Seriously, who says to someone who is handicapped, "The best blessing in the world is to have a normal child"?

Someone who's about to have his or her reproductive organs ripped out with a button hook?

Also, normal? Who wants that?

Someone who's about to have his or her reproductive organs ripped out with a button hook?

I t heart Ginger. But she's well done having her kids.

Also, normal? Who wants that?

That was my thought too.

TCG is finally on his way home from his meeting. Which is good because I need to be up in about 7 hours for an appointment tomorrow.

Ever had to explain to a parent of a student what the term "teabagging" means? Me neither. But I had to watch my co-op do it this evening. To very religious parents, at that.

4th grade boys will be the death of me.

I was also asked if God and Jesus were two different people or one, I also got to refer a girl to the office for pulling hair and lying about how she got hit after the person whose hair she was pulling got pissed, and then watch a friggin' mouse scurry across our classroom during a conference and NOT freak out like a mammal.

A mouse walked out of the kitchen last night while I was on the phone with a client. Stood there, bold as brass. I'm pretty sure he called me a punk.

This evening, I heard the trap I set with almond butter snap. I haven't gone to look. I'm fairly certain no mice were harmed in that little endeavor. They somehow know how to by-pass the mechanism whenever I put a trap out.

Can I just say, I hate this? I would so much prefer to have a conversation with the creatures that brokers some sort of detente where they just don't ever show themselves to me and never force me to deal with either their corpses or their effluent.

I seriously have nothing against their kind. I just. don't. want. to. deal.

I explain to critters that anything that bites is killed indoors. It soothes my conscience.

I also explain that Puppycat really loves to play with and snack on crickets. I'd let them live but she is a harsh kitty and noms them.

Oh lord. I misspoke.

There is, indeed, a corpse in my kitchen. God. I hate this.

It has a little white belly.

I didn't even look long enough to see the head. I can't bear the idea of prying it out of the trap.

I feel awful.

If I thought killing one meant the others would head for greener pastures, I would feel a little less terrible. I'm just dreading having to do this again and again.

Did I mention how horrible this is to me?

Traps are cheap. What I do is put a plastic bag on my hand, grab the trap, turn the bag inside out, tie it and toss the whole thing.

Aw, bonny. I know you feel awful, I would too, but you cannot have mice in your house. If there's no way to keep them out, it just has to be done.

Mice and a small dog wreaked havoc with my evening. Mr. Peabody was apparently after something behind the entertainment center, got entangled in the million cords and unplugged the Tivo. As I was trying to unravel the cords and plug it back in, I knocked it off. It took a container with many small parts and a bunch of CDs with it.