I woke up the other night to a strange squeaking sound in my kitchen.  This was followed by a lot of noises coming from my trashcan.  I tried to sneak up on the noise and catch the culprits red handed, but they were too savvy for that!  No matter how quietly and stealthily I crept, they were gone when I yanked open the trash.  I would go back to bed.  Just as I stopped fuming long enough to drift off to sleep, the little critters would begin doing acrobatics (and lots of non G-rated things I am sure) again.  I would jump out of bed and creep towards the kitchen… and so it went.  I did not get ANY sleep.  I was completely grossed out thinking about something of the rodent variety in my house!  In my kitchen!  Near the food that we eat!

Now my kids seem to waffle back and forth between being terrified of critters and bugs and wanting them for pets.  Doesn’t seem to be much in between.  Ever since we read “Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh” all mice are either Mrs. Frisby or some relation.  First they looked at me with terror.  Then they (sure enough) wanted to catch it for a pet.  So how do I deal with this problem?  I don’t want them to be more scared of the natural world than they already are.  I don’t want to traumatize them by killing Mrs. Frisby (in front of them).  Yet, I also have to protect my family from varmints!

I considered the options.  My skin crawled.  So this post is really for my kids to read down the road.  It is what really happened to the mice.

What my kids know:

I ordered a humane mouse trap.  Next day delivery.

It very sweetly has a spot for a peanut butter cracker to be placed.  The mouse smells it and then is trapped and unharmed.  You take the trap to an outdoor spot (far from your home) and open the trap.  The mouse has to eat through the cracker to escape.  This keeps you from coming into contact with the mouse, and calms the mouse, giving it a full belly and a better chance for survival.   All very humane and lovely.

My kids were all in.  My skin is still crawling.  We set the trap and voila:

cute little mouse.  (skin crawling right now!!)

I caught one before I could even go to bed.  After a few heeby jeeby dances around the kitchen from the grossness, I got in the car and took it to the woods.  Middle of the night, 0 degrees, no actual ground to be seen under 2 feet of snow.  No matter, I let the little thing go.  No violence to report, albeit a little hypothermia and certain death from freezing.  But hey, there is always the chance another mouse family took it in.

I am so damn tired from the night time creepy crawlies that I can barely make it home to bed.  I get stuck in the driveway from all the snow.  I curse.  I dig myself out.  Curse a little bit more.  I reset the trap.  Wash my hands about 10 times.  Final cursing.  Pass out.  Next morning:

Voila!  Another little critter.  This time the kids are awake and not gonna miss a trick.  A lot of “It’s so cute!” and “Do you think it is Mrs. Frisby? or one of her kids?” and my favorite, “can we keep it?”

On the way to school we take it to the park and watch it eat it’s way to freedom.  Everybody happy.

What my kids don’t know:

I came home and called in the guy with the nuclear weapons.  I did try to find the guy who would use the most humane way of killing them.   No more mice.  Problem solved.

Now the question is this:  Which is better?  To teach kids about the ‘real world’ or protect them from it?  And when is the right age to throw them to the wolves?

Since there are such strong opinions in both directions, I am gonna assume that the jury is still out on this one.  I decided to follow my heart.  I decided to forge the middle path.  Protect their hearts and kindness to all God’s creatures AND protect them from being exposed to mice.  Then,  protect them from having to know the lengths I would go to, to protect them.  There is plenty of time for life’s reality.  It is coming soon enough.  For now, they can go to bed in a mice free zone, dreaming about how Mrs. Frisby got another chance.    And I hopefully will get a good night’s sleep as well.

This part of my writing is therapy.  It is much cheaper and I don’t even have to exaggerate.  It is all actually true!

January and February in Chicago are especially lovely for me.   Running in the snow and ice to try and keep my sanity.  Feeling like anything above 30 degrees is warm.  Wearing my coat even at home.   Fashion is easy.  I just try to shower and change the base layer periodically because my coat is all anyone can see.

But my favorite part of this time of year, I have to say, is the sick children that lay around my home and don’t go to school like they are supposed to.  Which also means that the running in the snow and ice can’t happen for my sanity.

Now, a little bit of sick kids is kinda nice.  I would say the first 3 days.  It is a great excuse to just sit on the couch and snuggle and get nothing done.

We are on day 23.  This is NOT an exaggeration.  I know because I have been scratching the days off on the wall.  This has gone from “kinda nice” to the equivalent of being held hostage by terrorists.  In fact, the little terrorists are screaming, “Mommy can you come here!”  right now, but I am ignoring them to write this because I am on the verge of hitchhiking somewhere far far away!

Now there is a system to this madness.  No one person has actually been sick for 23 days.  And we are not loyal to just one germ either.   We are equal opportunity illness certified at our house.  All germs are welcome.

We began our 23 day marathon by welcoming in the Flu.  Luckily the littlest terrorists had the flu shot.  So only us naturalists who look down upon such things got super sick.  (Me and Noah).  A lesson well learned.  Because Murphy’s Law says that if you are going to get super sick with the flu it will definitely be at the MOST inopportune time that exists for you.

Me:  On my trip to NC that I was looking so forward to.  In bed the whole time.

Noah:  Right before final exams.  Couldn’t get out of bed for 3 days.

Now, while I was so sick in North Carolina, Richard called to say that 2 of our terrorists had a stomach bug.  Let me translate:  lots of vomiting and diarrhea.  I kind of thought, “whew I am so glad I am here with the flu, instead of there with the flu”.

Little did I know what was waiting for me when I got back.

See, not all of our kids have reached the developmental milestone that I call “good aim”.  (You could also call it the loose cannon.)  This is a real thing.  It requires a lot of eye/mouth coordination.  You have to understand that where you are looking is where you are puking.  For instance, if you are watching your favorite TV show on the CLOTH couch on the CARPETED floor in the basement with a trash can RIGHT beside you, you have to actually look at the trash can, (not your favorite show) to properly aim what is projectile coming out of your mouth.  And let me just warn you, that if you ever so gently try to push the head of your little darling toward the trashcan as the projectile stream is coming out of their mouth, you may be accused of trying to choke them.  Then that goes on the list of offenses that they keep track of forever and love to bring up whenever possible.

So when you have a loose cannon, and you are not strong and battle ready, the stomach bug can get a foothold in your house.  It becomes like that game at the carnival with a hammer and those little bugs that pop up.  Every time one pops up you try to bash it, miss half the time, and then it pops up somewhere else.  This is what it looked like here:

Hannah,

Zeke,

Micah,

Hannah,

Zeke,

Hannah,

Noah,

Zeke

This morning I thought for sure everyone was on the road to recovery and I was gonna get a morning to run.  We were actually getting in the car to make it to the bus when Zeke (our loose cannon) puked all over Micah’s backpack.  You can use your imagination for the chaos that ensued…

Nope you still fell short.  I will help you a little.  There was a lot of screaming, gagging, running, slipping, and throwing themselves onto the snow.  Then there was me, screaming, gagging, running, slipping, and carrying the puker to the snow to aim there instead of my car.  I failed.

So here I am, day 23, with 2 sick kids at home…again.  Or I might say winter holding me hostage…again.

Winter is a real witch!