The Weasels Have Worms

The Weather is Weaselville this past weekend was simply gorgeous. Taking advantage of the fact that I just received a round of cortisone shots and being pain free, plus the fantabulous sunshine, we decided to get some much needed yard work done.

The flower gardens needed to be cleared of all the mucky winter buildup and needed a fresh layer of mulch. The Obstacle Course garage needed to be cleaned out and reorganized to avoid being a fire hazard and the itty bitty little vegetable garden in the backyard needed to be cleaned out, expanded and upgraded to a raised bed platform. A trip to the local DIY garden center and way too much money later and it was time to get started.

I enlisted the help of the Weasels with some of the weeding, while I pruned back and trimmed the overgrowth. Boy Weasel was put in charge of cleaning out and reorganizing the garage.

This all sounds very Suburban Storybook like, but it actually went more like this:

"Get back here and stop playing with the dog!"
"Mom, can I have a Popsicle? I'm hot." (after 23.4 seconds of work)
"Look Mom, I found my old frog tanks in the garage. Can I get a new pet?"

Throw in the neighbor kids popping in and out and Weasels disappearing to go play. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. It took all day, but it felt good to be outside and by dinner time the front yard and the garage were finished.

Sunday morning was the start of the heavy work. Cleaning out the vegetable garden and working to relocate the strawberries that had taken everything over. I worked to till up the soil with a spade while the Weasels were tasked to dig through the soil and clean it of any grass, rocks and weeds. In reality, the Weasels played in the dirt while competing to see who could find the biggest worms and give them all names like Jim Bob, Big Jim, Little Jim and Jimmy Tim.

"Mom, Can we have some dirt and worms for pets? We already have tanks in the garage!".

Weaselville definitely marches to the beat of a different drummer. I'm not opposed to any pet, as long as A) They don't cost me money to feed or house. B) I don't have to be their caretaker. I did the math in my head. Worms in tanks in their bedrooms are no skin off my back. Their low maintenance. They eat dirt, don't smell, bark or do anything, really. They would also work as a great incentive to get the job at hand done.

"Yes, you can. *If* you help me get this done quickly, you can get the tanks and take some dirt and worms".

After 2 hours of back breaking, ground breaking and hand tilling, Mr. Weasel appears in the backyard with the weed wacker, beautifully fitted with a roto-tiller attachment. He came in and cut through the soil like a high powered Ginsu knife. In about 2 minutes time the soil was soft and ready. I just shook my head and wondered aloud "Where the heck were you 2 hours ago?".

Just as that thought crossed my lips, Boy Weasel and Monkey Weasel return to the excavation site, their arms filled with clean and empty tanks and their hearts ready to welcome all of the Jims I did set a limit of 5 each into our home as dearly loved companions from the soil bed that Mr. Weasel just sliced and diced through, with what turned out to be a food processor for worms and dirt.

The light bulb went off in my head and Mr. Weasel's simultaneously. We shared a telepathic look of mutual recognition before I burst out laughing at the dark humor and realization that the garden bed was now full of worm puree.

Luckily, for the Weasels, they were still able to save a handful of Jims from their brutally harsh captors and they are now living within the safe confines of the Weasel bedrooms, eating dirt. So, yes the Weasels have worms.

We Need To Talk

You know I love you and the special time that we get to spend alone together. I cherish your company and affections, but when I am tired and heading off to bed, I am ready for sleep.

This is not the time to start fooling around. I am at the end of my day and usually exhausted. When you follow behind me and playfully plant yourself onto my side of the bed, with that come hither look in your eyes while I am getting changed, I just get annoyed. I'm not in the mood.

When I climb into bed and you start pawing all over me, you really test my patience. You ignore me all through the day, when I have the energy to offer myself and my time to you. You are never around when I'm ready to spend time with you.

I don't find it nearly as endearing or cute as you do when you stick your butt in my face or start rubbing yourself all over me. It's not attractive. Really.

Not only does NO mean No, but 'leave me alone' and 'get away from me' should be pretty clear cut instructions. I am not your plaything. Don't expect me to be welcoming of your advances when I am tired. Let me rest.

Don't get me wrong. I still love you, but if you continue to torture me at the end of the day, you will find yourself out in the dog house.

Dad Would Be Jealous

Growing up we always had dogs. Dad was a lover of good dogs and by good he meant large, personality filled and well behaved. He was a big fan of the run of the mill, grungy mutt. A punt-able pure breed was nothing more than a glorified cat in his mind and Dad was not a fan of cats, much like Mom wasn't much a fan of pets of any species, with the exception of rock.

The dogs were always Dads responsibility and companions. He enjoyed their companionship and personalities, trained them well and loved them very much, but was never a doggy-daddy. He always looked on them as a dog. A loving pet that had a place in the family, but not that of human.

There was the occasional dog of a friend or neighbor, that he would have admiration and affection for, as long as they were big, well behaved and had strong personality (see above).

I have always had a natural affection for dogs and I inherited Dads penchant for enjoying big dogs. As a matter of fact, my dog affections are almost exclusively reserved for medium to large breed dogs. The one exception being a sweet little rag-mop, belonging to this lady, who had enough personality to win me over and help start a beautiful friendship.

I actually seem to have inherited many of my Dads traits, from my love and defense of cheap beer to my early morning rising and enjoyment of peace, quiet and coffee at obscene hours of the morning. As I sit in the quiet, alone with my thoughts, my trusty laptop and my dog, my mind wanders back to thoughts of my Dad. I think of how much I miss him and how much I truly enjoyed him. I think of how his relationship with his grandchildren would have been and I think about how I believe that Matilda The Hun would receive his stamp of approval.
Matilda is big and strong, relatively well behaved, loyal and loving and has a personality all of her own. She is clumsy, clunky and awkward. She is playful at times, but often resembles a bump on a log. She's incredibly smart, but has earned the nickname 'dummy', Ultra friendly to every man, beast or child as balanced with becoming protective of her family.

Not only do I think that Dad would approve and enjoy her, I think he would even be a little bit jealous.

Happy Fatherhood Friday! I encourage you to visit Dad-Blogs and click the FF links to get some great reading material on everything Fatherhood.

Fairy Godmother Wanted

Happy Friday! It's been a long week, but now that we have made it, treat yourself to a healthy dose of Suburban Wow this morning at 10 edt/9 cdt/ 7 pacific. Here's the cheat link.

It's also Fatherhood Friday at Dad-Blogs, so click on over there (when you are finished here, of course) for some great postings on everything parenthood.

With the week that I've had around here, it's best that I offer you a post in the form of FatherHood Friday Fragments, because my brain has been sucked dry from well, parenthood. Go visit Mrs 4444 for some more awesome nuggets.

• Last weekend Eldest Weasel's Cross Country team competed extremely well in their Regional Meet (so well that I had to celebrate 4444's style) and thus this Saturday, yes- on Halloween, are moving onto the Sectional Meet. Next stop, State!
• Saturday is Halloween and as of yet I don't have any costumes ready or planned out for the Weasels nor am I properly stocked for trick or treat.
• I will earn my Mother of the Year award on Saturday when I will cheer Eldest Weasel and her team mates on, get pumpkins carved, candy bought, costumes put together and adorned on Weasels, prepare for dinner and have everything go off smoothly and swimmingly. Now I just have to find my magic wand.
• I am used to being asked "you lip too?" every time I get my eyebrows waxed, but now to have "you toes too?" added to the list hits below the belt.
  
• Dog Weasel is almost finished with puppy class and doing very well. She's smart and catches on fast. I wonder if I could teach her to carve the pumpkins. Nah, poor thing doesn't have any thumbs.
• May Snowball the hamster rest in peace. He passed away this past Wednesday and funeral services will be held in about 30 minutes, as soon as I hear the trash truck coming. I better get a fresh cup of coffee ready.
• The other night Boy Weasel (13) sat down to talk to me. Mid conversation he had a eureka moment and stated "Mom, I always feel so much smarter when I am near you". Translate that one however you wish.
  

Well that's all for now, I have to go take the trash out prepare for our daybreak memorial service.

Root For The Underdog

Happy Friday Everyone! Welcome back for another edition of Fatherhood Friday brought to you by the good folks of Dad Blogs. For some great reading on every topic Dad and Family related click on over.

*Don't forget ~ Today is the launch of Suburban Wow on Weather Kim TV. Click on over to see Melisa and I host the pilot episode of our very own talk show. Hilarity is sure to ensue @ 10am EDT/ 9am Central/ 8am Mountain and 7am Pacific ~ all simultaneously.*

You may remember reading *this post* in that I mentioned we were going adopt 3 legged hamster from a friend who wound up with an unexpected litter. Well, the Mom called me the other day to say that they were now big enough to leave their mother and could be picked up. While on the phone the mom mentioned that she saw the word sucker tattooed on my forehead that they had recently noticed the runt of the litter is paralyzed in it's 2 back legs. Poor little dude gets around just fine by dragging them behind him. "I know you have a soft spot for runts and underdogs. Would you consider adopting them both?". Maybe this is why I root for the Cleveland Indians.

Needless to say I am an idiot I couldn't bring myself to say no to this incredibly cute, albeit pathetic little rodent. We grabbed the supplies that we needed at the pet store (no real need for extra hamster wheels) and picked up the two newest rodent additions to Weaselville, Tenderfoot (missing a paw) and Gimpy (paralyzed in the back legs).

I must say that both little dudes (or dudettes, I can't tell) are really cute, sweet and gentle. They get around extremely well even with their disabilities ~it's really most impressive. The Weasels love them and are extremely kind and gentle with them. Even Smallest Weasel, in all of her 5 year old glory, holds and cares for them in a most loving way.

All of the Weasels do have a soft spot for any and all creatures, especially the less fortunate. It makes me a proud Mom to see the caring, love and compassion they have for those who are unable to care for themselves or those who are in need of a little extra help.

I also love that they are seeing these 2 little gimps getting around and climbing and doing without letting their handicaps slow them down one iota. I think they are learning some great lessons.

Bedding, Rodents and Fairies

It's 3 am. Do you know where my sheets are? Go ahead. take a guess.

My sheets are on the floor in the laundry room. I know. I know. You are all thinking "WeaselMomma, we know that you are an odd bird, but isn't that a rather strange place to keep your sheets at 3am?"

To that I say, "Not if they're wet".

You say, "but wouldn't you put them in the washing machine and not on the floor?"

And I say, "Not if the washer is full of Boy Weasels dirty clothes and detergent, but I forgot to actually turn it on last night".

And you say, "WeaselMomma, how/why did you wet the bed?".

And I say, "I didn't wet the bed. Smallest Weasel wet my bed".

And you say, "but doesn't Smallest Weasel have her own bed? and hasn't she been potty trained? She's is 5 years old ya know. Why would you let a 5 year old stealth bed wetter sleep in your bed?".

And I say, "but I didn't. Stealth bed wetter is also stealth sneak into Mom and Dad's bed in the middle of the night girl".

And then I say "Did you just call my kid a bed wetter? 'Cause she's not a bed wetter or at least not a serial bed wetter. Accidents happen. Like that one night, back in college.......oh nevermind.

And you say, "WeaselMomma, why are you so cranky this morning? Yeah, it's early, but you always get up stupid early, so what gives?"

And I say "because last night in the first time in like, forever, I stayed up until about 11pm reading a book that I won at June Clever Nirvana called "The Fey" by Claudia Hall Christian that had been signed and personalized for me".

And then I think to myself, but do not say out loud, because Mr. Weasel doesn't know yet about my decision to adopt a baby dwarf hamster who was born with only 3 paws in a surprise litter at a friends house, *side note* Honey, if you are reading this, know that I love you.

Oh, and I just realized that today marks the 1st Birthday of World of Weasels. I guess you call it a blogoversary. I was going to make a cake for all of you, but I decided to wash my sheets instead.

Visit Dad-Blogs for Fatherhood Friday and some fantastic postings that are more coherent than this.

Dream A Little Dream With Me

It's Friday and we all know what that means, Fatherhood Friday over on Dad-Bogs. So if you would like to read something of quality instead of the drivel I am posting here today head over there and click some links for fabulous reading.

I know that we all dream every time that we sleep, but it is not very often that I manage to remember any of my dreams. This morning however, that is not the case.

Last night (actually present night, as it is only 4am) I had the oddest dream and I remember it. I dreamed that we had an icky yucky filthy little mouse burrow it's way into the house and had built a nest under the oven, sustained on cat food stolen from the cats dish. It scurried out of it's hiding place while I was sweeping and talking to Mr. Weasel. I freaked out by screaming and jumping up the counter tops and chairs in stereotypical cartoon-ish caricature form.

Now I know many of you and saying to yourselves wussy "What's so strange about that?" or "I be grabbing hold of the ceiling too". The strange part is that I was petrified of a field mouse.

Come on now. We are the Weasels. We keep rodents as pets. We have had countless hamsters and a couple of mice - as pets! We currently have a guinea pig, hamster, 3 toads and 3 cats. I am constantly foiling the cats plots to eat the other pets. I hold and pet the little glorified rats. I actually feel affection for the little disease carrying pests. I have a special place in my heart for these rodents. Go figure.

That is, the ones that I have stupidly paid for and housed by choice. Sure, I would quickly dispose of any uninvited house guests. I would have no qualms about snapping their little necks in a trap ridding them from my home, but I wouldn't or shouldn't fear them like the maid in old Tom and Jerry cartoons.

So folks, have fun. Analyze the heck out of this and tell me your theories about this doozy of a contradiction.

Dear Old Dad

Reading this, written by the beautiful, tiara wearing Melisa, reminded me of a childhood memory involving Dear Old Dad.

When I was a kid, we had a dog named Bugs. He was an ugly as sin, medium sized mutt from the SPCA. Aptly named because he looked like the kind of dog that lived under a porch and had, well bugs. Not your average pet by any means. Bugs was exceptionally smart, highly protective of us kids and took his roll as protector very seriously, but never saw himself as a pet or a house dog. He had his own social life and to do list for the day, but always managed to keep tabs on the family.

He actually had his own crowd that he ran around with in a pack of sorts. I kid you not. Every morning, some neighborhood pooches would start to gather and wait across the street from our house. No owners. No leashes, but a definite agenda. Bugs would wait patiently for his moment of opportunity and the second someone opened the door for anything, he would escape. The pack would wait for Bugs and then all take off for the day to run around the neighborhood. Over the years, we figured out of few of their daily stops. A regular favorite was the back door of a local diner, where the cook would feed them some leftover scraps. The last stop of the day for Bugs would be to show up as my Dad was getting out of work and into the car. Then he would follow the car home and be in for the night.

There would often be complaints and mothers up in arms, as the pack found themselves getting into constant trouble for picking on someones pedigree dog (really, they hated a pedigree), chasing someones cat or my favorite, hunting and catching pigeons in front of small children (they really got a kick out this ~ the dogs, not the kids).

Every once in a while Bugs would get picked up by the dog catcher. Probably just so his buds could get away clean. This unnerved Dad. It was $25.00 to spring him. Dad loved Bugs, but didn't believe in putting out money that he didn't have, especially for a dog. A dog that we couldn't keep in the house no matter what amount of effort was made.

Bugs was becoming a regular in the slammer. The people at animal control were never pleasant when bond was being posted for him. Dad would have to drive a 1/2 hour, fight parking and in his mind waste another $25.00, 3 of his least favorite things to do on his day off.

One Saturday, I woke up to Dad emptying the penny bucket onto the kitchen table. I asked what he was doing as he counted it out in piles. "I'm going to spring Bugs, he was caught again". "with pennies?" I had to ask, "yup" was Dad's reply.

It wasn't that Dad didn't have cash to use, he was just aggravated. If he had to drive to the dog pound and deal with less than friendly desk workers and pay the fine, he was going to make sure that it wasn't pleasant for them either. So he counted out $25.00 in pennies (not rolled either), bagged it up and headed to pick up his dog.

He was greeted with the same level of deference and disapproval as ever. He put his bag on the counter and stated "here it is". Mr. 'I hate you and your dogs guts' said he couldn't accept it, "it's pennies". Dad informed him that it was indeed U.S. currency and that he had to accept it". He wasn't taking no for and answer. Counter dude starting counting the money. It took a while and when finished counting, looked to Dad with a nasty smirk "you're 22 cents short". Dad, having known this and having stashed that last 22 cents in his pocket, answered back "count it again". Deflated, Counter Dude said that he would just put the rest in himself.

Dad retrieved Bugs and headed home, maintaining a little spring in his step for the rest of the day.

As an aside, if you haven't *read this* yet, go do it. NukeDad has Flat WeaselMomma on the lamb and she's had to leave the country.

The Cat Whisperer

Amidst our menagerie of pets exists a cat named Smores. She is a cute, but strange little fur ball. A beautiful and timid calico, she came to us as an abandoned runt. So small I used to keep her cuddled up in the pocket of sweatshirt. She seemed to enjoy the cozy warmth and protection. So small that we would not let her walk the floors freely for fear of her getting stepped on. We would lift her into the food dish and the litter box, for she would never be able to get there own her own. She received more TLC than is natural, which brings me to her strange behavior.

Smores lives in fear of us. She is even fearful of the hamsters. You would swear that she is regularly mistreated and suffering abuse. She slinks around the house secret agent style. Always taking the long way through a room by sticking to the walls and using the furniture for cover. Either she has had Army Scout training or seen the GodFather too many times. Avoiding all contact with humans and the other 2 cats, with one exception.

That exception would be Monkey Weasel. Also a runt in her own right. Quiet and gentle in personality, she and Smores have some kind of super natural connection. Smores never lets Monkey Weasel out of sight. When she's at school, smores will pout all day in Monkey's bed. While this cat will run in terror and hide if someone walks across the room, she will jump into Monkey's lap and cuddle for hours. When Monkey takes a shower, Smores will whine outside the bathroom door. Smores sleeps in Monkey's bed and rarely leaves her side.

Where this gets stranger is that they 'talk' to each other. Smores will "Meow, Meow" and Monkey will "Meow, Meow" back, but they actually seem to communicate. We can ask Monkey to tell Smores to hop up onto the couch, or go get some food, or head upstairs for a nap. Monkey will "meow meow meow meow meow" and lo and behold the cat does it! Monkey always seems to understand what Smores is saying too.

We often ask Monkey Weasel what she said to the cat or how she knows how to speak 'cat' and her response is always, "I don't know, I just meowed". And when Monkey meows you would really think the sound is coming from a cat. The other cats aren't responsive to this, only Smores. They seem to have some kind of telepathy. And even though Smores hides from the rest of us with the skill of the French Resistance, she and Monkey are the best of friends. Some how or another they just get each other.

All Creatures Great And Small

We have quite a menagerie of pets around here. Or rather I should say, The Weasel's have pets of their own. There are caged rodents, 3 cats and 3 toads at the moment. We did manage to get the transient dog back to his owner after about a month and a half. This wasn't planned, it just sort of happened. Most likely due to the fact that Mr. Weasel and I are stupid suckers.

Last year around this time, we thought it prudent to give Middle Weasel a hamster for her birthday if she managed to show responsibility by keeping her fire hazard bedroom clean. She's a bit high of a high strung drama queen, who has an unreasonable aversion to neatness. She could use the responsibility of caring for another life to keep her focused and grounded. Glorified rat #1 enters the house.

A few months later came Monkey Weasel's birthday. Of course she asks to get a hamster too. We weigh this. She's old enough, responsible enough and needs a good reason to clean her slightly less than a war torn area bedroom. We welcome yet another varmint into our home willingly.

All is good. This is working. Bedrooms are kept to a functional standard, vermin are well cared for by the Weasels(a close cousin of the hamsters). WeaselMomma only has to help out when total cage overhaul is needed.

Fast forward a few months. It's around 8 pm. We are trying to get Younger Weasels tucked in for the night. Brush teeth, change into pajamas, kiss goodnight, and try to pre-empt nightly stalling tactics, especially from drama queen Middle Weasel. Just as all is going according to plan, said Weasel comes running to me panic mode(nothing new here). "Midnight is dead!!!!! He isn't moving!". "Calm down, he's probably just sleeping(thinking, what-ever, just go to bed). Mr Weasel, would you go check on Midnight?".

"Yup, he's dead." Comes the official Daddy confirmation. At this point I have to go check for myself as hysterics have all Weasels out of bed and sobbing like they had just filled up the tank on an SUV. "No wait, I just saw him move, look!" I say, and sure enough he was alive.......albeit barely. We wrapped him for warmth in a wash cloth and tried to give him water from a dropper(come on what else could we do for him. I am not taking a $7 hamster to the $80 vet.) and watched him die in my hands. His official burial was held that Friday, coincidentally trash day in these parts.

About a week later, after completely disinfecting all of his hamster belongings we brought another rodent home from the pet store. This poor thing didn't even live through the 2 week warranty period. I guess this is why they reproduce in such large numbers.

Hamster #2 seems to be thriving just fine, so what's the deal? Maybe the 3rd times the charm.
I take Middle Weasel complete with warranty papers and cardboard coffin back to the pet store. We find an agreeable rodent(did I just say that?) and off we go home. It's bitter cold outside and I am protecting this thing with all I can. I wrap him(in his box) into my coat and drive home this way. Mr Weasel has the cage decontaminated and ready at home.

We enter the house and set box with rodent#4 on the counter. We decide to give him 5 minutes of non motion before we transplant him to his new home. The Weasels are chomping at the bit to look at him. It takes all of our threatening energy to keep them from disturbing precious box. Weasels are complaining "we can't hear him, he's not moving!". "he's probably just sleeping(where have we heard that before?). I am a little anxious, but am sure I'm just paranoid at this point. I force myself to wait until we are ready to do the transfer.

Finally, it's now time. I open the box with 12 eyes watching, and I swallow my tongue as the critter in in the corner not moving. Shit! is the only thought that goes through my head. Externally I remain composed. I make eye contact with Mr. Weasel who telepathically tells me that he shares my same sentiment. I reach my hand into the box to pick up the corpse when he lifts his head and starts to scurry. He was just sleeping!

Till this day, he and rodent #2 are thriving just fine. I have to shake my head at how hard we work to keep rodents healthy in our home when everyone else I know would be calling pest control.

We Should Install A Revolving Door

Our house is always chaos. But it is usually organized chaos. At least to some degree organized. With 5 kids and 2 pseudo-adults living here full time, that's really the best you could hope for. We also have managed to acquire a menagerie of pets. Two hamsters, three fire bellied toads, three cats and a housefly named 'Frankie'. All of the pets have proven themselves to be pretty useless but also fairly harmless.
At current we also have a dog as a house guest. A week and half ago a friend needed dog sitting for 3 days. She is still eating meals here and relieving herself in my yard. But we really don't mind. I will get a lot of of good blog posts out of the deal.
Now it's summertime and school's out. This is a great thing. I not only enjoy spending time with my kids, but summer is a lot easier than the school year. There are no lunches to make (it's survival of the fittest. If you can't find the pantry by now you'll never survive life in the real world), no homework to do and best of all a much more relaxed schedule. Thanks to this schedule I get my best summer perk of all. I can say 'YES'. Yes, your friend can come play, yes you can go play, yes you can have your friend sleep over. This pleases me. During the school year I am the Nazi Mom. No, no, no, do your homework, eat your dinner, no time to play, get in the car we are late for....insert sport here. Eat your breakfast, where's your papers, brush your teeth, don't use your toothbrush on the cat.......IT"S TIME TO GO!!!!!!!!
The downside to this summer free-for- all is that it's a free-for-all. Our home is constantly full of transients and could be confused for a homeless shelter. Complete with soup kitchen style meals. Trying to keep track of who's in, who's out, who's eating where and who is this kid eating out of the cats' dish.
When a neighbor can't find their child, they don't call 911 or the FBI, they call my house. It is now 8:30 am on a Saturday and surprisingly I am only stepping over 1 extra transient in the living room. By this afternoon, this place will look like we are having a frat party Animal House style. Very often Hubby (mister weasel himself) will be helping to serve a meal, tie shoes etc. When he makes eye contact with a child he suddenly realizes is not his own. "Who are you? What are you doing in my home? Did you pay the cover charge?"
I would actually make a fortune if I put a popsicle vending machine in my garage, or save a fortune if I put a padlock on my freezer. Putting in a revolving would also be money saving and how much fun would it be to let the dog out.