The Gift That Keeps On Giving

You know, there are some things you should only have to suffer through once.

First steps. Being potty-trained. Losing your first tooth. Learning to ride a bike. Having your heart broken by Mr. Peterson, your 7th grade Science teacher, when you saw him holding hands with his WIFE after a school function one evening and you had the biggest crush on him EVER and why couldn't he wait for YOU instead of marrying her???

Um. Well.

Then there were pimples.

Zits.

Those horrible bumps that turned into hills that became mountains on your face, just when you began to notice and be noticed by boys.

I wrote an essay in my sophomore year of high school about the lowly zit, and how I would be ever so glad to outgrow it. I couldn't wait for the day when it would no longer cause me angst. Oh, for the time when I didn't have to worry anymore about a huge blob showing up on the most noticable part of my face at the worst possible moment! I figured that would happen around the ripe old age of 21 or so.

Ah, Youth! You are so full of folly!

Lemme tell you youngsters out there something....it's the curse that keeps on giving.

At the moment I have one right in the middle of my left cheek. No folks, it's the upper cheek. And I've been waiting on Mount Vesuvius to erupt all week long. As the days went on it just got bigger and bigger and bigger and bigger, but refused to come out and fight. Finally, after it had taken over the greater part of the left side of my face, I did what any red-blooded American teenager would do.

I sounded the air-raid sirens, yelled out "TAKE COVER, FOLKS, SHE'S GONNA BLOW!!!" and I popped the sucker.

I know, I know. It was gross. It wasn't pretty. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and believe me...this was a desperate, desperate time.

At this point I'm guessing I'll have a huge one either right between my eyes or on the tip of my nose when they lay me out cold on that slab of marble and my soul goes to meet Jesus. That would be just my luck. I can almost hear Him now...

"You gonna pop that thing, or what?"

Jerry Rig Is My Best Friend

We seem to be on a roll, and it has nothing to do with yeast.

First, the microwave went out. I don't know if I mentioned this lately, but the money tree I got from the mail-order house hasn't had time to bloom yet, so we're a little on the tight end of things here and unable to afford a new under-the-counter microwave to replace the one that died. Thankfully Hubster had a spare counter-top one at the House That Will Not Sell that he gutted and remodeled over two years ago that he brought home for us to use.

It's sitting on a chair in the dining room.

Because we are nothing if not klassy.

Crisis number one jerry-rigged. On to bigger and better things.

Then the computer started acting funny. And by funny I do not in any way mean that it started to tell jokes in the middle of the night or that it stood on top of the desk with a lampshade on its head. Oh no indeed.

First, all of the USB ports died. Well, they didn't die so much as they just stopped working. I can still charge my MP3 player through one of the ports, but that's about all I can do. And that only when the computer is actually ON. Not overly bad considering I can use the kids' computer for any USB-related work I need to do...under much protest from the kids.

Crisis number two jerry-rigged.

Then my computer froze up and died. Turned its toes up. Heaved its last. Black screen of death.

However, turns out the only thing it needs is a new fan, or so I think. After I turned it off and let it cool down and then turned it back on, I noticed I didn't hear a fan running. That's easy enough to fix, as soon as I can get the part and have someone talk me through it. Until then I can use the computer at work and fight off the kids to use their computer.

Crisis number three jerry-rigged.

In the meantime, posting could be light. I mean after all, I either have to post during my breaks or lunch hour here at work, or I have to fight off two teenagers in the evenings when I'm dog-tired.

In the meantime, think of me fondly, won't you?

The Bird In The Bush Is $4.03 A Cup

Last night, for the first night in almost two weeks, I SLEPT LIKE A BABY.

Which is to say I did not lie down, roll back and forth from one side to the other endlessly, sigh heavily 437 times to let my bed-partner know how frustrated I was at my inability to nod off, get up to go to the bathroom 32 times (why does insomnia make you have to pee?), get up to go downstairs and play on the computer/watch television/read/eat until I was zombie-fied/my eyes blurred/there was no food left in the house, or exercise like mad until I got tired.

Yeah, I was totally kidding about that last one.

As a matter of fact, I was asleep mere minutes after my head hit the pillow. And what's more, I woke up at six ayem, raring to go!

So go I did.

I went downstairs to put a load of clothes in the dryer, took a shower, washed my hair, put make-up on, and (gasp!) did a set of scrunches. I got dressed, woke up The Boy for his Hour of Shower, then went downstairs to prepare my lunch. As I was putting on my shoes, I watched part of an episode of House.

I was cookin' with GAS, baby. The burners were on HIGH.

Hubster got home from his job and I left for work early. I was thinking I'd have enough time to stop by the local Starbucks and use the card I got for Mothers' Day.

I was hyped. I was ready. I was STOKED.

Coffee in hand, I got back to the car and headed down the road. I resisted taking even a sip of the Elixir of the Gods while on the road, choosing instead to savor its flavor and downright goodness once I got to work and for the remainder of the morning.

It was a good day. A very good day indeed.

I pulled into the parking lot, right on time. I loaded up a bag of stuff I needed, a full glass of ice water (with a lid), my lunch (in a Tupperware-ish container), my purse (which could be likened to a small duffle bag), and The Drink. There was quite a balancing act going on as I headed into the building, so I stopped halfway in to make sure The Drink was safe and sound - the only occupant of my right hand.

On the way into the building I met another employee. He opened the first of two doors, and then I reached to grab the second one. He, trying to be gracious, grabbed for the door at the same time I did.

And that's when the day started to go downhill.

He knocked into my right hand, and the lovely, lovely drink exploded all over the floor, my shoes, and my pants.

I almost wept, right then and there.

And as a second choice, I almost got down on my knees to lick up the stuff that really wasn't dirty because, HELLO, THREE SECOND RULE, right?

OK, so maybe I was coveting my iced-venti-nonfat-mocha-w/whipped a little too much and God needed to put me down a peg or two.

Only now, having had the bird in the hand and losing it, I'm coveting the one in the bush even more.

Sigh.

I'm A Cookie, And Sharon Shoulda Won

The first step to overcoming a problem is admitting you have one, right?

Well, I have a problem. I seem to have become hooked on reality television shows.

I blame it on the Writers' Strike. Since the few shows the family and I watch together had no new episodes, we were forced to find other avenues of entertainment. I mean, God forbid we should play a board game or go visit Mom or clean the house or something stupid like that.

That's just now how we roll.

And that's how I found myself caught in the jaws of Big Brother this past season, rooting for Sharon, a gal from my area. While she made it to the final four, she was too nice to make it to the end. Another guy won the grand prize instead.

And I was sad.

Enter American Idol.

A young man from my area was one of the contestants. David Cook by name. He had weird-looking hair at the beginning of the season, but that changed. What didn't change was the talent that showed through. He had an incredible range. This guy could sing a ballad as well as he could rock out.

(And yes, I said rock out. I'm allowed. I'm a child of the 70's, and we did that way back then.)

He sang with ZZ TOP tonight!!! For those of you who do not remember ZZ Top because you were in the pre-embryonic stage when they became popular, let me just say this; I pity you. The same goes for Graham Nash.

Not so much for George Michael.

Anyway.

David Cook did his hometown proud tonight. He is the new American Idol, and I couldn't be more happy for him. When the results were announced there was much shouting and jumping for joy in my household.

We live vicariously through our television. It's really very sad.

I will now return to my regularly scheduled programming and fast from the reality for a while. Because after all, isn't that what television is all about, avoidance of reality?

I thought so.

Good Things Come To Those Who Wait A Little Longer Than Normal

My family is not known for being timely.

As a matter of fact, we're downright late when it comes to celebrating holidays and special occasions other than Christmas. And sometimes we're even bad about Christmas. Oh, we try to get and give gifts ON the day itself, but it just doesn't always work out that way.

For instance, there was one time I remember handing Cutie's father his birthday present about three months after the fact. I hadn't forgotten, mind you. I could NEVER forget. I just didn't get around to actually handing him the gift until a little later.

OK, a LOT later. But he knew he was loved, and still does today.

However, we still have a Christmas gift or two to get to one of his siblings. And he knows he is loved as well. At least I hope he does, because at this rate it will be next Christmas before he gets last Christmas' gift.

Sigh.

This past week Eldest and his wife went out of town to Seattle for a small vacation. They hired The Girl to come over and feed Alex the Psycho Cat while they were gone, and as she was working, Hubster ended up doing the job for her. When he came home the first day he brought an envelope in with my name on it. Inside was a card wishing me a Happy Mother's Day, and inside the card was this:



Tomorrow morning is already looking brighter. I couldn't be happier.

All I need now is a pedicure to go with my coffee. And I'll get one...right after I finish Christmas shopping.

Wii Have A Chance To Bii Fit

I know this is a shock to those of you who have read this little blog for any length of time, because I have always purported to be a slim, trim, get-up-and-go type of person who can't sit still.

Ahem.

So it will come as no surprise to you that I am entering yet another contest sponsored by Three Kid Circus to win a Wii console PLUS the new Wii Fit balance board and game. The only problem is that I have to bare my weight-loss soul in order to do so. Not that I haven't done so before, but folks?

It's ugly. So be prepared.

I started dieting in gradeschool after the other kids made fun of me because I was fat. And I have never stopped, except for the twelve years after the birth of my final child.

In my defense, I come by it naturally. This is a photo of my paternal grandparents. My sister got the genetic height from them, and I got the genetic weight. My maternal grandparents were short and skinny. Sis got the skinny gene from them, and I got the short gene.

I think I've been on every diet known to man during my lifetime, and some that have not. I've spent approximately $42,942,234.73 in diet aids, weight loss programs, fitness machines, gizmos, supplements, dues, foods, tapes, dvds, acupunture, hypnosis, counseling, books and any other fad that has come down the pike.

I did Weight Watchers more times than I could count. I did tapes called Believercise, I did Jane Fonda's Workout tapes, Richard Simmons' Deal-A-Meal, Dr. Atkins, South Beach and Prism. I have had an exercycle with a fan-type attachment, a treadmill, a Gazelle, and one of those electric exercise bikes. I have walked countless miles with countless pedometers and tape players that played motivational music, CD players that played motivational music, and MP3 players that played motivational music. I have joined at least three gyms and given up on each of them when I didn't get results. I tried a beta computerized weight loss program and Jenny Craig. I tried joining a group at work that weighed in every Friday so we'd be accountable to each other. I tried the grapefruit diet and the cabbage soup diet.

I lost weight on each and every thing I tried.

And I gained it all back again. And more.

But there was one thing I did to lose weight that was stupider than any other.

I watched an independent television station in our city when I was young and impressionable. There was a show on that station that was done by a former Mr. America and his wife, who just happened to own a health food store in our area. They had come up with a "wonder plan" that promised to detoxify your system and rid you of the cravings for unhealthy foods, while supplying your body with healthy supplements and bringing you to optimum health.

I went to the store and met with the wife. She weighed me in, took my photo, and supplied me with all manner of supplements and equipment. Along with the the equipment was a first-class, state-of-the-art enema bag.

Yes, I said an enema bag.

She explained that unless I was eliminating solid waste every time I went to the bathroom, I was poisoning my system. Due to this, I was to perform an enema both morning and evening to be sure my system was cleansed of all impurities. She said others who had been on this program had gotten rid of all kinds of things that should not have been in their bowels, including tumors, and it was the BEST way to lose weight...the HEALTHIEST way to lose weight...in the world. All I had to do was follow the eating plan, take the supplements and do the "cleansing" rituals.

And I fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker. I paid some ungodly sum and signed up.

To my credit, I stuck with it for two whole weeks before I gave up. I lost a total of 15 pounds, which I promptly gained back.

The wife, who had also been selling health club memberships on the side, ended up going to jail for fraud. I've seen the husband in restaurants around town since then. I've heard they since divorced.

And me? I'm still fat and sassy.

And I don't buy anything from television salespeople anymore.

My, Oh Migraine, Or How I Spent My Thursday

This is what happens when you run out of Topamax and don't get the prescription refilled for a couple of weeks or a month and the Imitrex doesn't work.

On a positive note, I got a lot of sleep today. :-)

The Forms, They Are Redundant. And They Ask The Same Thing Over And Over Again, Too.

I have come up with an idea that will make me at least a gazillion dollars.

It's called the UNIVERSAL FORM.

It will contain names, birth dates, family history, prescription drug lists, credit card numbers, Social Security numbers, emergency contacts and anything else you want or need it to contain, not limited to your second cousin on your father's side with the big wart on her nose and webbed toes maiden name.

Because, Dear Interweblings, I am sick and tired of forms that ask the same thing over and over again. And I like even less when they ask the same thing over and over again ON THE SAME FORM.

Today I filled out forms that asked my name, address and phone number along with my birth date and Social Security number at least three times ON THE SAME FORM. And then, to make even more of an indelible image on the person requiring all the forms, I had to fill out upwards of FOUR SEPARATE FORMS WITH THE EXACT SAME INFORMATION but different titles so that I would think I wasn't dealing with some people who were lacking any form of short-term memory.

It's enough to drive a sane person absolutely nuts. And me, too.

The forms are the equivalent of me dealing with my almost-deaf grandfather.

"My name is Chris Singer. My address is 1234 Smith Street, Midwest, USA. My phone number is 555-555-5555. My Social Security number is 123-45-6789."

"Eh?"

"My name is Chris Singer. My address is 1234 Smith Street, Midwest, USA. My phone number is 555-555-5555. My Social Security number is 123-45-6789."

"And your name is...?"

"My name is Chris Singer. My address is 1234 Smith Street, Midwest, USA. My phone number is 555-555-5555. My Social Security number is 123-45-6789."

"Could you repeat that for me?"

"My name is Chris Singer. My address is 1234 Smith Street, Midwest, USA. My phone number is 555-555-5555. My Social Security number is 123-45-6789. My name is Chris Singer. My address is 1234 Smith Street, Midwest, USA. My phone number is 555-555-5555. My Social Security number is 123-45-6789. My name is Chris Singer. My address is 1234 Smith Street, Midwest, USA. My phone number is 555-555-5555. My Social Security number is 123-45-6789."

It's kind of like being tortured by enemy forces so that they can find out crucial governmental secrets that only I am privy to, and I'm not allowed to do anything but give them the same information over and over and over again or I'd be labeled a traitor and end up in front of a firing squad. Only instead of hitting me with bullets they'd be firing off the same questions over and over and over and...

Only not.

And then, when I am ushered into the office to meet the person I've been filling out All The Forms for, I am asked all of the exact same questions once again. And so I fall on the floor in a quivering mass of gelatinous humanity and beg them to STOP! PLEASE STOP!

And then they call the people from the mental health area to come and shovel me up off of the carpet and haul me away.

Right after I fill out a few forms.

Let Me Wish You A Happy Mother's Day Now, Because I'll Be Dead Meat When She Sees This

Here she is.

The one who gave me life.

She's almost 5'1" if she stretches really hard. She's a clean freak. She makes a MEAN chocolate pie, and she's never happier than when she's caring for someone else. She provides love, support, a shoulder to lean on and an ear to listen whenever she's needed.

She's canned a thousand jars of green beans and tomatoes, provided us with all manner of bounty from her garden, and still manages to have the best-looking yard on the block. Work should be her middle name, because she never stops. There is no such thing as a lazy bone in her body.

She came from a Depression-era background. She knows how to stretch a dollar almost as well as she knows how to make things grow. She uses that skill to make sure Christmas is a magical experience for all of her family. Each year the number of gifts under the tree astound us all.

She tries new things, like email and the internet. She plays Bunko like a pro. She enjoys her sorority, an occasional trip to the boats, her grandchildren, and her great-grandchild. She is the Queen of Chicken Nuggets. Her three-layer German chocolate cake is reknown.

Oh, she's not perfect. She can help you pack the bags for a guilt trip with the best of 'em. She's stubborn, she's a perfectionist, and she's a real pistol sometimes. She can whop you in the face with a wet dishrag faster than you can say Jack Robinson if she thinks you're sassing her. And we won't even talk about her mastery of the "foing."

But...

She has a heart that's full of love, hands that are always busy doing for others, and a feisty spirit. She may be little, but she's MIGHTY.

She's Mom.

And I love her with all my heart.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

There May Or May Not Be A Little Friskiness Involved Later On

I went out on a date tonight. And I had a REALLY. GOOD. TIME.

Hubster and I had a coupon for one of the local eating establishments. The Girl was at work and The Boy said he'd settle for Taco Bell on our way back home, so we went out and painted the town red.

Maybe not ALL of the town, but our little corner anyway.

We haven't been out with just the two of us for a while. I think I even forgot what it was like to sit across the table and actually carry on a conversation with him that didn't have to do with bills or kids.

And let me add right here that NO POLITICS WERE DISCUSSED. Because the discussion of politics usually ends up with me raising my voice in a most unpleasant manner and then bursting into tears. Which would be why I don't ever discuss politics.

I think it's a good plan.

We talked about work, we talked about an upcoming family portrait, and we talked about the price of toilet paper ($14.62 with tax for a 12-mega roll package of Charmin at the Wal-Marts, which is ludicrous in and of itself. I mean REALLY, folks. It costs more to wipe your behind than it costs to send your kids to college nowadays. Hubster even said we were going to limit everyone to four squares per sit-down, and if that didn't do it we were going to invest in Sears catalogs and sycamore leaves. And don't EVEN get me started on the price of gasoline and dairy products....)

(realizing I'm on a tangent and need to get control)

(putting soap box away now)

(stepping AWAY from the soap box)

(regaining some modicum of composure and trying to breathe normally)

...where was I?

Ah yes, the date.

So we ate, we talked, we got to know each other a little more again. We held hands on the way out of the restaurant. We laughed about the world we left behind for a little while; the kids fighting, the worries about bills, the price of everything nowadays. We went to Wal-Mart and bought toilet paper, and to Taco Bell to get the kids something to eat.

And then we came home to reality.

The Girl complained that we hadn't got the right thing for her, that her brother got what she wanted, that the food was cold. The Boy took his food and retreated to the computer to watch illegally obtained movies on a website that has been forbidden. I changed into my sleep shirt and started to write as Hubster settled down to watch television.

Things are back to normal, only a little bit better than before.

Look! A $100 Target Gift Card!

Made you look! :-)

Actually, there IS a $100 Target gift card up for grabs, and you can enter to win it here:

So go. And be sure to tell them I sent you!

What are you waiting for???

I Now Feel As Though My Life Is Truly Full

This is what came in the mail today, courtesy of Valpak. The locations and phone numbers have been blocked to protect the innocent.

What do you think the people that frequent this establishment think about when they see all the other patients in the waiting room? "Hmmmm....guess we know why SHE'S here, eh?"

At least it's FAST! PAINLESS! AND EFFECTIVE!

I don't even want to think about the NON-SURGICAL claim.

But I must admit I am somewhat comforted by the fact that there are NOW TWO LOCATIONS! to serve me should I ever suffer from hemorrhoids either here or in a foreign land. Because here in the vast wilderness of the Midwest it's hard to find a General Practitioner of the Healing Arts who knows how to discreetly refer someone to a specialist to treat this condition.

They'd much rather send us to someone who advertises with Valpak.

I'm just disappointed the coupon wasn't for half off....

The Words Aptly Spoken

Watching someone you love waste away is never fun. It's painful. It's heartbreaking. It tears your guts out.

This past weekend I was informed that my Aunt Joyce was not expected to live much longer. She was life-flighted from her home to a hospital two hours away because the country hospital in her area is not able to handle her case. This is the second time in two weeks she's had a helicopter ride; both to the same place and both for the same reason. I drove the three and a half hours to where she is on Friday night, hoping to see her before she died.

However, she surprised us all.

Her lungs, for all intents and purposes, are gone. She has very little left to breathe with at this point, and she may not be able to get off of the respirator. If she does get off of the respirator, chances are she'll be back on it again in very little time. She did not want to go to the hospital this time, and she does not want to be hooked to a respirator at home. She does not want to return to the hospital if she gets out this time.

Gee, I wonder where I get my stubborn streak from?

So I went. There were things I needed to say to her before she leaves this earth. I wanted to tell her again how much I love her and how much having her in my life has meant to me. I wanted to tell her that she was able to show me God in a way no one else could. I wanted to thank her for teaching me so many things, including how to see the good side of those who hurt me. I wanted to rehash the good times we'd had over a lifetime and to thank her for those. I wanted to thank her for showing me the beauty there is in this world, and how to appreciate it. I wanted to hug her and kiss her while I still could, and to tell her how important she is to me.

And I wanted to kick her in the behind for even thinking about leaving before I had a chance to do all of that.

Thankfully, with the help of the respirator, she was able to breathe and even sit up in a chair while I was there. She wrote notes and bossed people around, she smiled and pointed and got frustrated when we couldn't guess what she was pantomiming. She showed the spirit she's always had.

She's no dummy. She knows what lies ahead. She's had a lot of time to think and to plan. So while I had some time alone with her, she wrote a note to me. She asked if I would sing at her funeral.

And I cried like a baby.

She apologized for upsetting me, and then told me she would understand if I didn't think I could do it.

So I made a bargain with her. I told her I would sing at her funeral only if she promised to be the first to meet me when I got to Heaven. She agreed with a big smile on her face.

You see, she has no fear of death. She knows where she's going, and what awaits her there. For her, it would be a release. So while I was telling her everything else I needed to tell her, I added one thing.

I told her it was OK for her to let go any time she wanted to, even though I love her so very much.

My daughter and I will be going back to see her this next weekend if she survives that long. It seems The Girl has a few words of her own to say, a few hugs and kisses to give. She needs her own time to say goodbye.

And that's not so hard to understand.

In Which I Am Both Blessed And Freaked Out All In One Night

Remember the Neverending Cough? It is but a fading scar of things past. It's over. Done. Kaput.

And I couldn't be more blessed.

That is, until tonight.

Tonight was the first band rehearsal I've been to since January. I haven't been on the schedule regularly for SIX MONTHS due to the stupid (and now non-existent) cough. I can't tell you how much I've missed singing, and how very blessed I feel to be able to do it again.

So much so that I cried after we did the first worship song.

And as if that wasn't enough, right after rehearsal I got to visit the Treasure Sale my church is having this weekend. It officially starts tomorrow, but there was a "sneak preview" tonight. It could conceivably be called THE WORLD'S LARGEST RUMMAGE SALE, because folks? The bargains were piled to the rafters in that building, and the building is BIG.

I came away with a booster chair for the grandkids to sit in when they eat here, a fax machine for my part-time job, and a movie I hadn't seen yet. All for the bargain price of $14.

All of the proceeds go to support ministries, so it was for a good cause. And yes, I did try to bargain even though it was for a good cause and even though it wasn't even the first day of the sale. I can't help it. It's in my blood.

I'm so ashamed.

Thankfully, they turned me down flat.

In other news, I stopped to get gasoline for the vehicle tonight on the way home and found it at the "bargain" price of $3.39 a gallon. That's down from the $3.42 a gallon I paid the last time I bought gas. I no longer try to fill up the tank. I buy $20 worth at a time and hope for the best.

WHEN WILL THE CRAZINESS STOP?????

And as I was putting petrol in the tank, the sirens went off.

Most of you don't know that several years ago my area of the country had a devastating tornado. We got to the basement only minutes before it hit, and we suffered quite a bit of damage. The house next door had the second floor bedroom blown out of it, and some houses behind us just went away and never came back. Other homes were lifted up and set back down on the foundations, while still others looked as though they'd been pushed over. Amazingly, some were untouched. We ended up with damage to the siding and roof, our heat pump was demolished, the woodpile scattered over the neighborhood, and we lost several trees. Two different branches that were 8" in diameter buried themselves over six feet deep in our backyard. We had to take jacks to get them out of the ground. The cleanup took two weeks, during which time Hubster's back went out and I almost keeled over from heat exhaustion. We were without power for over a week.

Suffice it to say it wasn't fun.

So when the sirens went off tonight as I was at the pump, I got a little freaked out. Thankfully, the tornados were to the north and south of us this time. I've had my fill for a lifetime, thank you.

And so here I sit. Blessed beyond measure, and a completely different person from who I was a mere two months ago.

God is good.

In Which the Rodential Population Suffers Yet Another Loss

It's been lonely around here since Joe met his demise. We've been missing the little fellow so! The lack of his little "deposits" and nightly runs, not to mention that lovely gnawing sound, have left a gaping hole in our daily life.

One we used to bury his successor.

Yes, we had yet another "little friend" of Joe's that was bunking in our house. Funny, I don't recall Joe asking for permission for anyone to sleep over. This one decided to come out and play with us a couple of nights after Joe met his maker. I guess he was lonely.

And when I say "he" I am saying it with the utmost optimism and prayerful fervency, hoping against hope that The Lord God Almighty will have seen fit to rescue us from female infestation. Because the mouse-type beings? They multiply like rabbits.

Only worse.

So I'm sitting there with my feet up on the desk, typing away, when I see the varmint run across the rug in the office, between the bookcase and the computer tower next to the desk. Hubster was already in bed and The Girl was sitting at her little computer desk close to me. Being the ever-resourceful person I am, I stayed right where I was, grabbed the phone, and called Hubster on his cell with pleas to COME DOWNSTAIRS RIGHT NOW AND GET THIS MOUSE BEFORE I GO STARK RAVING MAD FROM HAVING TO DEAL WITH IT.

He laughed as he came downstairs and shanghaied The Boy to assist him. In the meantime, The Girl had taken a chair from the kitchen and was standing on it, shining a flashlight on the "poor thing," keeping a safe distance while informing us of his every move.

Glue traps were placed so the mouse had only one avenue of escape - behind the bookcase, where he promptly ran. Much shouting and squealing ensued. Hubster and son placed traps on either side of the bookcase, confident the intruder would not be able to get by without being eighty-sixed.

But Little Varmint was smart. He used the baseboard and the edge of the trap to climb out from behind the bookcase and BEHIND MY DESK.

I was NOT amused.

Another shift in tactics, and now LV was trapped behind the desk. Or so we thought. After a bit of banging around, he ran UNDER THE DESK AND THEN UNDER MY CHAIR. More shouting, running and screaming.

And I was not the source of All The Screaming for a change.

I kept my calm, Interweblings. I kept my calm. You would've been so proud.

The Boy chased LV back behind the desk, but seeing there was nowhere else to go to get rid of these humans he ran back out again, across the room and under the secretary. Hurried guerilla warfare consultations followed before the Three Great White Hunters (and One Chicken) decided to plant traps all the way around the secretary.

But he escaped again, running into the corner of the room. He was quickly surrounded by traps with no escape possible. He ran, but his back feet and tail got caught in one of the glue traps.

"AHA!" said the TGWH&OC, "We've got him NOW!!"

But they spoke too fast.

As Hubster picked up the trap in order to dispose of the LV, the LV managed to utilize Great Physical Strength along with the force of gravity to free himself from the trap. There were shouts of dismay as LV ran into the dining room, and from there to the kitchen. The Girl, armed with her kitchen chair, had trouble keeping up. It's hard work climbing up and down a chair every time a mouse moves.

From my perch in the office I heard shouting and banging and calamity in the kitchen, as LV was once again trapped and released himself. He ran under the refrigerator but was too scared to stay there, so he ventured into the living room. TGWH minus OC followed, ever vigilant in their pursuit.

And then I heard it.

Three quick bangs, as if someone was pounding a log on the floor. More shouting, then The Girl. "Oh, the poor little thing! You've paralyzed it from the waist down!"

I didn't ask.

Later I found out that Hubster picked up the LV and put him outside where he belongs. Whether or not he recovered I have no idea. I was so very glad to see him go.

I just hope he didn't invite friends in.