To Mr. Weasel, CFO Weaselville

Dear Mr. Weasel,

I have been with Weasels incorporated since it's inception 17 years ago. In that time I have been instrumental in Weaselville's success and growth of 400%, through my partnership with you. Along with my running much of the day to day operations and you being a key factor in making the company a good investment, we have built something that continually increases in value.

At this time I would like to reiterate and renew my commitment to the company, and my undying loyalty to partnering with you.

Over the course of my relationship with the company and in working closely with you, we have made a great team and guided our employs through relocation of the corporate headquarters 6 times, 6 children permanent acquisitions, numerous temporary fish, hamsters, frogs, guinea pig and long term dogs, cats partnerships with transient team members.

Working together, we have weathered numerous fiscal storms, company infighting and hostile takeover attempts from those climbing the corporate ladder. We have celebrated our successes and mourned major corporate losses and crisis. However, our stock never dipped by one one red cent.

We have built a solid foundation for a lasting legacy to continue the growth of our empire for countless generations to come. I value my time and investment in the company more than anything else in my life. It has by far been my greatest achievement. Partnering with you, to accomplish all we have together has brought me amazing levels of satisfaction. I look forward to our continuing success through the coming years and plan to die at my desk.

All that being said, do you think you could give me a raise. *wink*

Happy Anniversary my love. Seventeen is just the beginning. I love you even more today than this date 17 years ago. That's something that I never even thought possible. Thanks for making me your CEO and building this company from the ground up with me. You really are great with start-ups and I value all that you are, have been and will be for me.

I love you now and for always,

WeaselMomma

Don't You Wish Your Wife Was As Sweet As Me?

Mr. Weasel does not like fly. He has gotten better over time, but back in the day, he was the guy white- knuckling the armrest and starting to hyperventilate because he was convinced that we were about to die.

I, being the kind, sweet, caring and devoted wife that I am, used to comfort him by rolling my eyes and comparing him in my mind to a two year old throwing a temper tantrum and holding their breath over a tootsie roll incident turned bad.. Yes, he's a lucky man.

Anyway, a few years back and by a few, I mean 13. $hit, it's been that long? Mr. Weasel and I were on a romantic long weekend getaway in search of housing in a new city that we were not thrilled to be moving to. We flew in on Thursday and home on Sunday.

We had a plan to make the flight go smoothly for both of us because when I am not traveling with children, I don't want to be bothered with tethering people to their seats. We would arrive at the airport early, take Mr. W to the bar and give him just enough booze to put him for a nap as soon as we boarded the plane.

This having been pre 9/11, the flight crews were still fun and often enjoyable company. We were on an aircraft where some of the seats sat facing other travelers. Mr. W quickly fell asleep before we even taxied. Luckily, my other seat mates proved to be a fun and social bunch and we were seated adjacent to the flight attendant, who was all about making her work day a good time.

We all had a good chuckle together as the Mr.'s adversity to flying was obvious to all in the way he gripped his armrest and talked in his sleep. By the end of the flight, we were in stitches.

When the time came for landing preparation seat backs, tray tables, you know the drill, I knew I had to wake Mr. Weasel, but I was ready to have some fun with it. I asked the flight attendant to pass me the oxygen mask that they use for the pre-flight demonstration. She laughed herself 1/2 silly and handed it to me.

"Honey! Honey! Wake up and put this on!! Quick, We're going Down!!!!!!"

He woke up alright. Screaming like a little girl. Thank God for seat belts. We were all laughing so hard that they were the only things keeping us safely secured in our seats.

Mr. Weasel still hasn't stopped cursing me over that one.

Lesson for the day: 1. Take every Chance you can to get away alone as a couple. 2.It's important to always pack your sense of humor.

Weekends in Weaselville

Mr. Weasel's crazy and hectic schedule is starting to affect his brain function. This past weekend he had an epiphany - walking across the street for a haircut every few weeks was too taxing of his time and that I should take the clippers to his head myself.

I protested with small and inconsequential details such as, I don't know how to cut hair. I may as well been trying to explain to a cranky toddler why fudgesicles aren't a good breakfast choice.

In total loss of his mental faculties, Mr. Weasel threatened that if I wouldn't do it, he was going to do the job himself. I gave in, much like a would do in the toddler/fudgesicle scenario.

Mr. Weasel removed his shirt and took a seat on a kitchen chair. I plugged in the clippers and went straight to work shaking my head the entire time. About half way through this ridiculous lapse in judgment, there were enough large clumps of hair on the floor to build 3 or 4 bionic gray squirrels.

Monkey Weasel (10) entered the kitchen and stood staring slack jawed at the improbable scene before her eyes, "Dad, is Mom shaving your head or your back?!!!!!!". Complete with outrageous and well timed amounts of laughter from 5 innocent Weasel bystanders.

Mr. W's response was a simple and succinct, "Shut up", followed up with, "BTW, WM, I need you to wax my back today too".

Yeppers, this is what life is like on weekends in Weaselville.

I Have a Really Funny Story

that I can't post, even though I really want to. In it's stead, I will tell you this one and you can know that yesterday was ripe with comic relief.

Yesterday was the Cubs home opener. Mr. Weasel shared his train ride into the city with the raucous and libation enjoying fans during the morning rush.

In Mr. Weasel's own words, "4 milfy blonds on their way to the game got on the train". Being the consummate gentleman that he is, Mr. W got up to offer these women his seat, so that they may sit together. In their gratitude, the women poured Mr. Weasel "The best Bloody Mary I ever had". Yes, he got the recipe.

The women talked amongst themselves while Mr. Weasel stood next to their seats. The conversation took a turn in which a proclamation was made, "He is such a fag!", in reference to someone who was not present and then immediately the woman turned to Mr. Weasel in apology, "No offense to you".

Only in Chicago. Well probably not, but I still got a good laugh out of the deal.

The Aroma Of Green

Mr. Weasel would surely rebuff this statement, but as far as I and the Weasels are concerned, he is King of the Fad. Not just any fad. Definitely not societal fads that we all know about, but his own personal fads. A sudden idea that becomes an obsession and a major expense. Within a few weeks time, interest is lost. Then it just becomes a storage problem.

Much like a child's need for guitar lessons or the latest video game that turns out to be lousy or Jonas Brothers Concert tickets, these are passions that will soon end up our morgue that doubles as a garage.

Some examples of this would be handmade Irish tin whistles, a concertina, his gorilla feet running shoes and I am not even cruel enough to mention his choice in drag preventing swimwear for swimming laps at the pool we do not have, just to name (or not name) a few.

The latest idea that Mr. Weasel wants to bring to life is adding composting to our daily lives. Well, not really our daily lives. It's more like my daily life, being that I am usually home many more hours than he.

Note that we are not green people, so to speak. As a baby eating, woman hating, environment destroying, conservative attitude type, I recycle more than I throw away because it's free and I have to pay for my garbage haul even though the process is not cost effective or environmentally friendly. I reuse most of what I can because it's cheaper to use what I already have. I do not litter and nor does anyone in my home. We live by common sense rules and are fairly responsible beings.

That said, I hate compost. I hate the process of composting or rather the process that I would have to endure of taking everything I would normally push down the garbage disposal and trek it through the yard to a compost bin that will stink to high heaven when you open it and gag me constantly. I do not want to wade through the snow in the middle of winter to dispose of things that I could in the kitchen, just for the sake of making something that I can (but don't) buy pre - bagged at Home Depot.

I have been given the argument that compost, done correctly, does not stink. Coming from a back round of having been near a handful of compost bins when opened and having gagged and held my breath through the local outdoor garden center compost aisle, I beg to differ. I find the aroma to be reminiscent of a back alley in Camden, with a hint of the primate house at the zoo.

Mr. Weasel's idea is that we could then use the compost to fertilize my very small and modest vegetable and flower gardens. I personally enjoy subscribing to a lifestyle where my fertilizer, like my chicken, beef, sausage, bacon, scrapple and eggs, simply come packaged from the store. I know what they are, but I don't want to ever think about the process.

Think about it. Everything that I would put into my garbage disposal, i.e. everything that I don't want to put into my trash can because it would stink up the kitchen, is what I would have to trudge across mud and snow for about 7 or 8 months of the year and have it decompose, rot and ferment for a years time before spreading it all over the ground where I would be growing food in hopes of actually eating the food.

That sure sounds like a winning plan to me. Much like hot dogs, I do not think that I would want to eat the food after having first hand knowledge and visuals of the process.

If you make your own compost and love it, I tip my hat to you. I'm just saying that making my own compost would make me green.

Fun with MD's

Mr. Weasel and I should never be allowed in public together. We simply do not know how to behave. It doesn't matter how mundane the venue, we are like immature teenagers. We are the most inappropriate people that you would ever want to invite to your house for a cocktail party(but you would want to invite us).

This brings me to yesterday. We had made a cute "his and her" Doctor appointment. MW has been seeing this doctor for a while now. I had been avoiding anything to do with doctors for a few years. Anywho....we were going together so that we could start the Chantix quit smoking program together(yeah yeah, get over it).

I need a sense of humor in a Doctor. I can't stand Mr or Mrs Clinical Can't Crack A Smile. Be a real person damnit. MW assured me that I would like this guy.

So we are sitting in the waiting room, along with Smallest Weasel(none of you offered to babysit) and the geriatric set. It was like we were hitting the early bird dinner special. We are acting goofy and stupid as usual. None of this waiting patiently and quiet nonsense. We don't believe in decorum. MW pops a jolly rancher, as provided at the front desk, into his mouth and decides to 'make a basket' with the wrapper into my cleavage. Nothin' but net! The funny part was Mr. 40 yrs past prime across the room saw the whole thing and didn't need to take his Viagra that afternoon.

Soon we are called back. We both have to do the scale thing. MW makes a comment about the unpleasant facial expression expression I made when taking that step up. After that we sit and wait in the room, making stupid juvenile comments, making our own fun.

Doctor Straightman Funny Pants comes in, gives MW the once over and he's done. My turn.
MD: "How much do you drink?
Me: How much are you offering? I paid the cover. "about a case a week."
MD: Well only one a day is recommended for women, 2 a day for men.
Me: That's sexist!
MD: Yeah it is, but it's based on body weight.
Me: So you would encourage me to gain about 200 lbs.
MD: Yes.
Me: Okay, I can do that.
MD: You do know the definition of an alcoholic...Anyone who drinks more than you do. I'll give you 2 a day, after that it starts messing with your liver and heart. But You can't save them up for Saturday and have 14. Have the 2 or lose them.
Me: this is a sick joke, where's the hidden camera? This guy thinks he's a funny man. "alrighty then".
Smallest Weasel: "I have to go potty"
MW: I'll take her.
Me: woohoo!
MW and Smallest Weasel exit.
MD: Anything you want to tell me while he's gone?
Me: I used to be a man.
MD: who nearly falls of his stool. "I'll never tell".
enter MW and Smallest Weasel
MD: I'll start you on Chantix now, so you can do this together. But I want you back in a month for the full gown treatment. He can come back in 3 months.
Me: I was just kidding about the man thing.
MD: I know, but your overdue for an entire workup.
MW: He just wants to get to know better, without me around.

So we leave and MW gets to laugh at me about the 2 beer thing.
I may just wear a prom gown to my next appointment.

P.S. Over at Jenny's Happy Life there is a fantabulous giveaway that belongs to me. Check it out and drool, but it will be mine.

What Happens In Vegas.............

I'm back and Vegas is still standing, even if I'm not.

The Wedding was great. The bride was beautiful. The people were fun and the mood festive. And we all have a few good stories for years to come to bring home with us.

Thursday night we ventured out as a group to hit the strip. Seeking some music and drinks we headed from our hotel, The Flamingo, over to Bellagio . Upon entering the "cool" lounge their, we found it was full and were sent away with the distinct impression that we were too old and not quite hip enough to hang out in this joint. But they were kind enough to direct us to "Caramel", the club on the other side of the casino floor that would be much more what we were hoping for anyway. The gentleman working the door at Caramel also sent us away. The grooms brother and the brides brother were both wearing sandals, this is a capital offense in Vegas night clubs, -not cool enough for this place either. Once again we were directed 'just across the way' to a lounge with an 80's cover band and dance floor, perfect. We enter to find that we are the youngest people in here by at least 25 years. The funny part was that we were really enjoying the band and this is where we fit in. We didn't stay for more than an hour. We couldn't at those drink prices. We were off again. This time back across the street to Margaritaville. Great band, younger crowd, more affordable(slightly). Jimmy Buffet has no hang-ups about sandals.

The next morning we all dressed and primped for the wedding. We had to search through the hotel to find the right exit where the Limo was waiting. The super stretch was supposed to be able to accommodate 12, however at 9 people we were sardined in. Our driver should not be working in a service industry. He was most unpleasant and did not seem to enjoy his chosen profession. Not even a smile and congratulations for the bride and groom. However, he did drive just fine.

The wedding went off without a hitch. Well there was one hitch, but that was the point of being there.

On the way back to the hotel the grooms brother decided that it would be a good idea to lean 1/3 of his body out the window and wave at the woman driving next to us, with a state trooper behind us. Just for the record this was not a good idea. We were given a warning in the form of a quick flash of the lights and siren. That would be enough for most people, not for this guy. A few moments later while the Trooper was passing on our left, he blew a kiss at the trooper. Not having much in the way of a sense of humor, the Limo was now pulled over. No ticket issued, but a stern warning about how going to jail would put a crimp in the day.

Luckily, the rest of the day was fun and smooth. We had dinner and cake. Some went off for naps to rest up for the night ahead. I hit the tables for a while and had a blast. Black Jack players are pretty typically a fun nice group. We had some fun and entertaining dealers and a lot of laughter. Later is was back out as a group for more music and dancing.

Saturday was definitely time for some downtime poolside. I was relaxed and feeling great. We were all having fun, watching the water volleyball game when I hit a slick spot on the pool deck. My feet came flying out from under me and I crashed full force onto the concrete flat on my back. I was given a towel an icepack and a Coors Light. I received a nasty headache and blinding pain that ended my day.

I filled out an incident report in the security offices. The take the report in the infamous 'back room'. And that is exactly what it is. A small interrogation room with a table, 2 chairs and a camera. The security officer who took the report had about as much social skill as the Limo driver, polite, but barely.

Sunday was time to head for the airport. Ibuprofen was not cutting it and I was not looking forward to a 4 hour flight in coach. Of course the flight was delayed and overbooked. Of course I am assigned the 'middle seat'. And of course the drink of the guy sitting next to me spills into my lap and I get to sit in Jack and Coke on the rocks for 3 hours.

At 1:30 a.m. I was grateful to be home in my own bed. At 7:30 a.m. I reached for more ibuprofen and am calling the doctor today for an appointment.

So to recap: I got 'backroomed' at the Flamingo and I didn't even get a lousy t-shirt.

Dinner and Dessert

We all know that the traditional gift for the 1st anniversary is paper, the 10th is diamonds, 25th is silver, and 50th is gold. But last night Hubby and I discovered that the 15th is candy. For that is what was gifted to us from the bushweasels. Gobs and gobs and gobs of candy. Enough candy that i suspect they knocked off the Easter Bunny. They must not have held up a bank, for no lollipops were involved.
It was very sweet of them, pun intended. Considering they never ever did a damn thing for our anniversary before. After we've fed and bathed them for years, the little ingrates. We were very grateful, touched and naive. This was actually a bushweasel ambush disguised as an act of loving generosity.
The gifts were numerous and painstakingly individually gift wrapped. There was a bag of carmel creams, a Hershey Bar with almonds, A 3 Musketeers, a Kit Kat, An Almond Joy, 2 Cow Tails, 2 boxes of Bertie Bott's every flavor beans, 2 packages of Gummi Slugs, a box of Andies Candies, a large box of Jelly Bellies and a pound bag of Hershey's Kissables.
When the time came, we opened our presents with delight. We were amused by the thought that went into them. At which point a small voice announces "It's for sharing!". That translates from weaselesse into "it's our candy and you can have some". I'm sure they were thinking "the suckers fell for it! What a couple of dumb asses! That was too easy, we need to a challenge next time". There was only time for laughter and no arguing because Hubby and I were running late for our night of romance.
Now on to our hot date. Hubby was tired and flustered after a busy day at work and rushing home in time to make our date. His spirits were good, but he could have used some spirits. My spirits were flying high, as I was out of the house and the kids were having frozen pizza for dinner. We arrived at the fundraiser and did the social hellos and the meet and great. Eventually finding our way to the table of regulars that we choose to call friends.
Soon the contest would begin. 12 men, some disguised as women and children, 1 hour, and pasta with meatballs in 2 lb. bowls. Gentlemen, start your gorging! The race was on who for who could stuff their pie hole the most. This was the 1st eating contest that I have ever attended. Surprisingly, it wasn't nearly as disgusting as I had imagined. Or maybe I am just too used to sitting down to a table where eating habits aren't nearly as good as they should be.
In the end, Hubby did just fine. He didn't win, not even close, but did manage to shove in 3 1/2 lbs. of pasta and 4 meatballs. The overall winner inhaled 5 lbs. 7 oz of the stuff with who knows how many meatballs. The best part was how bloated and ill the guys felt after it was over. Ha! revenge! Now you know what it feels like after eating 1/2 ounce of rice when your 9 months pregnant! Only we can't stop eating once we feel that way, the urge is too strong and the food too plentiful. Hubby even commented that had I been pregnant I could have made the winner look like a lightweight.
We went home and proceeded to bed where our evening culminated with a series of moans and groans. All coming from the other side of the bed as hubby tried to digest all that pasta.
I think this actually counts as a very romantic evening together. If you look at the facts, we had an Italian Dinner at a nice restaurant, gifts of chocolates and moaning and groaning in the bed after we returned home.
You should have it this good!

E-Harmony

Okay, so I have a friend who is a single mom. We will call her Megan. She hadn't dated at all since her divorce a few years ago. Lots of her friends, including me, encouraged her to 'get out there'. So she went to e-harmony's website and filled out the profile stuff (about an hours worth) and when she got to the dreaded screen of time to pay she froze and saved it as it was. Every time we talked (daily) she hadn't done anything more.
So one afternoon Megan came over early to hang for a while before she and I were going out to dinner. Hubby would be home to feed the kids and all was good. We could go and have a nice Mom's night out. There would be no cutting up food for other people. Spilled drinks were not a worry. A peaceful meal would soon be at hand.
But before Hubby came home, I asked her about e-harmony again. And of course nothing had changed. So I put my foot down, like any good Mom would, and said that you are doing it right now! "I didn't bring my credit card" she protested. "So you will use mine and pay me later" I replied. And so it was done.
When we went to dinner, my cell phone battery was dying. So, I left it in the car. No big deal right?
Meanwhile at home, Hubby noticing that the are quiet decides that now is the perfect time to balance our checking account online. He does so only to find an e-harmony withdraw!!!! He tries to call me and ask about this expense, but my phone is in the car! Megan and I are enjoying girl time without the kids and taking our sweet time. No need to hurry, we are not going home until the kids are in bed asleep. "Yes waiter, we'll have another round"
Hubby is at home now frantically trying to call me. I won't answer, so I must be on a date with someone I met on e-harmony. She would never do that he thinks to himself. But the evidence is right in front of him and I won't answer my phone.
Eventually, Hubby calls Megan's Phone, to check in with my alibi, and ask if I am there. Of course I am, we are still finishing a round. Hubby sighs relief. Megan passes the phone and I almost wet my pants laughing about the whole situation.
Hubby feels silly after I explain and he begins laughing with Megan and I. When I get out to the car I have 16 missed calls, and the laughter starts all over again.

Where The Green Grass Grows

Okay, so in this family, we (read I), have a twisted sense of humor. Practical jokes are an art form around here. Whoopi cushions are for amateurs. So as the story goes, you will need some background info. Hubby and I are not DIY types. In fact, we are completely incompetent at anything pertaining to home maintenance, both inside and out. However, we try, and with tips and advice from friends and neighbors, our home is still standing. Some of our neighbors are lawn gods. Luckily, they are also friendly and helpful when we have needs (probably to protect the values of their own homes).
So anyway, we had a summer of drought conditions with severe watering restrictions. We also had a service cutting the lawn, so we didn't have to. The grass was brown and dying. The lawn had a total lack of TLC as far as any type of weeding or fertilizing. Hubby was convinced that it was the fault of the lawn mowing service.
The next spring he decided to become a lawn god, because "real men mow their own lawns." He cancelled the service and bought a mower. I, being the loving wife that I am, resisted arguing that the lawn needed more care than just mowing. So while he is at work I confer with the man who has nicest lawn in town (he lives across the street) as to how to care for the lawn. Said neighbor, who I will refer to as "Bill" gave day to day, step by step instructions of what to buy, how to apply, etc.
Next thing you know our lawn is green and plush. Friends, who also happen to be neighbors , are accusing us of spray painting the lawn green (it would be much more our style). However, the same group knows that I am treating the lawn without Hubby's knowledge. Hubby comes home from work and proudly, hands on hips, to surveys the lawn each day. With great pride, he tells everyone who will listen that he is cutting his own grass. They smile (with a chuckle under their breath) and state what a good job he is doing.
In the mean time, I am exhausted. The lawn needed so much TLC that it is wearing me out, so I hire Scott's to finish out the season. The routine continues and Hubby grows prouder of his lawn and hard work by the day. I just keep telling him how awesome his mad lawn skills are. All those in on the joke keep complimenting him during his nightly surveys. This persists for about 3 months.
At this point, I get busted due to my own stupidity. One night he came home from work, started to survey his masterpiece, and spotted the lawn stake left by Scott's that day. I, because of thoughtlessness, or laziness, or whatever didn't notice it and hence, didn't remove it. Stupid! It had all been going so well. I had been laughing to myself all summer. Now the fun was over. He was ticked, but only for a few days, before he started laughing too. The next year he hired Scott's again. And so it goes on.

All Because Two People Fell in Love

Today marks the 15th Anniversary of the day I should have been declared 'mentally incompetent'. Of course, I jest. But it is our wedding anniversary and hence the anniversary of when this insanity that is my current life started. It's kinda neat that I can track down to the day and hour we jumped off that cliff, caution to the wind, to start our life together into the unknown abyss of marriage and family. Of course we knew it all and had all all the answers (what a couple of morons!). Life proved to us that we didn't know anything, yet we managed to scuttle through to this point anyway and it's proven to be a hell of a fun ride. Better than anything Disney or Universal engineers could come up with. The drops are deeper and scarier than anything 'the happiest place on earth' would dare to put in their park. And the laughs and good times are better than any comedy show could come up with.
In 15 years we have managed to live in 3 different sates ( once we get x amount of parking tickets we are politely asked to leave), 5 different apartments, 2 different homes, 2 dogs, 5 cats, numerous hamsters(more on that later) , 3 toads and 6 bushweasels.
But anyway, back to the title of this post. I have a decorative sign hanging above the cabinets in the kitchen that states "All Because Two People Fell in Love". When I saw this at the Bed, Bath and Beyond I started to howl with laughter in the isle of the store. My children were mortified, but that is part of the joys of parenthood. The sign was perfect! It was sweet and sentimental, but also tongue in cheek. On the best days I can point to that sign as a symbol of the love in our home. On the days that life and or the children are out of control I can point to that sign and laugh out loud knowing the root cause of the insanity.
But today I can look at that sign in both lights. As 3 bushweasels and 1 weasel friend are snoring and drooling in my living room after a sleep over with a late night, a house that is trashed from all the fun they had and 3 cats extremely suspicious of an overly friendly dog (who is also a house guest,and was supposed to go home a week ago, more on that later) and the smallest bushweasel (4 years) who wants to make them all best friends.
Hubby went to work early, in order to come home early and celebrate our anniversary in style. Tonight should prove to be a special night of romance, as we've made special plans. To celebrate 15 years of marital bliss we will be attending a fundraiser for Sudden Infant Death Services of Illinois, to raise money for a worthy cause by Hubby participating in a spaghetti eating contest! Italian dinners are romantic, right? If you would like to donate at any time see their website, www.sidsillinois.org .
All in all, life is grand and after 15 years I couldn't imagine any other life that would have been better. Life without the weasels or Hubby to do this with me doesn't sound like anything better than the Dumbo ride at Disney.

That's When I Knew I Was Sunk.

Way back when the eldest was two, things were a lot different. There were no laptops at our house. For that matter, there wasn't an X-Box, a DVD player, or even meat. There weren't any extras. We struggled like most young couples do. The one prized possession that I did have was an expensive lipstick ($25, I think). It was a gift from a sweet lady that I used to work for. Way more than I would pay for a lipstick, even today.
Well anyway, at the time, Hubby was out of work. So we switched roles, and I went out to work at a miserable job (when I say miserable I actually mean "sin dipped in misery"), and he stayed home with our toddler. All seemed to be going smooth enough when I wasn't at home. For a few days, I actually thought Hubby was competent at this parenting thing. Then I woke up.
I came home after my shift at the Gates of Hell and low and behold Hubby is watching Barney all by himself. "Where's your daughter?" I ask. His answer is a stare as empty as my bank account. I wander through our small apartment and discover our eldest in the bathroom (note, she wasn't potty trained yet) with an empty tube of the prized lipstick, the former contents covering the counter, mirror, bathtub, walls, carpeting (yes, carpet in the bathroom of this apartment. I told you we were struggling!!!), cabinets and her face and ears. This was the angriest I had been at her up to this point in her short life (as the years passed, that would change). I then exited the bathroom to get a grip on myself, at which point loving, caring, sweet Hubby steps up and says "You go relax, I'll handle this" with all the righteous fury of a disciplinary dad. I (the fool) was relieved that he would take care of it as I could have hurt that child (yeah, it's just a lipstick, but it was my one thing!).
From the living room, a mere 7 steps away, I hear "Young lady, what do you think your doing?" with Dad-style force. I am confident that Said Child will be scrubbing with a toothbrush at the hardened age of two. I'm thinking, "You go, Hubby!!!." The scene did not play out as I had imagined. I turn to look and see a reddish-brown wax-covered toddler approach Hubby, arms extended, with her pouty lips and big blue-green eyes, professing "I wuv you, Daddy." Hubby then takes her into his arms, sapping "It's okay Princess, I love you too." What a sucker!
That was the moment I knew I was sunk! Discipline was gonna be a Mom thing. Dad's a pushover.
The bushweasels can smell weakness like dogs smell fear. They prey on it every time Mom's not home. That's why when Hubby found another job, I never left the house for work again.