mice

Then there was that one time that we came home from a really long camping trip and after sinking into my comfy bed I watched a mouse scurry across my bedroom floor.  It was like in the movies, you know the whole bit about standing on the bed (as if that’s going to do any good) and squealing like a little girl.  Me, not Tim, naturally.  We set traps that very night, caught one little bugger and called the exterminators the next morning.  I wish I could say it was over quickly but it wasn’t.  Once we determined their food source (our storage room) I set about sterilizing every last corner of each room in the house and threatened the kids with their lives to keep food in the kitchen, no ifs, ands, or buts.  (This has always been a rule in our house, but because it was loosely enforced it quickly became an afterthought for some of our more disgusting children… hence the mouse problem).

Not what I wanted to do with a week of my summer, but I guess our house got clean.  And the mice are gone.  We even caught a clearly pregnant one and didn’t feel a bit sorry for her.  Die, die, DIE!  All of you.