My Dog Is Book Smart

It's just a crying shame that she can't read.

Since coming to reside in Weaselville last September, Matilda The Hun has been a wonderful and much appreciated addition to our home. She is sweet, loving, devoted and has proven to be easily trainable.

She breezed through Puppy Kindergarten and quickly learned the basic commands that she would need to make a smooth transition to her new home.

There have always been some things that just seem to confound her though. For instance, unlike most dogs, Matilda will not cry at the door when she needs to go outside to take care of business. So, we made accommodations by teaching her to ring a bell instead. All good.

Weighing in somewhere around 100lbs and growing, Matilda fails to understand why the cats have shunned her attempts to play with them. We taught her 'leave it' and she does, giving the cats a chance to shoot up the stairs and take cover under the safety of a bed. All Good.

Matilda has figured out how to nudge my laptop out of the way when she would prefer to rest her head in it's place.

Her latest conundrum though, is hysterical to watch. That is until she wakes me up with her crying at 2 am because she has managed to find herself trapped in a room, with an open door! Really, I am not pulling your leg.

Doors, even when up to open 1/2 way, have proven to be a nemesis that always gets the best of her. It doesn't matter what side of the door she is on or whether she would have to use her nose to pull the door open wider or simply nudge the door forward to gain entrance or exit. Matilda will stand there and whine for someone to help her, much like a toddler who can not reach their sippy cup.

This is dog that is tall enough to snatch up food from the kitchen table while still planted firmly on the floor with all 4 paws. This is a friendly, easy going pup that gives people the sudden urge to cross the street rather than cross her path, just from sheer size. This is dog that knows her way to her best buddy St. Bernard's house and how to knock on the door to gain entrance for a play date in the yard and yet couldn't find her way out of a wet paper bag if there is a door involved unless it is completely unobstructed.

She fits in perfectly in Weaselville.

I Put The Wow,

in Suburban Wow!

That's right, This Friday is the next episode of Suburban Wow!

I am adding some twists for you, just to keep it interesting.

The special time is Noon EDT, 11 am CDT and 9 Pacific.

We will be broadcasting ON LOCATION!

I have a special co-host for the day, Michelle, author of Honest and Truly will be stepping in for Melisa who will be joining the viewership for a day!!!!!!! This will be crazy fun.

You never know what surprises are just around the corner neither do we.

Leave me a note and tell me you are coming!

Weekend Round - Up

Remember a time in your life when weekends were fun and relaxing?  Remember when your time was your own, to do with as you pleased after a long week?  Yes, it was indeed such a long time ago.  It was back when you would play soccer with a ball instead of your bust line and you actually could wear those size 5 jeans that live in your closet.

Life in Weaselville has been busy as ever lately.  The weekends are no exception.

Friday Night Mr. Weasel and I took the Weasels to dinner at a family friendly Irish Pub that is housed in a very old building that once upon of time had been some kind of warehouse.  We had been there once before and although everyone likes the place, None of the Girls will go to the restroom there without Mom coming along.  It's only this particular restroom that really creeps them out and they insist on an escort in arms reach at all times.  I have talked to some employees there and many of waitstaff have similar aversions to the ladies room and the attic.  There's lots of stories to be told.

Saturday morning Eldest Weasel was competing in the the State indoor track meet to run the 3200 relay.  I had her up and out early to catch the team bus for the 2 1/2 ride and the Mr. & I drove down shortly thereafter.  The girls did great and made us proud, even though they didn't place.

Mr. Weasel and I planned to stop for lunch before heading home and knew we had found a novelty when we spotted this place:

I laughed hard when we spotted this.  We simply had to try it, just so that we could say that we did.  You know before even walking into a place like this what the quality of the meal will be, yet we threw caution to the wind, ignored all the red flags and jumped in with both feet.

I laughed myself silly as we noticed all the warnings and took the plunge anyway.

• Carlos O'Kelly's is located right next store to a Chili's that was jam packed, yet it's parking lot only has 3 or 4 cars, including ours.
• The decor was more reminiscent of Key West than Mexico.
• 
  
• I thoroughly doubt that anyone named Carlos or O'Kelly has ever worked in the establishment that really reminded me more of a Denny's with a different color scheme.

I had really been hoping to find some novelty in the menu, like Corned Beef Burritos or something that fit in with the"Two things that should not go Together" theme.  Alas, all they had was food that made Chi-Chi's look like authentic Mexican Fine dining.

The con queso was the least cheesy part of the entire experience.

My lunch consisted of a dish on the menu that I had never heard of, but in reality turned out to be burrito carne de la nasty with rice cooked in tomato soup and refried beans fresh from the can.  The beans turned out to be the best part of the meal.

It's not just the lighting that makes this meal look so appetizing.  All in all, The Mr. and I had enough laughs to be worth the price of admission and bonus upset stomach and indigestion to take home with us at no extra charge.

Sunday came and I attempted to make a video for an online competition with the help of Weasels to handle the camera work.  Six hours and seven house guests later, the project isn't finished being taped, let alone edited.  I should really no better by now.

Ah, one of these days I will miss these crazy busy weekends.  For right now, I would be happy to don my size five jeans again.

Out of The Woods

Anybody who has been hanging around Weaselville for a while, knows by now that Pooh Bear likes to party.  He does so while his primary caretaker, Monkey Weasel, is in school and then he acts as if he is an innocent, dreamy little bear when she comes home.  Pooh is actually a pretty good bear until he starts hanging with the wrong crowd, i.e. me Tigger.

Yes, Pooh is rather fond of his whiskey.  Let's face it, we are all a little fond of something that is not necessarily good for us, so I don't hold that against him until he starts throwing back shots of the high end private stock after he's already 1/2 in the bag.

Little party dude had been really looking forward to St Patrick's Day.  This is the one day of the year that I allow him open access to the liquor cabinet and my blessing to have at it, but alas, he awoke that morning to find himself all stuffed up and although Pooh Bear's spirit was wanting, the poor little lush was under the weather and stayed in bed all day and missed out on the festivities.

To make it up to him, I told him that I would find a day to take him on a bender out for drinks once he was feeling better.  Well, that day has come and true to my word.......

Pooh Bear quietly entertained himself at the end of the bar.

After he threw a few back, he quickly became the life of the party and made lots of new friends.

Before long it was definitely time to get some food into his tubby little cubby all stuffed with booze.

Everything was going really smooth.  Pooh was having fun and not causing any trouble.  That would end once you know who showed up.

Only a friend like Tigger would be able to talk his buddy into something like this:

I managed to put an end to this before Tigger actually hit the popcorn button and I figured that is was time to get Pooh home and back to bed. 

Well there you have it, Pooh Bears field trip out of the woods.

It's Fatherhood Friday at Dad-Blogs, so dads (and moms) out there, the lesson of the day is that you are never to old to play with your kids toys and be sure to keep the liquor cabinet locked.

Delusions. They Do The Daddy Good.

I am lucky to married to a man that is extremely willing to help out around the house.  Although it is not often that you will catch him pushing a vacuum around, you will often find him with his hands in dishwater or knee deep in laundry.  This is a big and much appreciated help.

We have been married for 16+ years and have had the benefit of 6 children, 5 of them precious little girls.  Since the advent of their births, none have grown past the age of 4 years.  At least that's the way Mr. Weasel's reality believes it to be.

Eldest Weasel, our first born girl, is soon to turn 16.  She wears my jeans and shirts.  We are able to share clothes on a regular basis, and it works well for us.  She is slightly taller than I and similar in build although she is much more fit and firmer than her mother.

A father that sees a little girl of 4 years twinkle in his eyes + a teenager in reality + laundry =  a nervous breakdown for Daddy.

Not too long ago, Mr Weasel was folding a load of laundry and came across some ladies underwear.  Immediately, he stormed into the room, holding the panties outstretched in an accusatory manner, obviously completely distressed.  "Please tell me these are yours!".

Now please note, the panties in question were not anything obscene.  They were standard issue underwear.  No thongs, no lace, no inscription.  They were run of the mill underwear with no special markings what so ever.  They just didn't have any cartoon animal thrust upon them.  No Power Puff Girls or Hilary Duff or Scoobie Doo markings were to be found.

"Why yes, of course they are mine", and I get the I'm not buying it look accompanied by "These look a little small for you and I don't recognize them".

Me ~ "Who's would they be then?  Have you been bringing strange panties home and what do you mean they look a little small?"
Mr. W ~  "Are you sure they don't belong to Eldest?"
Me ~ "Do they have any butterflies or cartoon characters on them?" 
Mr. W ~ "No, but they don't look like yours.  No, they do look like yours, but smaller and I haven't seen them before".
Me ~ "They are mine, dude.  Do you need me to try them on to prove it?  Give them to me".

I was handed the underpants in question and quickly put them on over my clothes.  They were a more perfect fit than Cinderella's glass slipper.

Me ~ Now do you believe me?
Mr. W ~ Yeah.  I just don't remember those.

At this point I just break out laughing and confess, "Yes, Mr. W, these do belong to Eldest and you better watch those 'these look too small' comments.  You got what you deserved."

He went back to folding laundry, completely deflated that his little girl isn't so little and agreed to never again question what underwear belonged to whom.  When in doubt, they are Moms.