Oh how I love the sound of that phrase. Winter break. Brain break. Pants break. You can’t make me. I won’t. No pants, no finagling, no hectic. My minutes will be spent doing all the things I love most.
Ok, maybe I promised myself I would clean something, but don’t expect miracles. I’ll spray the counter and walk away for a good five minutes just to avoid using elbow grease. Come at me, syrup stains. I’ll soak a pan like I’m waiting for it to get pruney. Get behind me, caked on scum. And yes, I’ll probably run that load of laundry through twice, but the second round will have a drop of lemon oil and therefore zero mildew smell. Yah. I got this winter break in the bag, and we are only two days in.
You know what else has already happened? After about a month of asking my husband to handle a few Unwelcomed visitors we named Rebecca, I caught the mice myself. Yes. We named all the mice Rebecca. Yes. I purchased four different mouse trap types and placed them silly nikky through my home. And, yes. Auto correct just changed “willy nilly” to “silly nikky” and I’m leaving it because maybe it fits better. The point is, I did it. I caught two mice in this strange glue contraption. One died straight away, and I’m sorry to say that another held on for a few ten minute sections of time (I didn’t want to say an hour. It sounded meaner).
What’s a girl to do? How do you humanely rid your home of field mice that are eating through every food package in your pantry and leaving little black licorice bits like its the best surprise they can offer?
No thanks, Rebecca! I don’t want none.
But I did it. I think my kids looked at me like I was just a smidgeon taller in their eyes when it was all done. Except Layla Grace. I don’t know how she looked at me really. I avoided her eye contact on account of this conversation:
Me: gross. Get away from the mice.
LG: aw. It’s so sad. Can’t I just put him out of his misery?!
Me: what are you going to do??
LG (calmly) (too calmly): stab it.
Me (commence avoiding eye contact)
Isn’t this what winter break is all about? I’m just sorry I don’t have a happier story.
Like the time Sam found the mouse trap my husband set. The peanut butter and cheese had been removed so precisely, yet the trap had not been set off. Almost as if Rebecca has thumbs (please don’t have thumbs, Rebecca). And there was this conversation:
Sam: mamma, since your trap has been licked clean, can I set it off with this stick?
Elijah: OH MY GOSH
Me (calmly): Sam. Never say that again. And no.
If you love us you must love all of us.