just in case you haven't had enough (of mice)

On Sunday, I was talking to my Dad about our mouse, er, problem (which, by the way, I feel that we are winning the rodent war at our house) and he told me a story about a man he once met in England while my Dad was serving a mission there. This man had been walking around his house at night one time and accidentally stepped on a pack-rat (I hate it when that happens!). For you vermin ignoramuses, pack rats are not small creatures. And he knew that if he took his foot off this rodent that it would bite and attack him.

Now, what would you do? Find a book? Get comfortable? Pray for wings? Make a mental note to call a realtor in the morning? Maybe.

Well, this unfortunate man did none of those things. He stomped the heck out of it with his other foot. (I pray this never happens to a one-footed person) And went back to bed. (Maybe he washed his feet first?) Aye, he's a brave Englisher.

So there you go. I probably wouldn't share this story at bedtime with the youngins', but you all did learn something today. You know, just in case this ever happens to you.

You're welcome.

we resolve

Our family's goals for this year:

Weston: To be home by 6:00 for dinner. (I may have helped with that one.)

Brigette: To have the house at Weston-level by the time Weston gets home at 6:00. (Weston may have helped with that one.)

Brooklyn: To be the best she can be.

Roman: To learn new tricks.

Greggory: To help Dad build things and to get a whooping crane.

Holland: To learn to say, "I love Daddy." (Want to guess who might have helped with that one?)

mice vice

So it turns out that whacking a baby mouse with a broom does not make it explode in blood and guts. Believe me, I was afraid of that.

Now, don't think that I turned to broom whacking right away, but when I saw that baby mouse zip around like he owned the place it really. freaked. me. out.

Something had to be done.

Probably when you hear or read "baby mouse" you think of a cute cuddly creature capable of no wrong. Not me. I think of breeding and infestation and extermination. You see, we've been having a sort of a mouse problem here in our house lately. Let's just say every night after we put the kids to bed it's not uncommon to see a couple of mice zip by in the kitchen. It's okay, you don't have to come visit.

Back to the baby mouse. Like I said, I didn't want to whack it right away, mostly because I was afraid of the blood and guts thing, and because the only whacker I had in the vicinity was a short 2x4 and frankly, the small surface area was too risky to try. So I tried the most humane thing I could think of and loaded a mouse trap with parmesan and placed it in the corner. And waited.

Sure enough! it smelled the cheese and came scurrying straight to the trap. ---

You know how in scary movies you see the unaware girl walk closer and closer to the bad guy and you know what's going to happen, but you can't help but watch anyway? Well, that's how it was watching this little mouse head right to it's death.

Except, (to my horror) I watched that little varmint crawl right on top of the trap, eat all of the cheese, (I could've sworn it nodded a thank you) and then crawl right off. It was so light that it didn't even trigger the dang trap.

Darn. It was up to me, now. Remember, it was not just one mouse I was killing, it was all the future babies, as well. I know, that sounds so much better.

So I gathered my courage, ran upstairs, grabbed the kitchen broom, took a deep breath, (my heart was pounding like crazy) and whacked it until it was only twitching. Okay, you probably didn't need that last part, but you only have to read it. I had to witness it.

In conclusion, am I a hero? Probably. Can I sleep at night knowing what I've done? Not really, only because I'm afraid that a mouse will run into my bedroom. But the most important thing is knowing that after having the courage to kill a baby mouse, I can do anything.

Well, almost.

discovery

Do you know what an Oryctodromeus is?

No, it is not a medical procedure.

If you answered dinosaur, then you are correct. Can you name any special attributes that are characterized by this dinosaur?

Yeah, me neither. Maybe you have to be a young boy of five.

In last Wednesday's paper, I read an article on a local discovery of this creature. Knowing Roman has a love for all things prehistoric, I showed him the article and asked him if he had ever heard of an Oryctodromeus. It sounded foreign even to me and we read a lot of dinosaur books.

He said yes, and then paused before saying in an excited voice, "Those are the dinosaurs that dig into the ground!"

I said "Really?" just kind of humoring the little guy, but holy buckets! the next sentence in the article was (and I quote): Oryctodromeus is noteworthy, Krumenacker and other researchers said, because it is the only dinosaur known to dig small underground burrows.

Pretty noteworthy, indeed.

i know

It's been way too long.

Don't worry. You haven't missed much.

the elephant in the room

For reasons that only make sense if you are two years old, Greggory used the Elefun Game for target pee-practice while he was playing in our unfinished basement downstairs with the other children. I didn't get the memo, but apparently an Elefun Game makes quite a handy toilet in case of an emergency. (Emergencies can include laziness in not wanting to use the upstairs bathroom). I guess I can kind of see his point of view. They are both...shiny? with a hole in the middle?

I was less than pleased on the matter as I carried the dripping Elefun Game to the garbage. Greggory followed me upstairs, telling me that I needed to get that "thing, er rather, fing" out of the garbage and I reminded him that it was now broken because he had just peed on it.

He insisted that he hadn't peed on it, but in it so it would be fine.

On my wall, I have a sign with a quote by President Hinckley reading, Life is to be enjoyed, not just endured.

I wonder if he was including two-year-olds in that statement?

update on the dead meat

As for all you blogger-naggers out there, don't complain, I've been a little busy, sheesh...

Onto the post:

My loving father called me the other day wanting to know if I wanted any of the chicken that was, um, harvested. Heck yeah! I told him right away.

He said I could even have it for free. Okay, I said a little more haltingly, thinking there must be a catch.

He said I could have as much as I wanted--I just had to come down and get it. Hmm. My suspicions were increasing with every statement.

Here it was: I only had to come down and help break their necks, pull off all their feathers, and then clean their guts out. That's it. The grand stipulation.

Oh. I thought they had already done that? Well, it turns out that there were a few chickens left--as in thirty--that they hadn't quite gotten to yet. I thought about this. Could I really do this? I mean, my great-grandmothers did this practically on a daily basis for their dinner. I wasn't really a pure-bred 21st century girl was I? Maybe if I wore long latex gloves and a face mask and closed my eyes it wouldn't be so bad. Besides, it would just be a few hours of pure torture for ten organic, hormone free, preservative free, fresh chicken. For Free.

I would do it. I wouldn't kill them, but I could clean them out. (Remember, Cheapskates go above and beyond.)

Dad called me back a few hours later. I wouldn't need to come down after all. The chickens were already headed to a local butcher where he would do all the dirty work and present a store-worthy packaged chicken for the fee of $3 a chicken.

Well, great!! That's a bargain, if you ask me!!!