eventually the kids break you much like a wild horse.  You burn out on some things and toss others into the 'whatever' pile, meh.  In the 16 years that I have been parenting, to a degree I have stopped parenting.

I now proudly wear the moniker of Slacker Mom.

I do not check backpacks.  I do not get involved with homework unless specific assistance is required.  The Weasels spend unconscionable amounts of time online and in front of the television.  I let them eat hot dogs for breakfast if they like.  Bedtimes are only strictly enforced on school nights.  I let them play Rock Band and Halo.

Of course I am always here for them emotionally.  I help to guide them through life and give them rules and responsibilities that they are held accountable for like chores and schoolwork.  I am always around for them to hang out, joke around or prepare a meal together once their responsibilities are fulfilled, but other than that I have burned out taken a more hands off approach and refuse to micromanage anything.  I just allow them to be themselves and they thrive.

Smallest Weasel is 6 years old.  She is a talented athlete, a gifted scholar, sharp witted and self challenging.  She rides a two wheeler, has a vocabulary that blows her teachers away and reads well above her grade level.  She can do more chin ups a day then most gown men I know.  She never had much time for Barney but loves Jaws and Mythbusters.  She has a sense of humor that is so sharp and dry that the jokes go flying past most adults because they can't grasp onto such a young child having the complexity of thought and to make references with speed and timing that most adults don't have.  I love having adults look at me quizzically and ask "Did she just say what I think she said?".   

So much for my superior parenting skills having anything to do with her accomplishments.  I have now learned that I can't take the credit for return on investment.  All credit goes directly to them for just being who they are naturally.

This works to my benefit too, you see.  If I can't take credit for my two books ends, neither can I take blame for having screwed up the Weasels that came in between them!