In the words of Charles Dickens: It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.
You know how sometimes you get that burst of energy and you get a lot of stuff done and you're feeling on top of the world? Most of last week was like that. I love those kinds of week. We were planning to do something on Saturday and I was actually on top of housework so that could happen (gasp!), and then things started to get a little crazy.
Thursday night Bobby found a war movie about the holocaust on tv. While I'm not crazy about the holocaust, I do think it's a somewhat good thing for us to be reminded of the importance of taking a stand against evil. But for those of you who know me, I don't handle war/violent movies very well. I can seldom sleep after watching them, and when I do sleep it's full of nightmares. We're 3/4 of the way through this movie, which I stupidly keep watching in between loads of laundry and sweeping/mopping floors, when out of the corner of my eye comes this image that terrifies me like nothing else in this world. And Bobby doesn't even see it! I stand near the kitchen corner, aghast, watching the television and the ceramic piggy bank, desperately hoping I was wrong, when the flurrying nightmare comes scampering back and into the back hallway. By this point I'm crying.
I suppose I should interrupt and tell you that my mother-in-law, who is also a mouse hater, finds it really funny that I can kill a snake, I can slam a spider, swat a fly, spray an insect nest, or shoot at a coyote/fox/wild dog and chase off a raccoon with a broom or an opossum with a shovel, BUT I cannot face a mouse.
So about 1am Friday morning, I'm listening to my husband's breathing, trying not to think about the varmint that has invaded my house and stolen my peace, trying not to think about evil and the movie, trying to remember a Bible verse in my fuzzied brain and only remembering "What time I am afraid I will trust in thee. Psalm 56:3" and telling myself I'm a grown-up now and it's time to suck-it-up and contemplating borrowing a cat from a friend and all the damage it would do to the house when I finally got to sleep.
To make a long story short, I've only been in my sewing room 2x as opposed to spending my planned hour in there Friday, the trap caught the mouse about midnight Saturday, and all my mental pep-talks to myself on how I was going to be a big girl and get the mouse out of the trap went out the window Sunday morning when my wonderful, adoring husband told me to just take the dustpan, scoop the whole thing up, and throw the entire thing in the trash. I did; I cried; and he laughed at me when I made him put part of the newspaper over our open trash can so I didn't have to look at it any more. I know it came from the hallway; I know it did not make it to the kitchen, but I have NO idea where it got in the house. And that unnerves me.
Meanwhile, our chicken saga continues, but in the sakes of giving this already too long post an ending, that part of the story will have to wait until tomorrow.
You know how sometimes you get that burst of energy and you get a lot of stuff done and you're feeling on top of the world? Most of last week was like that. I love those kinds of week. We were planning to do something on Saturday and I was actually on top of housework so that could happen (gasp!), and then things started to get a little crazy.
Thursday night Bobby found a war movie about the holocaust on tv. While I'm not crazy about the holocaust, I do think it's a somewhat good thing for us to be reminded of the importance of taking a stand against evil. But for those of you who know me, I don't handle war/violent movies very well. I can seldom sleep after watching them, and when I do sleep it's full of nightmares. We're 3/4 of the way through this movie, which I stupidly keep watching in between loads of laundry and sweeping/mopping floors, when out of the corner of my eye comes this image that terrifies me like nothing else in this world. And Bobby doesn't even see it! I stand near the kitchen corner, aghast, watching the television and the ceramic piggy bank, desperately hoping I was wrong, when the flurrying nightmare comes scampering back and into the back hallway. By this point I'm crying.
I suppose I should interrupt and tell you that my mother-in-law, who is also a mouse hater, finds it really funny that I can kill a snake, I can slam a spider, swat a fly, spray an insect nest, or shoot at a coyote/fox/wild dog and chase off a raccoon with a broom or an opossum with a shovel, BUT I cannot face a mouse.
So about 1am Friday morning, I'm listening to my husband's breathing, trying not to think about the varmint that has invaded my house and stolen my peace, trying not to think about evil and the movie, trying to remember a Bible verse in my fuzzied brain and only remembering "What time I am afraid I will trust in thee. Psalm 56:3" and telling myself I'm a grown-up now and it's time to suck-it-up and contemplating borrowing a cat from a friend and all the damage it would do to the house when I finally got to sleep.
To make a long story short, I've only been in my sewing room 2x as opposed to spending my planned hour in there Friday, the trap caught the mouse about midnight Saturday, and all my mental pep-talks to myself on how I was going to be a big girl and get the mouse out of the trap went out the window Sunday morning when my wonderful, adoring husband told me to just take the dustpan, scoop the whole thing up, and throw the entire thing in the trash. I did; I cried; and he laughed at me when I made him put part of the newspaper over our open trash can so I didn't have to look at it any more. I know it came from the hallway; I know it did not make it to the kitchen, but I have NO idea where it got in the house. And that unnerves me.
Meanwhile, our chicken saga continues, but in the sakes of giving this already too long post an ending, that part of the story will have to wait until tomorrow.
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And next time, call me, I don't mind mice. And I'll call you next time I need a snake handler.