Yesterday (yeesteerdaay, all my troubles seemed so far away!)-
Do you guys do that? Allow your train of thought to completely derail or interrupt otherwise rational conversations by stopping to sing the next line of whatever song your conversational words just prompted? I remember it being a lot more charming when my 1st and 2nd grade teacher did it while reading off our words for spelling tests: "Number five- 'love'... LOOOOVE BOOOAAAT soon will be making another run!" Granted, Miss Young could sing her little heart out.
Aaaanyway. Yesterday... yeesteerdaaay... ack, okay, yesterday we had a little event here in the Crisler household. Not "event" as in a birthday party or anything requiring invitations or its very own Pinterest board, but more of a... spectator sport, I guess. And by "spectator sport" I don't mean soccer or tennis. Holy cow, how about I just tell the story?
The thing is, we've had a little problem with mice recently. Thankfully, this isn't a regular occurrence for us; the last time we had mice in our house was when I was pregnant with Caedmon and found a dead one at the bottom of our pantry embalmed in spilled Karo syrup and I had to chisel it off the floor while retching and gagging. (There is, of course, a blog post about that little incident somewhere on here, but I really don't feel like hunting for it today. Rest assured you just read everything about it anyone would ever want to in the previous sentence.) I found evidence of mouse-related activity a couple weeks ago, Derek promptly set mouse traps using a highly specific method involving those wooden spring-loaded traps and a peanut and glue and peanut butter. One mouse was dispatched within a couple days, thankfully after I had already gone to bed. I had hoped that was it, that we had merely played host to a bachelor mouse too rootless to tie himself down with a wife and litter of darling disease-ridden mouse babies.
Yesterday, however, Adelaide and Atticus were rooting around in the pantry for an after-school snack when I heard the following conversation:
Atticus: "What is that?"
Adelaide: "What is what?"
Atticus: "That thing, under the shelves. (Starting to freak out) WHAT IS THAT?"
Adelaide: "I don't know! I... is it... I think it's an animal!"
Me, hollering from the living room, because there was now no way I was coming anywhere near the kitchen: "It's probably a mouse. We knew we had some mice in the house, so Daddy set traps to kill them. It must have caught one. Just get out of there."
That should have been the end of it, right? Anyone in their right mind would get as far away from the dead rodent as possible, especially given that Derek would be home in a scant 45 minutes to do what is surely one of his favorite man-of-the-house duties, namely ridding our dwelling of pretty much anything that moves of its own volition but doesn't have a Crisler-granted name. And "BAT BAT IT'S A BAAAAT!" doesn't count. We're talking Fred or Percy or Charlie. (Gracious, who now wants to have a family of bats move into their house just so they can name them after the Weasleys? Not me, but someone should do that.)
Instead, I began hearing things like this: "WHAT- IT'S ALIVE!" "AAAAH!" "IT'S EAR JUST TWITCHED!" "AAAAH!" "Oh, wait, no, that's just a fly EATING it." "AAAAH!" "I'm going to touch it!" "GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU DISGUSTING CHILDREN?"
Guess who said that last one?
Atticus was pretty freaked out by the whole thing, but I swear, had I let her, Adelaide would have set up a lawn chair to better watch such can't-miss activities as death throes and decomposing.
Derek did come home and promptly do the fun adult job of removing the mouse from the trap and throwing it away, along with the related adult jobs of picking up small brown objects and throwing them at the children while screaming, "MOUSE!" just to hear them squeal.