Monday, January 30, 2017

Hickory Dickory Dock

When Captain Hubby is taken away for long periods (ya know, saving the world and all), I always make it a point to come to a mutual understanding with the worldly powers that be that this particular moment of single parenting wouldn't be the ideal situation for any untimely shenanigans, Murphy's Law type scenarios or unforeseen disasters. However, the cosmos always seem to align perfectly to cause some sort of complete and utter chaos, trouble and usually an ER visit or two. Each deployment in the past has left me baking another installment of a boy to eventually reign in this kingdom and thus sufficing the world's need to see how much I can actually handle. However, this go around left me childless; correction, I still have my six original dudes but I was vetoed on the war-baby tradition and hence left with no new editions in the making.

All was well and good with the no-new-children-for-Crystal deployment battle drill. Everything was going according to plan. While Captian Hubby was gone my plate would be filled with the senior year and college search for our original boy. Followed up with a graduation and then the dreaded "dropping off at college" was all going to have to happen, like it or not. I'll also have the privilege of taking kiddo number five to kindergarten and kiddo number 2 to high school...all by myself. I'm not actually looking forward to any of that. All of it makes me want to hide under the bed in a fetal position while sucking on my thumb. But, everybody seems to think I can handle more than I really care to and insist on telling me I'm strong enough to do it "all by myself". All while handling Boy1 and the senior year frenzy and then Boy5 and his eventual start of his academic career, I will have 4 other dudes to nurture, raise, teach, taxi and basically parent.

Great! Again, all is going according to plan. Cue month number 2. Everything was just going a little too swimmingly, apparently. I was handling it all a little too well. I got cocky...this was sensed by the universe which subsequently aligned the cosmos in a most terrible, hitting below the belt way. Bring on the plague of rodents that started with one teeny-tiny unsuspecting little mouse. His presence was disturbing but somewhat innocent in nature. We all get mice, right? None of us; NONE of us are immune to those little creatures. So without a man to aid in my rescue, I put my ninja panties on and trapped that little jerk of a rodent in a jar. A damn jar, people! I channeled my inner ninja warrior, crept behind that little guy and trapped his ass under a Ball canning jar. Victory! Women for years will be telling my story and inquiring of my super secret ninja stealth mode.

Not quite.

That small victorious step for all-military-spouses-left-behind, that tiny little victory that made me feel like "I've got this!", and "Ain't nobody got time for that!" actually became more than just a giant leap for the lowly mouse that spilled a rodent-sized can of worms. This 1 tiny mouse became a disaster equivalent of Pandora's box! What started with one errupted into an all out assault on my home, my nerves, and my sanity. I dare say, I've taken care of all of the mice in our entire county. Generations of mice seemed to be living, reproducing and wreaking havoc in our garage. What with the dog food, rice sensory bin and heat, my garage proved to be a full fledged rodent spa.

Snap traps, sticky traps, pest-control sized traps...all used to seek and destroy these horrible little creatures. Multiple times a day I'd hear a snap, see a mouse, hear the squeakity squeak squeak of mice in the live traps. It has been the worst kind of torture I could ever imagine for a woman who is terrified by mice. And to top it off, no one would help me dispose of their sad little carcasses! It's been all me! I'll gladly shed my ninja suit and tap out if anyone would just simply step up to the plate and help a lady out. This has been the least amount of fun I've ever had. Actually, it's been 45 times less fun than anything in my entire life! 45? Yes! That's the number of mice I've caught, killed and disposed of. I'm done, y'all. Done!

If this deployment doesn't drive me to being a full-fledged wine-o, nothing will! Hickory dickory dock, I'm about ready to not give a f***

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