I just wanted to make a new wreath for our front door and decorate our porch for fall. That's all. But seven hours later that spark of creativity led to hysterics (on my part) of epic proportions.
Now, before I go any further let me mention that we have dense woods behind our house. I love the forest, but all that vegetation provides a calling card for every species known in the Animal Kingdom to come pay us a visit ... and the fact we have a backyard fence means nothing whatsoever. Deer are cute. Snakes are not. Spiders I've learned to deal with (that's what brooms are for), occasionally there is a rabbit, and we once had a problem with squirrels until we reinforced gables and roof corners with chicken wire and plaster.
Now hold that thought as we go back to my wreath ...
This afternoon the creative juices are flowing, and as I work I am constantly going in and out of our front door. There are times I even leave it wide open while I run to get something, which is a bad thing to do because every time we've left the front door open in the past, things gets in: lizards, wasps, our neighbor's dog, and once even a bird. But this afternoon I am at peace with the world (including the Animal Kingdom) and blissfully ignorant of any creature possibly slipping inside our house.
Fast forward to this evening. The little guy and I are downstairs watching Duck Dynasty which, in hindsight, is terribly ironic. Anyway, Jonathan was working, Joe had just gone upstairs, and out of the corner of my eye I see a shadow running along the floor in front of our fire place.
At first I am stunned.
"Oh," I think. "That's a mouse."
And then, as the mouse runs right under the very couch upon which I am sitting, it registers.
"OH MY GOD ... A MOUSE!" I am yelling like a maniac. "A MOUSE! GO GET DAD! JOE!!! JOE!!! GET DOWN HERE THERE'S A MOUSE!"
A few minutes later the three of us are armed with buckets, flashlights, a broom, and a Swiffer pole. Timothy even runs to get a slice of American cheese and plops it down right in the middle of the room. We poke, we prod, we can't find the stupid mouse.
"I AM NOT GOING TO BED UNTIL WE FIND THE MOUSE!" I am not lying. I am in tears.
We move the coffee table, take apart the sectional, and turn all three pieces over. We poke and we prod some more.
"WHERE DID IT GO? DID IT CLIMB UP INSIDE THE COUCH? WE HAVE TO FIND IT!" Now I have moved beyond tears to near hysterics.
And then ... THEN the mouse runs across Timothy's foot.
Utter and total chaos ensues. Timothy is jumping and yelling that a MOUSE RAN ACROSS HIS FOOT, Joe is bellowing at us to get out of the way as he comes barreling down with his broom, and I am falling to pieces. (I admit it ... I am a wimp. Have you read my camping stories?)
Oh dear, God.
It's now past midnight. Our family room looks like a war zone, Timothy is sleeping in Jonathan's room because A MOUSE RAN ACROSS HIS FOOT, and I am getting up at the crack of dawn to call Advanced Services and insist that they come RIGHT AWAY to deal with this situation. And if I have to go into hysterics to get them out here, so be it.
A mouse in the house ... and all I wanted was to make a wreath for our front door and decorate our porch for fall. Was that too much to ask?