Monday, February 8, 2010


I don't have a great history with mice. Shocking...I know. In fourth grade, my parents set a mouse trap on the top shelf of our pantry. I stuck my hand in to get some Fun Fruits (why don't they still make those?) and it snapped--on my fingers!!! I ran around the house screaming/crying about the mouse trap stuck on my hand instead of removing it. Because I'm smart like that. Anyway, that was the beginning. I have never been the same.

Years later a friend told me that she is certain a mouse ran across her forehead while she was sleeping. I have not rested well since. And then there was the time Paul was out of town for 3 weeks (I'm not sure why the time is important, other than I knew I couldn't leave it until he got back. Also, he is not exactly rodent-slayer-extraordaire, fyi) and I had just gotten the kids down and settled in for my 612th viewing of The Notebook, when a mouse scurried under my feet (or across the room, which seemed like under my feet). After I quit crying and got down from the ceiling fan, I peeled the back off a sticky trap and set it up in the kitchen. I am not exaggerating (not that I would) when I say, minutes later, I heard the sound of struggle coming from said trap. THERE WAS A LIVE MOUSE STUCK ON MY TRAP, dragging itself across my kitchen, like a pirate with a wooden leg. (I'm feeling like I've already told this story, and if I have, too bad. It bears repeating). I will make a long, tear filled, many phone calls later to every man in my life story short by saying I bludgeoned the mouse to death with a broom handle. Bad way to go. But it beats having your children gnawed on by rats in their crib. (which actually has happened in this fine state, I should not joke).
All this brings me to today, which began by me walking down into my kitchen and straight onto a sticky trap WITH A DEAD MOUSE STUCK TO IT. That's right people. The layering order was this: house-shoe (praise the Lord I was not barefoot), mouse, sticky trap. I am also thankful that they were P's house-shoes and that they are easily replaceable. I hope you are having a better Monday than me (and the mouse). Oh, and I feel compelled to say that we don't live in a cardboard box, or with peanut-butter smearing the walls (which, did you know, mice love?)...just a lovely, older home.

4 comments:

Alexandra Hoover said...

I can relate OH so well to this... though we've never had any problems with mice, when we first moved in Kelly and I were always seeing these strange looking spider-like bugs all over the place, to which I usually responded by jumping onto my bed and screaming until Kelly could come deal with it or I could convince myself it would stay still for long enough to kill it with a shoe. I haven't seen any for months but I still get nervous wondering if one will crawl out of the wood work!

Emily Harriman said...

oh, gina. yikes! hilarious, though. you are a better woman than me. i had to call chris and elizabeth over to get the mouse out that was stuck in my wall (cade had come to marissa's rescue while she was babysitting and beat it to death with the tv remote). if i recall, you didn't want me to tell you about this bc you thought it was too disgusting. little did we know you would be doing the same thing!

chuck thoma said...

hah hah-I am totally serious-you should write a book-it'd sell millions!

chuck thomas said...

hah hah_i'm serious, you should write a book-it'd sell millions!