Yesterday Lori wrote about a tiny intruder destroying her woobies (you really should go read it. It makes much more sense when she explains it). As some of you may know, I'm terrified of mice. Little white mice in a cage as pets I'm OK with. Random field mice taking up residence in my home, not so much.
When B.B. was tiny we had a mouse. It had been a long day spent in E'ville shopping. We came home, I settled the boys in bed & crashed myself. BabyGirl & Husband were having a late night together. Shortly after I fell asleep (around eleven o'clock), Husband burst into the bed room & said, "WAKE UP! There's a mouse. Come help me catch it!" Uh what? Hello, have you met me? I'm your wife. I don't do well with rodents & will be completely useless!
When I stumbled out of bed he told me the mouse was behind the entertainment center. I was supposed to stand guard to keep it from running out one end while he tried to catch it at the other. HA! If that thing had run at me, I would have fainted.
He gets the flashlight & looks & looks & looks. Finally we both realized the mouse was under the giant wooden monstrosity. So we spent the next 20 minutes emptying the videos & equipment, cleaning off the picture frames displayed on top, & untangling cords so we could lay it down. The entire time I was on pins & needles thinking our furry little friend would bolt.
Husband moved all the furniture away from the walls so the mouse couldn't run along the base boards. I rolled up a blanket & shoved it under our bedroom door (no way in Hades I was having that thing in my room where the baby was sleeping). We laid the entertainment center down on the floor. Husband, with manly confidence, me, squealing like a little girls & bouncing on my toes. As soon as it hit the floor, I was on the back of the couch.
About this time, BabyGirl, who'd been banished to her room, came running in the kitchen shouting, "I tan tatch dat mouse for you, Daddy!" I started yelling for her to get out of the living room (visions of mouse attacking my beautiful baby girl) and Husband starts yelling, "IT'S UNDER THE COUCH!" To which I replied, "I'M ON THE COUCH!"
The next plan of attack was to lay the couch down on it's back. By this time, I was ready to pack the kids up, leave Husband alone to battle the mouse, and head to Busha's to spend the night. Husband assured me he could catch the intruder. I was doubtful at best.
I stood at the end of the couch closest to the kitchen, helped lay it down, then shot into the kitchen to hold myself up off the floor by the counter tops like a gymnast between two parallel bars....only with much less grace & much more squealing.
Much to my great surprise & relief, my husband, my darling, my knight in shining armor, caught that nasty, flea infested little vermin with his bare hands!!! OK, so they weren't bare. He had on gloves. But still, he caught it & killed it & disposed of it!! He is forever my hero. And I am forever a big dork.
On a side note, if you don't hear from me for a while, fear not. I have entered the wonderland that is Facebook & may never return.