Ramblings: Eek.

For the past few months I've been planning on attacking the disorganized mess known as my craft closet (a.k.a. the twins' "closet") in the exercise room (formerly the twins' room). It has been getting worse and worse by the day, to the point where I just stack stuff outside of it so that I don't have to open the doors and deal with things tumbling down on top of me. So while the boys were napping, I got started and made some pretty good progress sorting through everything. Things were getting a tad bit organized. I was seeing things that had been hidden for a long time by other junk thrown in haphazardly on top. Things with similar purposes were placed together, unnecessary items were chucked, and drawers were sorted. 

See this little part of the double closet..not bad, right? I was making real progress.

Then Aidan woke up and came in to "help" me. He did some stamping, paper punching, and looked through a giant stack of pictures. He was fairly entertained and managed not to make things too much harder. But then....Then...THEN... IT HAPPENED!

I moved a bag of the kids' school papers and projects that I hadn't yet filed  in their school "keeper" boxes, and I found a little friend. So I said, "Why, hello there little friend."  

Translation: I screamed and slammed the door. And then I ran away. 

Oh, what's that? You didn't get a close enough look? Ok. Here ya go. Take a gander at that little rotting guy. He will remain there until Jeremy gets home and I force him to remove it. 

I hate mice. I hate all mice. I hate all the mice in the entire world. (Nacho Libre flashback, anyone?) And if you don't believe me about my rodent hatred, just ask my friend Mary Ann how she helped me kill a giant one we caught on a sticky board in our garage. Of course Jeremy was out of town, and the nasty thing was still alive and thrashing and squealing every time I went out there. The kids were terrified.  To make a long story short, we managed to get the flailing thing into a garbage bag and into a dumpster at a nearby strip mall--cuz neither one of us wanted to know that thing was in our garbage bin. But because we're not heartless, we couldn't throw it in there alive to suffer until it died on its own. Instead we drove over it in the garbage bag about 5 times with her giant diesel suburban. Instant (and flat as a pancake) death, I'm sure.  It was all very traumatic for both--scratch that--all of us (me, Mar, and particularly the rat). 

Man I need a diet coke. And some leftover chocolate sheet cake from last night. And maybe I'll feel better. Bloated--yes, but at least not consumed by thoughts of dead rodents infesting my house and my scrapbooking supplies.