The return of a little friend

After four years away from home at college I think that I started to forget just how clean and organized my mother is. But, after two months back at home I am acutely reminded of just how tidy she is.

Exhibit A: when things go missing around here we state that the object has probably been "organized into oblivion." Meaning, my mom is so organized that she’s the only one able to find the things she's organized.

Exhibit B: No matter how hard I, or anyone else tries to clean up after dinner, no one can seem to get the kitchen as clean as Mom.

Exhibit C: A cleaning lady comes twice a month. She must love the stop at our house because in my opinion she hardly has to lift a finger :)

Exhibit D: Be careful wearing socks on the wood floor, it's so clean it's like walking on ice.

In all seriousness though, I very much appreciate the cleanly habits of my mother, many of which I have picked up myself. It makes for a very welcoming and friendly environment.

Anyways, I say all of this because you can imagine my surprise last night when I opened up our trash compactor and a mouse jumped out and fell to the floor. I ran screaming to the bathroom, with Haden close behind to see what the problem was.

I seem to have bad luck when it comes to mice. In Spokane we also had a brief rodent issue, and I was the one that saw the mouse scurry across the counter top as I was pouring myself a glass of milk. We lovingly named the mouse Edgar and immediately went to get mousetraps. Two days later we caught Edgar and one of his friends.

Haden is used to mice, growing up in Curlew they saw them all the time. Not to mention getting bit by a rat in the middle of the night. So this is my question: why am I always the one to discover the furry little creatures?

Just as we did in Spokane, we marched out of the house late last night to pick up some traps. Haden set three of them, so far, with no avail.

I'm not kidding you, as I sit writing this blog I can hear the stupid little thing scurrying around under our sink or in the trash compactor (I'm not really sure which and I don't want to find out.) I'm actually surprised that it has resisted the smell of the peanut butter for so long and has managed to stay alive.

Maybe this little guy is more partial to aged cheddar.