Zombie Accents

Last night at the dinner table, the inmates officially took over the asylum. The coup came in the form of the Weasels realizing that ganging up on mom is a great team building exercise. After having lived with me their entire lives, the discovery came to light for them that I have an accent.

It's true. I am an east coast girl living in the midwest. I have an accent. I just don't understand how they have only noticed this now or how suddenly it has become hysterically funny to them every time I speak. "Please pass out napkins" had them rolling in the aisles. They found it gut busting to hear me say such names as Erin (I say Erin, they say Aaron) and Hannah (I didn't understand the comedy here). I could not even say "Okay, just finish eating" without a roar of laughter. I'm thinking someone slipped them silly pills or they have been hanging out with Pooh Bear.

I had completely lost control of the room and just had to give up and walk away. Let's just hope that the joke gets old today.

Another quirk of speech around Weaselville is what seems to be an all out ban on adverbs. This makes me nuts. It's a midwest thing. "my clothes need washed" is like fingernails on a chalk board to me. "No, they need To Be washed" is always my response. I tell them constantly that adverbs are free and that they can use as many as are needed, like unlimited texting. Boy Weasel informed me that adverbs are spotlight stealers and that he refuses to give them any extra publicity. This is the kind of thing I live with daily.

On a positive note, somebody appreciates me. Oscar, of the friendliest cyber bar I know ~ Oscar's Tavern, has given me an award and I'm going to accept it as a compliment ~ No matter what you say.

“The blogger who receives this award believes in the Tao of the zombie chicken - excellence, grace and persistence in all situations, even in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. These amazing bloggers regularly produce content so remarkable that their readers would brave a raving pack of zombie chickens just to be able to read their inspiring words. As a recipient of this world-renowned award, you now have the task of passing it on to at least 5 other worthy bloggers. Do not risk the wrath of the zombie chickens by choosing unwisely or not choosing at all.”

I am not one to take any chances at angering zombie chickens, so I am going to pass this one like a hot potato. Congrats to the following bloggers of note.

Being Michael's Daddy

Life of a New Dad

Surprised Mom

Seashore Subjects

I Need a Martini Mom

All of these bloggers are real and raw, mostly funny but honest and straight forward. Great reads that I enjoy daily. The list is also not all encompassing. I wish that I could choose more than 5. See my blogroll for other deserving blogs.

The Pitter Patter of Little Burglars

From the age of 8, Cal Ripken Jr. knew that sports was going to be his calling. Ron Howard threw his life into film making at age 5. Tiger Woods found himself passionate about the links at age 4. Arianna Huffington has been whining since early childhood. John and Matthew Farrer may have a promising future ahead of them indeed.

Toddlers Ransack Neighbor's House

That is the headline at Parentdish.com. These two enterprising toddlers managed to slip quietly out of their parents home and break into a neighbors house. The boys immediately sought out the items that toddlers place the highest value on, Teddy Grahms. These boys worked their way through the home quickly and quietly, as not to disturb the sleeping resident and moved onto toys and bunk beds. All the while evading the police and their parents who were searching frantically for them.

These kids are naturals! If they play their cards right and skip college in favor of lock smithing school, so many doors could open up for them.

Just think of the possibilities. With enough experience in breaking and entering they could open a security consulting firm. After all, who knows how to stop a thief better than professionals in the industry. They could even land their own reality T.V. gig.

In this case, I actually feel for the parents. Anyone who has ever raised a toddler knows that this could happen to anyone. Heck, I snuck out during my nap at age 2 and was brought home by a neighbor before my mom knew I was gone. My own kids have slipped into neighbors yards to play. Toddlers could give the Secret Service the slip if they are determined.

The aspect of this story that makes me laugh the most, and tells me that these kids have greatness within, is that the police were canvassing the neighborhood and didn't realize that a B&E was taking place right next door to where the search had started.

So as much as I agree New Dad Adam that speculating about future careers of the very young based on common traits is usually asinine. There is always the exception when true greatness shines at an early age. Good Luck Matthew and John.

Out To Lunch

It was a pretty busy weekend here in Weaselville. So much to be done and so little time. The weather was volatile with off and on torrential rains and temperatures fluctuating 30 degrees within hours. It was impossible to get the yard work accomplished that we had planned, so food shopping was the next doable thing on the list.

Recently, a members only warehouse store has opened up nearby and we decided to check it out after church. We piled all of the Weasels into the van and headed out.

Yes, this is insane.

Mr. Weasel has a propensity to be overzealous when shopping in bulk. I am more conservative when it comes to purchases and it usually takes as much energy to follow him around the store keeping him in check as trying to keep a toddler from touching everything they pass by.

Now top that off with 5 Weasels who would like to buy one of everything and all pulling in separate directions and I am busier that a 3 legged dog trying to bury a bone. Just to throw a cherry on top, it was free sample day! There is nothing that the Weasels like better than free food sampling while grocery shopping.

There were food samples all over the place. The Weasels ran from station to station as if they were trick or treating. All going in different directions and reporting back to each other where the best offerings were. Buttered toast was a big hit, along with cantaloupe and fresh baked muffins. There were Chicken nuggets, wheat pasta, pasta salad and let's not forget the Jelly Bellies and oatmeal cookies for dessert.

It was like the poor man's buffet and the Weasels looked as if they hadn't had any food for a week. While I was busy trying to keep them herded in one general area, Mr. Weasel was on the loose with the shopping cart.

By the time we were ready to check out, I was done. Finished. Kaput. Mr. Weasel had had a field day filling our cart, with help from his minions, of things I wouldn't have bought and some that I would have. We were all stocked on food for a week and when asked "when are we going to eat?". Are they kidding? My answer, "We just took you out to lunch!".

And just think, if that qualifies as going out to eat, next week I can take them to the pet store and call it a trip to the poor man's zoo.

And In This Corner....

The other night, just as I a had put the youngest Weasels to bed and started contemplating settling in myself, the phone rings. It's Mr. Weasel. He's on his way home with Eldest, who after completing her track meet wants to go swimsuit shopping. He asks that I put on shoes and grab Middle Weasel and he will pick us up in 3 minutes time.

I can't tell you the thoughts that went through my head. Really. I can't tell you. They were swirling violently in a funnel cloud of dread and anger and fatigue.

I have been strategically avoiding this shopping trip over the past month or so. I know that no good will come of it. I know that it will only cause anger and tears. I know they may wind up coming from me. Going shopping for any form of attire for a teen and a tween is an exercise in patience. Going swimsuit shopping with them is sheer torture. There will be no agreement. There will be no middle ground or compromise options. There will only be that throbbing vein in your temple and arguing.

In order to help fortify my position of what is appropriate for my daughters to wear at the pool, Mr. Weasel came along to share in the joy. He has never in 15 years of parenthood been a part of this yearly ritual. It has always been my job. However, the older the girls get, the more interest he has vested in it.

So we head out and hit the swimsuit departments, in girls and juniors. Both of these lovely daughters have had there hearts set on little 2 piece numbers. This is where the pain begins, for most of those are a bit too revealing. Yet, they each try a few on. I insisted that they must model each suit that they try on for Mr. Weasel. This way I can stand back and be a spectator to the knock down drag out that is about to ensue.

Yeah, I set the Mr. up. He did not realize how big the blast would be from the landmine he just stepped on. I had taken cover, and not even yelled 'fire in the hole'. Eldest came out of the dressing room, wearing what we had hoped would a medium coverage bikini. It wasn't. She loved it because she looked like she could pose for the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition. Mr. Weasel, on the other hand started to feel chest pain that shot down his left arm. Ding, Ding, Round 1! I wanted to have Middle Weasel model her choices around the dressing room holding the sign that marks the round #.

Round 2, Mr. Weasel heads back toward the racks and makes a few choices for Eldest to try on. I believe he headed for the Seniors department. He came back with a few tents that would alleviate any need for sun screen. Eldest was not amused.

Meanwhile, after having her first 3 options vetoed, I take Middle Weasel back to the girls department for some alternate selections. Mostly I did this to get further away from the ground zero dressing room. While there, I quickly make a few selections for her to try next and pick up 2 sure winners for the younger girls at home.

Eldest and Mr. W are in the middle of round 4 when we return. It was now getting reminiscent of Apollo Creed and Rocky Balboa's first meeting in the ring. I had to step in and call the fight. There was anger, frustration and tears. Mostly the Mr.'s. We made our purchases for Middle Weasel and the younger Weasels and gave up for the evening.

All in all, we accomplished 75% of what we had set out to do. Mr. W managed to not need medical intervention, and had a brand new experience in fatherhood. Middle Weasel wound up pleased with her new suit. Eldest lived to fight another day and I enjoyed having had a ring side seat. Next time I'm bringing popcorn.

Happy Fatherhood Friday.

Laugh Yourself Silly

Dearest Readers, I would like to draw to your attention to my left sidebar. There you will find a poll to vote for the Funniest, with a capital F, post to be found here at World of Weasels. You can find all of the links below, for your reading ease. I appreciate your input and hope that you enjoy reading the candidates.

*Ugh!* I can't change the color of the text in the poll!!!!! Bare with me and vote anyway. In order, the nominees are:

• Dear Coors Light
• Dark Side of the 100 Acre wood
• Do It Yourself Car Repairs
• Back To The Funny
• Parenting Moments That Take Your Breath Away
  

*Also, The Soup has been nominated but wouldn't fit in the poll.

Happy reading! And don't forget to vote!