Mouse.
There's the word you never want to hear your husband say (well I'm sure there are worse ones, like divorce or creditcardbill...). But that's exactly what my husband uttered about a week ago, and it's seemed like an eternity since then. The constant cleaning of droppings (gag!), frantically and hysterically calling the housing department when you realize the little effers have chewed through the wall that was just plugged up to keep them out, over worrying about your precious little fur-baby and what she'll do if she sees one (for the love of blog donoteatit!!!).
My husband has the patience of a saint. And there are some days I think he gets a reality check on the prissy little thing he's married to. But he still loves me thank goodness.
The upside to all of this? The de-crapifying mission has been steaming along! Our garage looks fantastic because we've gone through to make sure there are no mice nesting anywhere out there (knock on wood, there's not). The walk-in linen closet, which had become a dumping ground for extra furniture, has been almost entirely gutted (and washed in boiling hot water) because unfortunately, there was at least one mouse in there. Even the kitchen has received a skeptical eye on what stays and what goes. Imagine my chagrin when my mother opened up a drawer and discovered an entire set of Crate & Barrel dishware that I had never used and completely forgot that I even owned.
Yay for silver linings that help with getting the house clean and organized! But boo and hiss that it came on the heels of mice.
There's the word you never want to hear your husband say (well I'm sure there are worse ones, like divorce or creditcardbill...). But that's exactly what my husband uttered about a week ago, and it's seemed like an eternity since then. The constant cleaning of droppings (gag!), frantically and hysterically calling the housing department when you realize the little effers have chewed through the wall that was just plugged up to keep them out, over worrying about your precious little fur-baby and what she'll do if she sees one (for the love of blog donoteatit!!!).
My husband has the patience of a saint. And there are some days I think he gets a reality check on the prissy little thing he's married to. But he still loves me thank goodness.
The upside to all of this? The de-crapifying mission has been steaming along! Our garage looks fantastic because we've gone through to make sure there are no mice nesting anywhere out there (knock on wood, there's not). The walk-in linen closet, which had become a dumping ground for extra furniture, has been almost entirely gutted (and washed in boiling hot water) because unfortunately, there was at least one mouse in there. Even the kitchen has received a skeptical eye on what stays and what goes. Imagine my chagrin when my mother opened up a drawer and discovered an entire set of Crate & Barrel dishware that I had never used and completely forgot that I even owned.
Yay for silver linings that help with getting the house clean and organized! But boo and hiss that it came on the heels of mice.
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