My children like to bring to light the fact that I am not quite as patient, easy going, and angelic as I believed myself to be approximately 6 years ago.
The mice that have taken up residence in our home like it's a thriving Airbnb destination enjoy bringing up the reality that the floor food I have lovingly provided for my baby, and the leftover dinner remnants from the elder children are the perfect nighttime snack for any vermin taking in the sights after rummaging through my cupboards.
Perhaps at times the occasional piece of white cheddar popcorn becomes lodged between the couch cushions at approximately 9:30pm. Maybe there are chocolate chips in there. Maybe a slice or two of pepperoni. Whatever! Stop shaming me for wanting some alone time, mice!
Obviously none of these mice are mothers or they would possess some compassion for my solitary snacking needs in this season of life.
Three days ago I awoke and began my normal morning routine of
tiny. little. droppings.
People. I implore you.
My emotions did not hold up well in light of this revelation. The further my eyes scanned, the more mouse excrement they found.
Behind my coffee pods, next to the toaster, under the dishes drying on the counter, inside of the pots in my oven drawer, in another cupboard, and in the drawer that holds all of my measuring cups and spoons.
Now I will say, in defense of the mice, that the last drawer I mentioned, containing roughly 728 measuring cups and spoons, also contained enough food scraps to feed a sizable village of mice, but still!
I used to really love our home.
Being the consistently rational human being that I am, my husband unpacked the moving boxes I'd immediately begun to fill, and proceeded to buy every single mouse fighting contraption available at Home Depot and Amazon.com.
He got that look on his face like when Hugh Jackman grows the Edward Scissorhand things out of his fingers and goes crazy on everyone.
My children so far all seem to be oblivious to the plight happening within their home, thankfully, though I did find a great deal of irony in the fact that they requested to watch "Stuart Little" while I cleaned mouse feces out of our dwelling...
After the poo removal was complete, our kitchen became a war zone. Instead of oatmeal and waffle crumbs, it was filled with glue traps and peanut butter zapper boxes.
Yesterday morning, Wolverine greeted me as I was exiting our bedroom to tell me that he was "just finishing up" out in the kitchen.
When he awoke in the early morning hours to assess the battlefield, who should greet him but Stuart Little himself, who found himself stranded in a glue trap that even an adorable Melanie Griffith voiced character could not rescue him from.
I won't disclose all of the details regarding how the disposal of Stuart unfolded...but I will say it involved a pair of gloves, a large bucket, a stick, some amount of water, and a certain level of Hugh Jackman bravery.
I will continue to provide updates on the critter casualty count as it rises.
And I will continue to eat my 9:30pm snacks on the couch while watching The Middle. You can't control me, Stuart!