It is only at the prompting of one whose opinion I find valuable I send this story to you. Personally, I haven't found the humor in it yet but she assures me, given time, I'll be chuckling too.
As you know, we've been living with my parents in Sedona until our house in Flagstaff is ready. (We're suppose to be moving in this weekend – keep your fingers crossed!) I've been affectionately calling the house in Flagstaff a mousehole because the living space is approximately 600 square feet… but it seems one of my children is embracing the concept completely.
Back to the back story…
A few days ago my mom found the signs of a mouse in her house.
There are few things that set my mom off more than a mouse in the house. She loves them in ceramic or knick-knack form but loathes them in flesh and blood.
The discovery of the mouse in the house put her into a foul mood. She became quite demanding of my father, holding him personally responsible for location, preparation and disbursement of mousetraps throughout the house.
Since my dad is getting a bit hard of hearing (and so is my mom, though she blames it on changing the altitude from Flagstaff to Sedona) there were some raised voices and heart rates during this discussion.
Every morning since then she's lost her cool over the lack of success of the mousetraps and new evidence of rodent inhabitation.
So, now to where the story involves my own dear chitlin.
Mikayla is in the stage of life where she opens every cabinet door and pulls on each drawer handle. In Oklahoma we weren't worried about this because everything in our house was baby locked. We had free-range children there… here, with no baby locks and knick-knacks and dried flower arrangements resting on the floor, Mikayla's fascination with the world around her has gone from cute to frustrating.
Yesterday she pulled open a cabinet door and found a mousetrap.
If course, she didn't know it was a mousetrap, she just wanted the glob of peanut butter set to entice the rodent.
We rescued her from the trap, fussed at her a bit and closed the cabinet door.
End of story.
Then, mid-afternoon I heard: "SNAP!!!" followed by a pregnant pause and "WAAAAAA!!!!"
Mikayla found another peanut butter goodie by the piano. This time it snapped on her fingers and she was a peanut butter coated, wailing, mousetrapped mess.
Her cries immediately set off a round of loud arguing between the grandparents, much discussion with evil eyes of mousetraps from the parents, and rabid curiosity from the siblings.
That's all. Hope you enjoyed the story of how my mouse was trapped.
(No children were actually harmed in the making of this tale.)
(I've been writing about the Oregon Trail on StealingFaith this week. And my hair. I've been trying to figure what to do with it and right now chopping it all off sounds like a good idea… but I'm not sure. Feel free to weigh in… or go about your life which is MUCH more interesting than my own.)
JJ
No comments:
Post a Comment