Monday, September 19, 2011


I was happily walking in my meadow, watching our puppy trying to catch the waving seed heads when my daughter hollered, "Mom, there are bikes in the garage!"

I couldn't quite hear her, but bikes in the garage should not have elicited the response she had on display.  I thought I should check it out.

When I looked in, I saw five baby mice.  As in mouses.  Rodents.  Filth.  Destroyers.  Vermin.

I instantly started to hyperventilate.  It was one o'clock in the afternoon.  My husband is at work at wouldn't be home until the evening.  I bought this damn house that is 30 minutes away from my father.  My manly son is impossibly far away.  It was up to me and I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to handle this.

They had to die.  I knew that.  There was no one else to kill them.  I tried to make myself have the girls do it.  I decided that could scar their tender little souls.  These baby mice were still very babyish, you know?  I wrung my hands.  I whimpered.  I paced.  I even cried a little.

"I can't do this!"  I wailed to no one in particular.

Finally, I grabbed a shovel.  I will spare you the details, but it was horrific.  I screamed and squealed like a little girl--not the play ground who-can-make-each-other's-ears-bleed scream, but the I-am-completely-freaked-out kind of scream.

Still shaking, I went inside and called my dad.  He teaches school so he doesn't always answer his phone in the middle of the day, but he answered this time.

"Dad?  I just killed five baby mice and I'm completely freaking out."

He gave me a task, which always helps someone in the middle of a panic attack.

I may or may not have just spent $30 on D-con.

I am a basket-case.  I jump every time one of my children touches me or my dog wanders around the corner.  I researched getting a mouser.  Turns out they're still cats and you still have to take care of them.  I don't like cats and there are allergic people in the house.

***Post Script***
I tried to find an I hate mice image to embed here on this post and just looking at the pictures of mice--crawling all over people hands, destroying cars, poisoning families by getting into the flour--made me wretch.  

My name is Emily and I am insanely musophobic.


  1. You did WHAT? Oh, DESPEREAUX!? Oh, the mousumanity!

    I guess I'm glad you didn't torch the garage.


  2. I had a similar experience. I had a mouse in my house and none of the traps I bought worked. Finally I bought one of those sticky pads. it worked. Only the mouse was still alive. I had to smash it with a brick. I'm still traumatized over that.

  3. You reminded me of a good quote- Courage is not the absence of fear, it's doing things in spite of fear.

    If your life was a movie there would have been cool music playing in the background- you know, like Indiana Jones or something.


  4. Sorry about your mouse problem. My dear Lane, also hates cats, so I am glad that our dog kills mice. Maybe your dog will, too.

  5. I think that would be very disturbing. How very brave of you.

  6. Yikes! I hear ya! I took a Book Arts class and we had an assignment of making a book page of our phobias. I got a bunch of pictures of rats, but the picture freaked me out so badly I changed my subject!

    Your son was a delightful traveling companion by the way! He was very helpful with the kids! He probably told you how stupid we were, getting our kids all dressed and ready for church in the car, only to walk in, sit down for the closing song, and realize when everyoen started leaving that we hadn't taken into account the time zones! He was the one that pointed it out to us, and I almost wonder if he realized it the whole time!

  7. Oops! This is Mary Ellen Fox! Didn't realize my mom was signed in!