mice be gone

ok.  let's talk about the mice.  The mice in my home that (hopefully) are no longer in my home.  

First off, I really was going to do something far more productive with my night but I really really am just in the mood to settle in for a good long write over a nice big square (or 5) of rice crispy treat and some Mango Tango odwalla juice (courtesy of mother-in-law Staples who, bless her heart, has taken to bringing me varying quantities of ridiculously priced yet unspeakably delicious said juice every time she pays a visit).  Also, I just have a really good story to tell, and what kind of blogger/writer can just sit on a good story without putting it to paper/screen?  Not me.

So, let's talk about the mice.

There have been approximately 6 mouse sightings in our apartment over the past month or so.  One out of the corner of my eye in the kitchen.  One by my little sister in our living room.  Three (gross gross gross gross) on the stovetop that we heard before we saw because of the crinkle, crinkle, crinkle of the foil under the burners.  All leading up to one big epic sighting which occurred in the middle of a night when Tanner was up all night studying (which he never does, but I swear every time he does, something epically bad happens).  The mouse came right out into the middle of the living room floor and was spotted and then ruthlessly and recklessly chased by Tanner, who corned it 3 different times, caught it in a cereal box once but then lost it, and generally freaked out and caused a ruckus.  I walked into the living room after my 6 a.m. feeding of the baby to discover our couch and the entire contents of our home up-ended with Tanner ignominiously cowering in the corner yielding our potato masher as a weapon (our couch is huge. all in all there are 3 sections, 11 cushions and 8 pillows, so that alone caused quite the scene).

The exterminator was sent for the next day (Halloween).  (p.s. I don't think I could take myself seriously with a job title like "the exterminator" it would always just make me think of Arnold Schwartzenegger as the Terminator and make me feel ridiculous)  He discovered a) that there was a giant 2 ft by 1 ft hole behind our stove which was their "point of entry",  b) our couch was full of mouse droppings (which Tanner had already, of course, discovered) and c) there was an "over-abundance" of mouse droppings under the couch (which somehow we had missed).  Gross gross groooooosss.  But thankfully times one million they weren't nesting inside our couch.  Which he checked for.  While I looked on in disbelieving prayerful horror.

So, he made a phone call to his office to call our office to tell them we needed a) the hole patched up b) our carpet steam cleaned c) our entire couch steam cleaned TODAY as the current state of our apartment posed a health risk to the tenants and their new baby and the tenants were becoming quite alarmed.  (me: in the kitchen, quite alarmed)

(side note:  the exterminator --Joey--was one of those talkers who offers up a little bit too much information to strangers.  Apparently he has 2 engineering degrees but can't get a job and also, was raised by a druggie mother who is a high priestess in a cult.  as in she believes in and practices witchcraft.  what??)

Shortly after his departure, I made a phone call to our apartment manager to politely inquire as to when this was going to get taken care of.  He said they'd send someone tomorrow.  And asserted repeatedly that they didn't have any technicians available today and I could just vacuum it up and we'd be fine until then.

ha.

ha ha.

um no.  actually you'll send someone today.

that poor stupid apartment manager thought we were going to be ok with waiting 24 hours?  There is far too much Staples, Pederson, Bramhall, and Stadelbauer blood running through the veins in this household to take an answer like that.  Between both our parents and grandparents, our family has drawn tears from/nearly gotten fired/gotten what we've wanted from high school administrators, airline employees, call center workers, doctors, lawyers, and check-out attendants alike.   Call it agressive or assertive, complaining, demanding, obnoxious or whatever you like.  We are that.  My mother taught me "the squeaky wheel gets the grease".  So we squeaked and squeaked and squeaked and 2 hours later were graced with the presence of the exterminator, the "technician" (also known as mr. bang freaking bang), the couch guys, and the carpet guys all at once.

At which point I didn't know what to do with Camryn, who was due for a nap which obviously wasn't going to happen, and also couldn't be on the rodent pathogen infested floors, so *brilliant idea* i put her a bath.  But then she pooped in the bath.  So, in the middle of all the crazy I had to get her out of there, clean the tub, clean all the toys in the tub, and then replace her naked self back into the tub.

And then she pooped again.  Way way worse.  Which is statistically improbable if you consider that these were the 2nd and 3rd poop-in-the-tub instances of her entire life.  (oh the joys of motherhood) So I repeated all of the above cleaning measures, put the punk back in her tub, and got her out as fast as my hands could wash her.

And then we spent the rest of the evening carving pumpkins and sitting on a towel on our floor (which was wet) not on the couch (which was gone.  they took it away to clean it) eating donuts and snickers and watching old episodes of The Office on hulu.  Plus ten minutes where we put Camryn in an adorable silk pumpkin costume (that has gone through who knows how many Bramhall babies) for no reason other than to see her cute self in that costume (we couldn't even take pictures.  still missing that dang camera charger).

Happy Freaking Halloween!!



p.s.:  one of the reasons I like blogging--sometimes it's nice to know you're not the only one.  Thanks, lauren for sharing your own mouse saga.