Uninvited Guest

Over the past couple of hours, I have heard a rustling. Sitting in the living room, it sounded as though it was coming from the kitchen. My heart sank at the first realization that the sound was inconsistent - that it was not just the wild wind we have tonight rustling a plastic bag in the kitchen. No, this was a sound I had heard before. The all-to-familiar sound of a mouse sneaking around in our kitchen! Ugh. I really thought we had ended that battle. I won't even begin to tell you the battles we have fought with those pesky creatures, but the addition of a new back door and a LOT of insta-foam around the house over the past year has seemed to put our battles at end. We had finally won the war!

And then this.

The sound.

I woke Jeremy up (he had fallen asleep on the couch) and told him to listen. Of course it ceased.

A bit later I heard it again.

Again, I told Jeremy to listen. It was quite loud...as loud as a pesky varmint can be. Yet Jeremy heard nothing. I couldn't believe it. I was reminded of the Flinstones episode where Wilma is kept awake due to a drip from a leaky faucet yet Fred hears nothing and continues sleeping peacefully. (I know it exists...but both Google and YouTube searches yielded nothing.)

Finally Jeremy heard it!

But it wasn't coming from the kitchen. It was coming from the hallway.

There was a large tote and a small cardboard box in the hall. We thought perhaps there was a mouse stuck inside trying to get out.

First up was the small box. We placed it inside a trashbag (in case the thing jumped out, of course) and, supplied with tongs and nervous, jumpy hands, we opened the box and began pulling out the contents.

Nothing.

The large tote was next. Now, this had unused Christmas decorations and empty boxes in it and had been closed since putting up the decorations, so there was no logical reason as to why/how a mouse wold have gotten in. But, over the years, we have learned that "logic" and "mouse" are two words that never seem to go together.

We began pulling out the contents.

Nothing.

We concluded that the sucker must be in the air duct and is trying to climb/jump/slide its way out.

Jeremy went to bed and I sat back down on the couch.

There it was again.

I texted Jeremy (because that is what we do while both in the same house) to ask if he heard it in the bedroom. Nope.

I sat and listened. This noise just sounded much bigger than a mouse. And so I texted Jeremy my thoughts. He replied with a simple "hmmm". AKA - I'm trying to sleep, stop worrying about it.

My mind started wandering and it eventually led me to a little mouse finally defeating its Everest and escaping from its dismal abyss...and into the main part of the house! So, naturally, I go in search of an empty tote to place over the vent where it appears to be struggling and a heavy object to place on top of that. I'm taking no chances here!

As I place the tote over the vent, I hear it again! Only it's not coming from below the floor. It's above my head! Or in the walls! Eek! I can't tell, but it's definitely loud and definitely bigger than a mouse!

Of course I go wake up Jeremy and make him stand and listen.

Yep, he agrees.

We come to a theory that the crazy winds have forced open the attic window (this has happened a few times in the past) and something found its way into the warmth (this has never happened in the past). Well...it's not at all warm up there. But it is out of the fierce wind.

We hit the ceiling and hear claws/toenails/who knows scraping across the metal grates of what used to be, I assume, a working attic fan.

A raccoon? A cat? A squirrel?

Jeremy grabs a flashlight, puts on a sweatshirt and shoes, and heads up.

I envision the scene in Elf where Buddy goes in for a hug with a raccoon. Later I learn that Jeremy was picturing National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. Either way, both of us are a bit freaked out about what we he will see when opening the attic access.

He gets up there no problem. I hit the metal grates. Scampering ensues. Jeremy sees nothing.

But the attic window is in fact open. After trying to pile a few random objects from the attic in front of it, it is decided...which, as many times as he's had to go up in the past to close it, I'm not sure why we haven't decided this before...we decide to nail it shut.

One final attempt to see the "thing" by throwing a scrap piece of PVC into the darkness of the other half of the attic proved futile. Landing in a sea of insulation without a hint of sound and the black, black emptiness surrounding it gave the sensation that the pipe was still flying or had vanished entirely. I'm sure the "thing" heard nothing. In fact, I know it didn't. Because it did not stir. Or, rather, it did not run across the metal grate of the old attic fan. I guess it could have scampered through the insulation and been just as silent as the PVC pipe. However, I'd rather not think of something sneaking around up there unnoticed while my head is popped up into the attic and Jeremy is a free target.

So we both came down the ladder. Perhaps tomorrow, when the sun is out and the attic is lit, another go will be made at figuring out what has taken up residence in our attic.

Until then, I will try not to stress about it making a home in whatever comfortable tote it can find and ruining the objects within. I will try not to think about the size of the animal...and the size of the stench that will follow once it dies. I will try not think about our little unwanted guest.



**Side note - I'm pretty sure the tense of my verbs has not been consistent when telling this story. However, seeing as it's nearly 1:00am, I am not about to go back and review my work. You'll just have to deal.

Elf on the Shelf

We have an Elf on the Shelf; his name is Fizzle. Last year was our first year for the little guy to come visit (thanks to my wonderful Texas family).

He moves around the house every night most nights. Thankfully the girls don't fuss about those times when he fails to change locations. And most mornings he does find himself in a new position it's because of mine and my husband's swift moves. You see, he often "magically" moves somewhere in between the first girl waking up (usually Piper) and actually coming-to enough to think about the little guy. Typically, one of us realizes too late that he is in the same spot leading us to team up with a quick distract-and-avoid maneuver with the girl(s) while the other frantically tries to find a new spot, one also out of reach of small hands, in our small house. Those places are quickly becoming scarce.

They do get a kick out of seeing where he is each morning. Even Barrett occasionally throws up a finger and points at the sight. It's fun.

However, our elf does not get into mischief. It's seems to be the big thing right now. Well, the big thing outside of simply having an elf. Pinterest is flooded with ideas. Facebook posts are abundant. If I wasn't careful, thoughts/feelings of being inadequate in the crafty-creative-mom category would start creeping in and taking over.

I mean, come on! What fun things to do with your elf! I've seen pictures of so many cute ideas! And I *know* my kids would absolutely have a blast with such impish behavior.

But...isn't the purpose of the elf to help instill good behavior in your kids? Isn't the whole reason he's in a new spot each morning is because he flew away to report to Santa in the north pole about the behaviors seen each day?

So doesn't it seem a little contradictory to have an elf, whose job is to watch for naughty/nice behavior, continuously perform naughty acts?? "Hey, kids, you be good or I'll report you to Santa...but I can do whatever I want and you can laugh about it and have a good time."

Hmmmm. I don't know. It just doesn't seem right to me.

I'm not knocking those who do have an elf who makes naughty choices each night. Maybe if I had time and energy, I'd do something fun with it, too. Maybe.

But I kind of think I'd still have some issues with the contradiction in it all.

Of course I am playing in to the whole "Santa is real" mindset simply by having an elf, so perhaps I'm already contradicting myself.

*Cue the you're-getting-too-deep-for-this-late-at-night alert*

Goodnight all! I've got an elf to move before he finds himself in the same spot two three days in a row.

And, please, keep posting pictures of your elf's mischievous deeds because I really do find myself impressed with all the creativity you put into it.

Counting My Blessings

Today was a good day. Therapeutic and lots to be thankful for.

On a different topic, below is a brief conversation I had with my 4.5 year-old yesterday.

L: Mom! P hit me with the card twenty of times.
Me: She hit you plenty of times, huh.
L: No. TWENTY. Twenty of times.
Me: Oh.
L: 60 miles. That's how long she hit me.

The day before that, my darling middle child, while attempting to take off her hoodie, cried out, "Help! I can't find my way out!"

And not to leave out the youngest of the brood, B's "communication" with us seems to have suddenly improved. Still not many words (at all), but we are communicating more clearly. This gives me hope that a talker is about to burst free.

As for me, I'm leaving laundry on the floor, dishes in the sink, the Christmas tree on its side, and am off to meet the Sandman.

Tomorrow Is Coming

I have to admit, now that the evening is drawing to a close, I am feeling a bit nervous...no, anxious...about going to school tomorrow.

It's not because I feel like something terrible is going to happen. Not at all.

It's the questions/comments/conversations that might happen with the sweet little faces I will come across this week. I will not start any conversation. But how do I respond to a student's question? What do I do/say if I hear students speaking of the horrors amongst themselves? I haven't even thought about it. I think because I don't want to think about it.

It's seeing a uniformed officer walking the halls of the school...an elementary school. It will be a very in-my-face reminder of what happened and how life has changed. It will force me to think about it.

It's the 1st graders who will enter the library. Will I keep myself composed? I think so. Although I have been known to cry in front of students before (reading The Giver out loud does it every time). I've been forcing thoughts/images out of my mind all weekend. I've been working at not visualizing the 1st graders I know facing such horrific circumstances.

All weekend I've had this deep desire to hug each student (and I am blessed to see every student in the school each week). I won't get to do this, of course. At least not every student. But one of the things I love about the move to elementary is all of the hugs. I get hugs every day. Not every student hugs. And that is okay. But those students who do reach out and hug me this week, I will hang on to that hug a bit longer than I did last week.

The hugs & smiles. That is what I will focus on.

A Day Like Any Other

This morning started as any other.

We were rushing around to get ourselves and the kids ready and out the door on time. Unfortunately, we were about 10 minutes behind schedule. Being in a new school this year with a bit of a drive, I cannot afford running that behind.

So, as it were, I was not in the best of moods when I turned on the van and saw the time. I will go ahead and throw in the fact that I have been waking up more tired than usual this week and this morning was no exception. Probably not helping my mood. Add to this, Piper was hysterically (okay, maybe not that extreme but I was already on edge, remember?) crying/yelling about her buckle.

Let me point out that she buckles herself. If she ever has issues, it's with the bottom two connections. Jeremy had taken care of the bottom for her since we were late, so all she had to do was snap the chest connection. I have NO idea why she was flipping out about this. But I was not wasting any more time, so off I drove.

The hysterics continued.

My harsh tone began.

And increased.

Into yelling.

She was not stopping.

Again, remember, I was already on edge. I finally slammed on the brakes and pulled to the side of the road. In doing so, my large, 32oz. water mug fell and spilled everywhere. GREAT! Just what I needed! I opened Piper's door and the passenger door and proceeded to clean up the watery mess first in an attempt to salvage items from getting too wet.

At some point, Piper quieted. As I finished wiping up the last of the drops that I could see in the darkness, I heard Piper's belt click. Why couldn't she have done this earlier?!?!

Without a word, I closed both doors and walked around the van simultaneously ripping off my jacket because I was now a hot mess. I threw it in, yelled out to Jeremy (who had asked if I was okay) something to the effect of "NO! I'm pissed! At Piper!" and slammed the door.

I drove off and the van was silent. Well, Barrett let out the occasional squawk. I told Piper I was disappointed and upset and that crying over a seat belt is a silly thing to cry over.

Silence.

By the time we arrived to the daycare, we were both calmer. Well, until she started crying about her jacket as I was trying to rush her out of the van. Then she was crying for me as I dropped her off. Ugh. I closed the door and watched her outstretched hands disappear.

I was heading to work and just couldn't stop thinking about the events that had just unfolded. I was still in a mood. Still watching the clock as I reached little "checkpoints" along my route to work. Still frustrated about anything and everything.

But at some point I found myself wanting to call up the daycare and speak to Piper over the phone to apologize about yelling at her. But I didn't. I had reasons why then, but I can't really recall them now.

And then WBGL, the radio station that plays nonstop Christmas music this time of year, played the song "Mary Did You Know?" This is one of my all-time favorite Christmas songs. I have fond memories of a lady at the church I attended in high school singing this song each year. I have heard it many, many times. I'm sure I have heard it since being a mother. However, this morning I heard it anew.

And I was a blubbery mess.

A rush of thoughts and emotions flooded me. Most I can't put in words. But I did continually tell myself, "what an irrational reaction that was for me to get so upset about Piper's little fit...a fit that was no different than most others she's been throwing as of late...a simple buckle issue that could so easily be resolved with calm talking as I have done a hundred times in the past...what an irrational reaction for me to have."

I continued to sob.

The song continued to play.

These kids are such a blessing to me. And even though I know my kids are not The Messiah, I kept being reminded of the fact that they are destined to do great things. They have a purpose. They were created by God. They were given to me to take care of. "Jessica, did you know that you baby girl, will someday _______?"

And I wept.

All the way to school.

I had to sit in my van a bit to compose myself. At that point I didn't care if I was late. There are more important things in life.

I also kept thinking that perhaps I was MEANT to be late today. Perhaps I was meant to be in the van at that exact moment to hear that song. God knew it would speak to me in a way it never had before. God knew what I needed to hear this morning. And he knew I needed to learn a lesson or two in the process.

I was feeling better.

I even shared with a dear, sweet, co-worker who, unknowingly, has been a blessing to me this year with her never-ending supply of smiles and good cheer despite some horrible circumstances in her own life...I shared with her briefly about my drive to work. It's nice to have someone at work to talk to in such a personal way (but not too personal, let's not get carried away here!). I haven't had that in awhile. Maybe never. These new co-workers are all just such a blessing to me. But perhaps that's for a different blog.

And then I heard the news. Tragic, horrific, inexplicable, unimaginable news.

And I wept. I walked into my library (thankfully empty of kids) and wept. And sobbed.

I returned something to the cafeteria and hugged and wept with another sweet lady.

Because, you know...

This morning started as any other in Connecticut, too.

On the drive home from work I found myself sobbing in my van once again.

But I was on my way to pick up my kids. I was on my way to receiving their unconditional love.

And as I sobbed, I wondered...

How many parents of those little 6 & 7 year-olds had a morning like mine?

How many parents thought about saying one last thing to their child but didn't? For reasons now that they cannot remember.

How many words were spoken in anger or frustration that now seem so unbelievably irrational and wrong...but can never be corrected through apologies or hugs or kisses?

It sounds cliche, but I did hug my children tighter this evening. Or at least with more intention.

I watched them play and laugh with each other and tried to soak in the moment. I even pulled out the video camera to capture it.

And I cried. Not in front of them. Moments when they weren't looking or I was in a separate room. Tears just appeared.

I cannot begin to fathom what those parents, family members, friends, community members are going through. I can't imagine what kind of pain they are in.

And I really just have no words.

Then I sat down to my computer and saw this blog that someone I knew for a brief time in 2002 wrote.

And I am afforded a sliver of peace.

A bit of hope.

Because God wept today.