And so I sit….and wait….

Have you ever had one of those feelings where you could absolutely swear you saw something move in the room?  The room where you are…. alone?

Or so you think.

I had one of those experiences four years ago when I was very pregnant with Ben.  And it just happened again.

I was sitting downstairs with Lilly.  The Hubs was out cold, suffering from “Post Traumatic Just Got Back From Cali and Ate Too Much For Easter” syndrome, I had just, um gently encouraged Will to get his little rear back into his bed, and I was hoping against hope that Lilly would just nurse herself to sleep already so that I could enjoy my episode of Duck Dynasty in peace.

Yeah, I said Duck Dynasty.  Don’t judge.

So I sat there, quiet with the baby, and I got that feeling out of the corner of my eye.  Convinced I was losing my mind, I looked over, and wouldn’t you know….

We’ve got a mouse in the house.

I only got to look at him, slack jawed, for a few seconds.  He was standing in front of the fireplace, frozen, as if to say, “Oh, crap, I think she saw me,” then hightailed it under the corner cabinet just a few feet away.

Oh. No. You. Don’t.  Not in my house.  Not. In. My. House.

I suppose if I was wearing layers and layers of ruffled skirts, I’d be expected to hop up on the coffee table and let out a shrill, ear piercing scream.  But if you remember, the Hubs is growing moss upstairs, and I know that in reality, I could scream my head off and he won’t notice, and if he did, he’d be ticked that he was summoned thus for a mouse and not something really important, like a funny FB meme.

So I got my pajama bottomed self upstairs and tried to wake The Hubs without being too loud.  A few times.  Then I checked to make sure he was still breathing.  Okay, still breathing… start poking him the leg.  One eye open.

“We have a mouse.”

Looks at me.

“There’s a mouse.”

Still looking at me.

“Look, I figured I’d just cut to the chase with this one.  We’ve got a mouse in the family room.  Do we still have mousetraps?”

Rip Van Winkle got up and went checking for our four year old mousetraps, but came up with nothing, so I offered to go out and purchase some.  Why do I want to go out?  Because then I’m in control of just how soon we return our home from a hamster cage.

Again, he’s looking at me.  “What’s going to be open on Easter night?” he asks, incredulously.

“Oh, something will be open, and I’ll find it.”

I needed dishwasher soap earlier today, and I made a point to say that I wouldn’t go shopping on Easter Sunday- I could make it until Monday.  Mouse?  Nope.  Mickey was going down.

Thankfully, the drugstore a mile down the road was open, so I went ahead and picked up my traps, and some dishwasher detergent while I was at it.  ‘Cause I still needed to do dishes.

I could draw this out in more play by play of how we went after the mouse, but really, that’s boring.  So, without further ado, I give you:

Anne’s Foolproof Directions to Mouse Extermination

1.  Recognize that there is a mouse in the house.  Refrain from freaking out.  Determine to kill the mouse.

2.  Wake husband, and hand off ticked off toddler so you can run off in pajamas to nearest open store.

3.  When asked at the drugstore if you found everything you are looking for, reply, “Oh, yeah, I found EXACTLY what I wanted.”

4.  Be surprised that no one really seemed to care that you were purchasing mousetraps since no one mentioned them.

5.  Drive home and ponder the softly falling rain, thinking about how much you are looking forward to rainstorms this summer.

6.  Get home, walk into the family room, and be surprised that the little stinker had the chutzpah to take his little mousey self back OUT from under the corner cabinet.  Summon even more determination to get the sucker as I dump out the traps on the table.

7.  Try to figure out how to set trap after having put peanut butter on it and realizing the instructions are in French.

8.  Bring trap upstairs to have Hubs set it for me. Set it off on my own finger.  Resist urge to scream obscenities and be thankful that fingers aren’t broken.  Trade trap for sleeping Lilly and let the Hubs set the trap.

9.  Go upstairs, and wait for the snap.

And so, we wait.   And rest assured that you’ll know as soon as I do!


About Anne McD @ourlittlenthouse

Hey! I'm a stay at home, Catholic mom of 7, former homeschooler, now public schooler. Welcome to our crazy. Please excuse the noise.
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2 Responses to And so I sit….and wait….

  1. Susan says:

    Poor little mousie. Can’t you just set him free?

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