subtitled: The One Where I Cried For My Mommy
If you need to know one thing about me it is this fact: I hate, loathe, despise, and abominate rodents.
All types.
All sizes.
Definitely the big ones.
ALL RODENTS are on my hate list, and, actually, they’re the only things on my (imaginary) hate list.
Only a few days before Christmas, I showed my entire family how intense this hatred is . . . and how much of a Namby-Pamby I am. Which, incidentally, gave my sister, Hannah, the opportunity to teach the Little Lady how to say “Mama is a SISSYYYYYY!” (ugh — you’d think the perks of big-sister-dom would still carry over into adulthood. She NEVER would have done that whenshe was a child)
It all took place this past Tuesday in my youngest sister’s bedroom — we are bunking with her during our stay with the family. I had gone into the room to change the Little Lady’s diaper and clothes. As she laid in the floor, squirming and doing her little booty dance (as she does during each and every diaper change), I had no idea I was about to screaming harder than I had ever screamed before.
I lifted the Little Lady up from the floor and changed my own clothes for the day, leaving my jeans in a heap by the suitcase (keep this detail in mind for later).
At that VERY moment — from underneath the bureau, mere inches from my feet and the spot where the Little Lady had been — ran out a dark gray THING.
With the loft of a professional basketball player and the Little Lady still in my arms, I jumped over the toys, clothes, and suitcases onto the bed.
“MOM — get IN here! I NEED YOU,” I managed to yell amid the screams that were erupting from the back of my throat.
My mother, thinking that something tragic had happened to the Little Lady, ran into the room. Despite frantic breaths, I managed to let her know that my greatest fear, a small mouse, was in the room.
Without delay, my mother, a petite Amazon, pushed the heavy bureau from the wall, ready to kill the vermin. (and this is why I had screamed for HER instead of my husband)
But the Gray Shadow had disappeared. Completely gone.
At this point, my husband and two sisters entered the room. Amid fits of laughter, my husband helped mom look for my mouse.
I stayed on the bed. High above any possible mouse attack.
My sisters stood beside the bed. Not a good decision on their part.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. The Gray Shadow . . .darting here and there . . .in and out . . . of the jeans I had cast off earlier. MY JEANS!!!!
“There it is! There it is!“
At my exclamation, both sisters landed on the bed. Well, Hannah landed on the bed. Sarah out-screamed ME and jumped over the Little Lady to claim refuge.
Mom’s answer to this information was to begin TAP-DANCING on my jeans!
Despite the shrieks of Sarah and the (now) hysterical Little Lady, Mom and my snickering Husband cornered the Gray Shadow.
Quickly grabbing the Little Lady’s used diaper, my husband scooped up the Mouse. . . only to discover it was a Mole. That’s right — a mole. A blind animal. That should be outside. Not in my sister’s room and NOT under my jeans.
And now, my husband makes fun of me. My sisters make fun of me (though they screamed just as much). My mom keeps sneaking up behind me an “goosing” me.
And the Little Lady has learned to say “Sisssyyyyyyy.”
All because of a mole.
It’s just a barrel of laughs over here.
