Everybody Needs A Hobby

If you area regular around here, you may remember that Weasels love free samples while shopping.

You may also remember that Melisa has completed WeaselMomma's beginners course on booze knowledge (101) where she picked up all sorts of trivial tidbits about everything booze related on our class field trip.

Add those two together and what do you get?

Well my dear friends, I think I have now attained a level of enlightenment equivalent to being a Brahman of Booze. I believe that now I may be a Jedi Master of libations.

On Saturday a friend was throwing a bash for her husband's 50th Birthday. I received a phone call begging for a helping hand. I rolled my eyes and answered "what do you need". I being the incredibly helpful and supportive friend that I am asked why I could help with to ease her time crunch. "Will you pick up the kegs?".

Paydirt! I'm all over it! Not only does it make me party savior, it ensures I get to test the kegs. At the liquor store they do all the heavy lifting, all I have to do is show up and get all the credit. This is my kind of helping hand.

So I head to the liquor store where the kegs are waiting. As luck would have it, it's sampling day!!!!!!!! Lots of reps with many different types libations just begging you to try a little. At the entrance was a chipper woman with a tequila offering, "would you like to try a taste?". I explained to her briefly ha! that Jose and I had a big falling out back in college and that I am not really on speaking terms with his family. She explained that this is the side of family that lives in the mansion on top of the hill and doesn't associate with his cousin that lives in the shanty shack in town. Wouldn't you know it, this side of the family and I got along just fine!

Moving down the aisle there were more reps with rums and vodkas and all sorts of wonderful premixed concoctions. I usually don't care for pre-mixed. After all fresh is best, but these were actually very nice for coming ready to serve. I continue skipping happily down the aisle, Disney World has nothing on this place to make my way toward the keg counter and what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a beautiful rep with bottle of liquor so clear. "Would you like to try some Braziilian Rum?". The clouds parted and the sunshine stream down from the heavens Yes, I know I was indoors, just go with it. "Oh, you mean cachaca? I love cachaca! What do have made up there? Is that caipirinhas? Sure I'll have some".

The rep was stunned. "I don't even know how to pronounce those words, That's why I just say Brazillian rum. You know it is different then regular rum because it's......" and I stop her to tell her that yes, I know all about how it is made from fresh sugar cane and not pressed yada, yada, yada.

We talk for a few minutes because she would keep filling my sample cup up as long as I did and she says "wow, you know more about this stuff than we do. Would you like to come work for us?". I laughed it off and said that I was just here to pick up some kegs for a party and continued on my merry way.

This morning I am sitting here kicking myself. That could have been a dream job. I let it slip away. I could have done that job and been very good at it. Just ask NukeDad. He'll tell you I've done lots of research.

Ordering Pizza The Hard Way.

After a lovely Friday afternoon hanging out with our backyard neighbors in their pool, I was reluctantly going to make dinner. I didn't feel like making dinner. I was too relaxed and didn't want to exude any effort. The Weasels wanted to order pizza. I too wanted to order pizza, but already had hamburgers and hot dogs all prepped to go on the grill. Pizza was out, or so I thought.

I pulled out the charcoal to light the grill. It didn't want to light. Some days I have no problem getting it going quickly. Today wasn't one of those days. Every time the flame caught, it went right out again. The charcoal just wouldn't light easily. I kept playing with it and relighting. Finally it lit. I waited a few minutes to let the grill heat before tossing the burgers on.

Cooking over indirect heat, as opposed to directly over the flame to prevent flare ups, I had a few minutes to talk over the fence with with my neighbor. I had Boy Weasel turn the sprinklers on in the front yard and soon we would be eating.

A full 2 minutes later, Boy Weasel called to me, "Mom.........THE PORCH IS ON FIRE!". I turn around to see that for the first time ever, Boy Weasel wasn't getting over excited about a small flare up. The porch was indeed ON FIRE! Flames were shooting about 3 feet out from the porch, where the charcoal bin had caught fire. Oh, the irony.

I went running around to the front of front of the house to grab the hose that was still attached to the sprinkler. My neighbor called for her husband to come help me and he cleared the back fence with a fire extinguisher in hand (very impressive actually). He attacked the back side of the fire, while I hosed down the front. It only took about a minute to put the flames out and I was very grateful for the help.

The damage was fairly minimal, compared to what it could have been (2 more minutes and the house would have caught). There are a few scorched floor boards and part of the railing that will need to be replaced before winter, they lost some strength and integrity. A plastic caster wheel from the grill melted into the porch and the charcoal bin melted down to 1/3 it's original size. The charcoal grill will not be usable. I do not think that replacement parts will attach easily to melted mountings. We'll be cooking with gas this summer (much less flammable - hah!).

I consider us to be very lucky. Not only did Boy Weasel see and alert us to the fire in time to put it out and save out house, we got to order pizza for dinner.

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.

Weasels Loose At The Zoo

What a better way to show Dad how much he deserves a day off to be honored and appreciated in a special way than to spend Father's Day with the family. In my defense, Mr. Weasel was told that we could do whatever he wanted to do for Father's Day. The kids wanted to go to the zoo. I said I could take them there all day so that he could nap, play or whatever he felt like doing.

In his tireless job of being a great dad, he said he wanted to come with us. He has been working long hours lately and will be for months to come. So he wanted to spend time with the kids that they had been missing out on.
So today I will highlight for you how that day went and you can see for yourself why Mr. Weasel deserves a day off and why Mr. Weasel considers going to work to be like vacation.

*Realizing that Weasels are happy and quite, the Mr. and I sneak upstairs and lock the door for some mommy and daddy time to talk (wink, wink). There were no less than 7 separate interruptions in the form of knocking on the bedroom door.

*All set for gift giving time, Mr. Weasel opens a box with a model of the Star Ship Enterprise (to eventually place of his own desk in his own office) only to find out that although the box is huge the model is only 1/1000000th scale in size, scratched and damaged. It has to be returned.

*After walking around the zoo for a while the Weasels start to entertain themselves by poking at each other with sharp pointy sticks, both figuratively and literally.

* Mr. Weasel takes Monkey Weasel (9) to a park bench off to the side to 'have a talking to'. When finished and ready to continue our trek in 90 degrees and 95% humidity, smart aleck Boy Weasel pipes up "Dad, can you give me a talk too now???". The Mr. Plays along and gives a mock finger waving session to the Boy. The Boy (12 1/2), plays comedian by stating "Wow, I have a few strange years ahead of me". We lost it. No way we could have kept straight faces.

*While on our 7 hour death march through the heat of the zoo, Smallest Weasel (5) was most excited about seeing the chipmunks that run loose all over the place.

*After the zoo, we went to a family friendly bar and grill. A favorite place of ours for dinner. Mr Weasel ordered an Austrian beer called Samichlaus with 14% Alc. by Vol., served in a long stem glass, that he found potent and delicious (especially to wash down a 7.5% variety).

*During dinner Boy Weasel (sitting on my left) says something like 'you're full of crap' to Middle Weasel (11 1/2 and sitting on my right). I give him a mock smack upside the head as he laughs at me and Middle Weasel says something in retort using the word crap and laughing. I give her the same smack and Boy rebuts using 'crap' and she rebuts with 'crap' and the smacking continues back and forth 3 Stooges style. It was a genuine crapfest.

*Mr. Weasel, feeling the effects of his beverage, laughs and says "what's up with all the crap" and the entire table looses it. Smallest Weasel, sitting next to Daddy then pipes in with "crap right back atcha Dad". There was no longer any semblance of public decorum.

*The Weasels had been torturing us all day with calls of ice cream after dinner. Mr. W had said no, they had already had enough treats for any one day. As he became more socially lubricated with the help of his beverage, they asked again and he said yes.

*I told Mr. Weasel I think he is cut off. He responded with "That's what I thought too, until 10:30 this morning". My family if full of comics.

*Without missing a beat, Eldest Weasel (15) asked if I could order him another round so that they could ask for a trampoline and/or a puppy. "who knew all you had to do was get Dad a little buzzed?"

Needless to say, I did not order another round and I did the driving home. Well that's the round-up of our Father's Day and I think it points to Mr. Weasel deserving an entire vacation all by himself. It was a great and funny Father's Day Weasel style. I hope all of yours was this full of fun, family and laughter.

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.