House troubles

The Parrinos took a trip up north to visit the Tilsches and for the wedding of our good friends Matt and Tasha. It's a long drive, made even longer by frequent Munchie stops, but we weren't able to leave as early as we wanted
because of the huge tree limb that fell in our backyard during the violent storm the night before. Our neighbor, John, arrived, chainsaw in hand, and began wacking off pieces of the tree. Joe ran them to the curb, where most of our neighbors were building similar piles of aboricultural aftermath.

We're thankful that none of the many tall silver maples that surround our little Virginia Street home came crashing through the roof. The scene Wednesday morning along Virginia Street reminded me of the rubble from the twin tornados that ripped up Christian County the first spring we lived here.

Stephen enjoys looking up and pointing... the fallen tree was no exception.

I wish I could say that a loss of foliage was our only trouble at our "new-old house," but while we were away, the rains must've driven in the great outdoors. Specifically, ants in the kitchen. Our friend Ty, who is living with us, eradicated the invasion before we got home and we haven't seen any of the little picnic-crashers since.

I also wish I could say that was the only invasion... but unfortunately I found traces of another house guest yesterday just hours before Joe and I were to go out to celebrate our 8-year anniversary. The dark brown pellet of crud could have been anything, really. It was in my clear glass serving bowl that I bought in Taiwan so many years ago... But it struck me as having more import than just a little piece of crud. I bent back down to the cabinet under the counter again and realized there were many, many little tiny mouse turds in the place I store my mixing bowls, pots, pans and cookie sheets. Then I realized there were more under the sink. In my utensil drawer. In my SILVERWARE drawer. In my baking drawer! In my deviled egg caddy! Upon further inspection (which at this point was laced with all kinds of whimpers, groans and yelps) I found that the thumb of my heavy duty blue gingham oven mitt was chewed into a pile of fluff.

At this point I was really freaking out. It's not that I'm afraid of mice. Some of my longtime readers might remember the mouse at Bruce View that ran over my foot and was so terribly cute and trembly doing it. But I do not like the idea of rodents using my kitchen as a commode. And the level of poopage beneath my countertop indicated either a very large contingency of vermin or one mouse with a very bad case of Irritable Bowel Syndrome.

Joe left with Munchie to buy traps. I continued to pull things apart and bang around and make lots of noise.

I'm freaking out because not only are my parents arriving in two days, but I was planning Stephen's first birtday shin-dig and Ty's baby shower soon after that. And I've got to wash and disinfect everything under the countertop. All the pots, pans, bowls, utensils, bakeware, measuring cups, spoons, forks, knives and chopsticks before they arrive.

Well. The story doesn't really have a happy ending other than the fact that Joe and I made it to our "Date Night in Paris" cooking class at the Viking school in Franklin, Tenn., where we enjoyed making and eating a delicious meal prepared with an enormous amount of butter. And for 4 hours I completely forgot about mouse droppings and the cleanup ahead.

This morning Joe disposed of our first mouse captive.