The Christmas Mouse

It's kinda crazy over here. We've done some stuff. We don't have cancer. We now understand why adults used to pay us as children to wrap presents.

We went to Pullen Park the weekend it reopened after being closed for a couple years for renovations. The carousel just turned 100; although I searched, I saw no signs of Willard Scott or a jar of jelly anywhere.


There's lots of fun things to do. Ride the train, eat some food. Eat some more food. The food got fancy after the makeover with words like "fresh" and "local" and "organic." None of which previously applied to the old hot dog and popsicle stand.

They have nice, new bathrooms which Natalie seemed in awe of. Mom, this is so nice. Can I have a quarter? That's not a candy machine, Nat. I *knowww*...I just want to buy a napkin because I have [fresh, local, organic] peanut butter on my hands.

The kids climbed and climbed until they couldn't climb no mo.

It's like Spider-Man off-Broadway.

They even have drum-like things to bang on that aren't your sisters' heads. They are like drums.

Skipping to Eve's preschool Thanksgiving celebration, we find out what Eve is truly thankful for. Some kids in her class were thankful for Jesus. Some for their mommies. Others for their daddies, siblings, and pets.

"Thank you God for...make-up."

In her defense, a lot of times I'm not even showered when I drop her off at preschool. I can see maybe why she appreciates the pick-up version of Mommy and is thankful for such things.

I invited ourselves to Matt's aunt and uncle's house for Thanksgiving so we could visit with them and his grandma.

I ate dessert nine times over the course of three days there. I went through a lot of insulin. The kids love going to visit their aunt and uncle because there are giant gift bags filled with candy and Flarp. Daniel's actual prayer that night: God bless Aunt Karen for giving us Flarp.

For those of you unfamiliar with Flarp, it is a noise putty that farts when you put your finger in it. You may think it's an excellent idea to take the Flarp into the bathroom and go to town with it long enough to make the people in the next room uncomfortable. This would definitely be an excellent idea and you should try it.

For the record, if you mix Flarp with mashed bananas and leave it in the cup holder in your van, the bananas will not turn brown. You will also need approximately two-thirds of a container of Clorox wipes to clean it up. If it weren't for cancer, I wouldn't have had a stockpile of wipes, so thank you, cancer, for that opportunity to reflect on the positive.

The kids also played with Moon Dough, which Matt's aunt and uncle gave to them to play with while Matt and I were out of the house. Moon Dough- the magical molding dough. The amazing moldable, holdable, squishable, squashable dough that never dries out! I think they mistakenly thought it was like play dough, which will actually hold a shape. Moon Dough is fun to squeeze but it never stays together, instead turning into little piles of moon crap that look like nuclear fallout. But the expressions on their faces after realizing what they had given the kids to play with in their house was priceless.

That night, from Daniel's lips: God bless Aunt Karen for letting us play with Moon Dough because my mommy and daddy won't let me have any at home.

Aunt Karen and Uncle Steve took the kids on their first Build-a-Bear adventure.

That was really neat, but to keep it extra-special, I may have led the children to believe that the only Build-a-Bear is located in Greenville, SC. I saw the look in their eyes when they saw all the outfits they could buy for their bears. Keep in mind, the bears have been naked at home for the past two weeks, but the pleasemomcanwegotoBuildaBearandbuythatastronautsuitsomybearcangoupinspace question is on everyone's lips all day long. So yes, the only Build-A-Bear is in Greenville and if you tell my kids any different then you are in big trouble, mister/miss/undecided individual.

The same goes for Chuck E. Cheese.

At home, we got the Christmas tree up and decorated.

I've learned to just keep the hot glue gun plugged in to glue ornaments back together so I won't have a backlog of broken knick-knacks from the previous Christmas that I may have collected in two large Walmart bags and hid in the back of the closet.

Speaking of closets, turns out there was a mouse living in ours. I know this, because apparently all mice do is make a scratching sound in between their constant eating and pooping. I heard lots of scratching and saw lots of mouse poop and threw lots of mouse-sampled food away.

And he really pissed me off when he got into my coconut. I was going to make something really special with that coconut, like pretend I was in Hawaii where coconut covered in chocolate is a low-calorie food, but he ate it and I held no affectionate feelings for a rodent in my pantry/coat closet/garage. Eve was sad when I threw food away. But what will the little mouse eat if we throw it all away? Listen, kid, this ain't Gus from Cinderella. I hope he eats the poison I'm leaving for him.

Although I have no problem with bloody abdominal scars or old ports lying around the house, I really get squeamish with the mice. Thankfully, Matt cleaned out every area the mouse got into while I just stood there with my mouth hanging open and shaking violently. MY COCONUT!

Daniel was cool with the mouse until he got into his pretzels. Then it was game on.

Had the mouse simply entered one of the FOUR cheese-baited no-view, no-touch mousetraps, he could have been really, really close to eating some good cheese before being killed instantaneously without me having to see the dead mouse. It's humane, really. But after a week of the mouse simply going around the trap and electing to partake in everything BUT the cheese, it was time for a Facebook call-out for help. The answer, according to everyone in my unofficial poll? Get the sticky pads and watch them try to wiggle out of their skin. And seriously, why is our neighborhood infested with mice who don't like the smell of cheese? I know, I know, they also like peanut butter. But I don't waste homemade peanut butter on rodents who don't appreciate it's artisinal qualities.

Oh, and FYI, after cheese sits in your coat closet for a week, it will make your coats smell like old cheese. And once you hit day 8, the old cheese smells morphs into shrimp smell and no amount of Febreze will help you.

So the sticky pads went out, and I checked the back corner of the pantry five times that day, disappointed to see the mouse wasn't stuck to it. The next morning, I popped my head in there, fully expecting to see nothing, when I saw what everyone warned me about: the mouse stuck to the pad trying to wiggle out of its skin. Ten minutes later, when the screaming subsided, but before the scream-induced headache set in or before we missed the school bus because I started screaming again, I fetched my husband to dispose of it. And then explained to the kids that had the mouse just went into the trap in the first place, he could have had a much more humane death. It was his own fault, really.

And after that, we put another sticky pad under a hole that Matt had drilled to run some cables into the closet. The next morning, sister mouse was stuck. I was still grossed out.

So Matt bagged it and put another one next to the hole.

The next morning, brother mouse was stuck. I casually mentioned to Matt to get some bags.

The next morning, mommy mouse was stuck. I almost forgot to tell Matt about it because I was beginning to think it was normal to have a family of super-glued mice in your closet until my friend told me about a time when her family found the sticky pad with four mice feet but no mouse. And they never did find that footless bastard.

I'm sorry. That made me sick, too, just typing that.

So we'll just leave a sticky pad next to that hole and hope that cousin mouse and co. don't show up. If they do, maybe I will have to staple antlers to them.