Years ago, I developed an intensely irrational fear of mice. I am pretty sure it stemmed from a mouse-infested apartment complex as I was finishing my undergraduate degree – I woke up in the middle of the night, and could swear a mouse had run across my face. Gross. Cue the birth of my phobia of mice. Hats off to Beverly Cleary and her series of the adventures of Ralph S. Mouse, but I don’t think I will ever be able to read those books again.
Last night, I went out the door to our garage, flipped on the light, and freaked when I saw a mouse scurry across the floor. I was rather proud that my curse words were not audible outside of my head; at least the preschooler won’t be uttering the specific word I texted my husband.
Today, I won’t enter the garage; I honestly don’t know when I will next enter our garage. The trashcan, required to be, “out of sight,” by the HOA still sits at the front of the garage door, and it isn’t moving – at least, not until my husband can put it away. Because I am not going in the garage. The poor dogs are going to be hungry by the time my husband gets home, and I may just give them chicken that I’m cooking for dinner. It beats going into the garage.
This morning started out wonderfully – we woke up, got to a meeting that I attend a couple times a month, made a craft. On the way into the meeting, my son bent down, picked a flower for me, and handed it to me. It’s the first time he’s ever given me a flower unprompted.
Then, when I went to pick him up from the nursery, where he stayed while I was in my meeting, I was met at the door with a young boy with crocodile tears, wailing, and limping. His story is that he was pushed over; I am pretty sure it was an accident, but it did, “require,” me to put a band-aid on the injured knee when we got home.
Then comes the most fun part of parenting (I really think there should be a “sarcasm font”).
My preschooler isn’t interested in potty training. I’m not forcing the issue, since we do have a move coming up, and I don’t want to train him to then turn around and have him regress in that area of development.
This afternoon, I had another errand to run. For the first time since he was a newborn, I had to clean an explosion. On the side the road. In my car. On the bright side, he was equally disgusted, and I had poop bags, wipes, and an extra diaper handy. But, his shorts went in the wash as soon as we walked in the door – and, I am so ever thankful for poop bags, and the express lane. Without both, we would have easily been sitting in traffic over an hour, in a toxic-smelling environment.
Top that off with a blow-out from the baby, fully ensuring both children get a bath tonight, and my week is wrapped up.
And, it’s still only Tuesday!