A.Big.Fat.PANSY

I like to think of myself as a woman who can hold her own.  I’m not a girly girl.  I can follow a football game and I am currently 3-0 in my fantasy league.  I love camping.  Power outages don’t send me packing for the nearest Hilton.  And I will happily kill and remove any bug that comes my way without even a squeal.

However, this “tough girl” fantasy that I have of myself falls apart rather quickly when confronted with my own personal kryptonite.

2 forms actually

mice and snakes

Nothing sends me squealing bloody murder and jumping for the nearest stool to stand on like mouse droppings or snake sightings.

And I’ve encountered BOTH this week. 

At MY OWN HOME!

Saturday morning I went to let Maggie out from our downstairs rec room and as I went to close the door, I spotted a black snake hanging down from the side of the railing.  It took me a minute to process what I was staring at before I slammed the door shut, ran into the middle of the room and started screaming and jumping up and down like a maniac. 

My oldest 3 kids found it hysterical.  My 2 year old was traumatized. 

Scott was away for the day.  So, I was left with no other option but to promptly shut every window on that side of the house and dead bolt the doors. 

Again my oldest 3 kids found this hysterical.  “Mom, snakes can’t open doors, you know.” 

I know.  And yet I still called for my 8 year old to open the back door to let the dog in. 

I know it’s not rational.  But, once you get the heebie jeebies they are hard to shake.  I am convinced in cases like this (cases of irrational paranoia) ignorance really is bliss.  If I had never seen that snake down stairs, I wouldn’t think twice about walking in my backyard.  Now I still walk out there, but you better believe I think twice, even three times about it. 

Well, if that wasn’t bad enough, Wednesday morning I spotted what I was pretty sure were mouse droppings on my kitchen floor.  I called Scott to confirm, which he quickly did.  I then jumped on our kitchen stool and squealed, “YOU HAVE GOT TO GET RID OF THEM!  AND I DON”T MEAN HUMANELY!  I WANT THEM GONE. DEAD GONE!” 

Because if there is anything I hate more than snakes, it’s mice.  I hate em.

I know they are little.  I know they won’t hurt me.  And yet, knowing that they are lurking behind my walls sets me completely on edge.  Wednesday I was awful.  I blared music all day, especially when the kids were gone and the babe was napping b/c it was “too quiet and what if the mice thought it was night and came out”.  I had a kid come with me every time I had to go into the laundry room or pantry.  I was Nazi woman about crumbs… fearful that each crumb on the floor was sure to mean mice prancing around that night.  By the time Scott got home at 8pm that night, I was a  wreak.  Nerves frazzled.  Stressed out.  Emotional.  He went to the store to by mouse traps.  Even though it was almost 9pm and he was dead tired from 2 long days at work ,b/c truthfully, I gave him no choice.  I wanted those mice dead on a platter by breakfast.  

I then found myself a weeping sobbing wreak as I went to bed blubbering about how mice are my own kryptonite.  I am sure Scott was a toss between annoyed about hearing yet again about those blasted mice and amused that his wife just compared herself to Superman.  But he lovingly let me go on and on and even said something about how maybe they’d end up being my alter ego, like batman and bats. 

Because he is a good man, folks.  A very good man. 

I guess you can say the “honeymoon” phase of the new house is over.  In one week I’ve encountered 2 snakes, mouse droppings, and a backed up septic system.