We came back from Minneapolis lo these three weeks ago, expecting the worst mouse-wise. The cat was literally away, after all. I dreaded especially little rotten mouse corpses in the "live" traps (I couldn't remember whether I secured them or not.) And of course, counters black with droppings. What we found was that we had left a cake of suet, filled with grain no less, on the counter. (For the birdfeeder, but in the midst of packing set down in the wrong place!) While we neglected to put a neon sign reading "MICE EAT FREE" on it, the effect was the same. Clearly the mice had been having a week-long blow-out. They put quite a dent in the suet, and left perfect trails leading to and fro. BUT, on the upside, there were no dead mice in the live traps, and the rest of the kitchen was unscathed. The suet had in fact focussed their attention so tightly, that it actually worked to our favor.
But since then, the mouse activity dropped like a stone. Each morning: no droppings. Each night: no scurrying. To the point that we thought, Hey– maybe the mouse problem is solved! WE caught and released 8 or 10 (Ben grumbled about putting them out in a blizzard: "You're making me kill them," he complained. So Isaac and I placated Ben– this all seemed so backwards somehow– and made the mice a little rec room in a shoebox way down by the creek and released them there.) The cat in did her part, left me some furry dead presents in the basement, and probably ate her fill also. ANd then the weather pitched in, briefly becoming like mid-June and luring them outside again. It was amazing, really, how quickly we took leave of the reality-based community and became complacent.
A couple nights ago, we were forced to look at the facts. It was "Daddy's-home!" time in the evening. I was getting dinner ready. Both boys were running around shrieking with delight "Daddy's home!" or "Da-da!" as the case may be. Lena was in the mix, too. I was walking towards Ben to join the Daddy's-home melee, when an appalling thing happened. Amid the chaos, a mouse somehow came running out from someplace. (the idiot!) Ran towards Ben. Did a 180, and ran back towards me. All this in the blink of an eye.
People. Are you sitting down?
IT
RAN
ACROSS
MY
FOOT
Yes. I have looked into the abyss and lived. The warm pink pats left an impression which still lingers, and perhaps always will. As an amputee feels the missing limb, perhaps I will always feel the route the mouse took over my left foot in his hectic search for safe haven. Thank god I was wearing socks, at least. But if only I had been wearing clogs. This is the complacency I refer to!! I wasn't wearing shoes– IN THE KITCHEN.
It's like, everyone irrationally fears that one day a bat will get tangled in their hair. It's supposed to be an IRRATIONAL fear. And then one day it really happens. So too, you ask a chair jumper like myself why the dread of mice, and the reply invariably is "because they might run across my feet."
Honestly, after the fact, I still jumped on a footstool and stood up there for a few minutes, with my head resting on the wall like Charlie Brown, to collect myself.
That night I reset the live traps and caught one– probably the same dude who ran across my foot. He lives in the woods now, where one can hope that the owls/hawks/feral cats and coyotes will eat him.
On another note, I learned why the country mice here are so different from our city mice. I was at the Natural History Museum with the boys, viewing a veritable Who's Who of taxidermied local vermin, and I saw them both side by side. In Cleveland our mice were the standard gray "house mouse," whereas here we have the much more robust "white footed mouse." Bring your field guides and come over anytime!
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Allergy Chic
Isaac's school is so replete with nut allergy that the place has gone completely nut-free. Isaac has to bring a sunflower butter sandwich or a soy butter sandwich or something else entirely. Kids who have peanut butter for breakfast at home are supposed to wash hands to make sure there's no residue. A new girl has a life-threatening egg allergy also, and Isaac mentioned (although this has not been confirmed) that if he has a sandwich with mayonnaise, and he's eating next to her, her throat will close up. I was in charge of snack for the class last week and the dread of accidentally exposing something to eggs or nuts, or processing it on equipment that is also used to process… was making me quake with dread. We made bagels — from scratch!! Yes, we are not afraid of yeast around here, and this was how we celebrated MLK day– and I swear I read the recipe 400 times and mixed them all myself, but still when the teacher asked me "are there eggs in here?" and I said no, I still feared that somehow…
Anyway, so Isaac has taken to claiming he has an allergy too. He says that it was "his allergy" that caused him to be hospitalized back in March of 06 (read the full account in the archives). I say that in fact he had a bad virus, complicated by asthma, and he says that the asthma IS his allergy. This conversation has a way of going round and round, and coming back later completely unchanged. FInally I said, "Isaac, I think you just want to have an allergy to fit in with the kids at school."
He replied quite forcefully: "I already DO fit in! I DO have an allergy!"
I rest my case.
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Tips for Toddlers:
1) Let's say you find yourself freshly dressed in clean clothes. You're wearing your boots and down jacket, mittens and hat. Your mother is standing near the door, wearing her coat, holding her gloves and keys in her hand, carrying the diaper bag and three packages to take to the post office. Now is the time to vomit.
2) Like most 15-month-olds, you're probably vertically challenged. Make up for this by climbing everything. Don't be shy about modifying the environment to suit your needs. Want access to a sink full of knives, scissors and salmonella? Just get yourself a chair and get busy.
3) Speaking of busy, you know the old saying "A tired dog is a good dog?" The same holds true for mothers. The more tired they are, the happier. If you find yourself sitting quietly and doing a puzzle, we have one word for you: slacker.
4) Sometimes communicating with obtuse giants can be frustrating. Let's say you want some more yogurt, but the few words you can speak are not relevant. What do you do? Lead your mother to the fridge, nodding and smiling to encourage her. Sign "MORE." Be patient. She's very dense. Get her to open the fridge and offer you each item in it. Take your time, she'll figure it out eventually.