Morning madness and mayhem
Mornings can be a little, shall we say, wild and crazy around our house. That shouldn’t come as a huge surprise considering our home is filled with a 60-something, a 50-something, a soon-to-be 13-year-old boy and his 7-year-old little sister.
Tack on five dogs – a black lab named Colby, a golden doodle named Ellie, a Brittany Spaniel named Lily, a beagle named Marcy, and a Shih Tzu named Maggie – and a three-foot long Saharan sand boa named Ramen and you can imagine the three-ring circus that is our weekday pre-school, pre-work ritual of breakfast, showers, and getting dressed.
Last week we hit another level of crazy when a visitor decided to grace us with his (possibly her) presence.
I was awakened about 5:45 a.m. by the gentle shaking of my shoulder. “Bob, I need your help,” said Deb. “I think there’s a mouse in the laundry room (which also serves as our pantry).”
I shook out the cobwebs as best I could, put on my slippers and made my way toward the laundry room. Once there, I looked through the pantry and shuffled jars, boxes and bags around in search of a rodent. Nothing. I do notice the glue trap on the counter with the little pile of peanut butter was missing. There was no sign of it on the floor. I continued my search for another five minutes or so before raising the white flag.
“Hon, I don’t see anything,” I announced.
“Sssshhh! Be quiet for a second. I think I hear him.”
All I could hear was the sound of my coffee cup screaming, “Fill me now!” “I don’t hear anything.” “Well, he’s around here somewhere,” Deb insisted. “I heard him.”
I headed for the shower while Deb made her way to the bedrooms to awaken the children. “Rise and shine, give God the glory, glory,” she sang as she entered Lexi’s room and turned on the lights.
A minute or two into my showers, I hear a blood-curdling shriek coming from the kitchen. Hair lathered in shampoo, I stick my head around the shower curtain and inquire in a loud voice, “Is everything okay in there?”
I hear a commotion, but not an answer to my question. I try again. “I said, is everything okay out there? Is anybody hurt?
The bathroom door gradually opens and Lexi’s little head appears, hair disheveled and eyes wide open. Lexi excitedly fills me in on what’s happening.
“The mouse trap and the mouse are stuck to Ellie’s butt! BeBe’s (Deb) finally got it off. It’s in a plastic bag outside on the porch.”
I did my best to contain the laughter that was about to erupt. “Okay, honey. Let me finish up and I’ll be right out,” I said. “Go finish your breakfast.”
The doors closed and I ducked back around the shower curtain. I could hold it no longer. I let out a loud belly laugh. I haven’t laughed that hard in quite a while. My mind lit up with images of Lexi spying the mouse dangling by its tail from the glue trap that was stuck to the black curly hair on Ellie’s rumpus and then letting out that shriek. I could see her brother, dressed only in his skivvies, sitting at the bar eating his cereal without a care in the world while the mouse capades went on about him. I could picture Deb, not wanting anything to do with that mouse, but having no choice but to somehow try and remove it from the dog’s derriere. Ellie, for sure, had to be spooked by Lexi’s scream and tried her best to get as far away as she could.
I could not stop laughing. As I finally finished by shower, I heard Deb call out from the kitchen.
“It’s that funny, huh?”
“Hate I missed it,” I hollered back.
After shaving and brushing my teeth, I made my way to the kitchen where the kids explained everything that had happened in great detail. The kids were amused. Deb was not. Ellie, she just sat there, tail wagging and her big black eyes looking up at you. I’m pretty sure I saw a hunk of glue still caught in her fur.
Me, I just smiled. Deb did too, eventually.
Contact Editor Bob Sloan at editor@florence