Ew.

     As I'm writing this, my skin is still crawling.  In truth, it's more like my skin is running far, far away from my body instead of crawling.  My skin is in a marathon of grossness and it's trying its damnedest to get to the safety of the finish line unscathed.


     Since moving in here, we've really only seen ants inside the house, and that was only when it rained A LOT.  Ants are annoying, but I can deal with them fairly easily.  They don't make me sick to my stomach is what I'm trying to say.  Even spiders (AKA Spawns of Satan) are something I can deal with.  Sure, I go in to a panic and breathe like I have actually ran a marathon, but I deal with it.  A few months ago while shampooing my carpets, I saw a lizard in my living room.

Representation of the real culprit.

A lizard.  In my living room.  How did it get there?  How long had it been there?  Why do I feel like I need to pass out?  All normal questions one would have when they see something like this in their home.  Luckily I had two shoe boxes that I strategically placed on both ends of the couch where it was hiding, and once reinforcements arrived, we were able to shoo it into a box, which I promptly closed and ran out of the house with.  No lizards were harmed in the capture and he was released back in to the wild, right near a pond where I'm sure there was food galore for him to gorge himself on.  Yes, I walked away in triumphant victory, with my head held high.  I was only a tiny bit ashamed at how bad I was shaking, but a win is a win.

From that time on, I really hadn't seen anything in my house that didn't have permission to be here. Not even an ant really. And just when I think all is well with my little world...last night happened.  

No but seriously...picture it: My home, yesterday.  I was in my daughters room vacuuming, not a care in the world, when out of the corner of I eye, I see something moving.  I immediately go to investigate, praying it wasn't what I thought it was. I moved her toy box, shuffled things around a bit and saw nothing so I thought I was just seeing things and I went on about my business.  Fast forward to around 8:30 last night.  I'm in my bedroom getting ready for bed.  My box fan and TV were off so it was totally silent in my room.  It is a sound that I cherish because...kids.  Am I right, moms and dads?!  While reveling in the silence I heard paper rustling.  Knowing it wasn't me, nor my dog seeing as how he has no thumbs and certainly couldn't be catching up on his great American novel, I hone in on where the sound is coming from, while remembering what I thought I saw earlier in the day.  Behind our dresser was a piece of paper that must have fallen back there, I went and grabbed the broom and started pushing the paper.  Nothing.  I saw nothing. Then my loyal dog went on high alert, pointed straight at the dresser.  

I really started messing around back there and there it was....a freaking mouse.  A teeny tiny, little brown ball of disease.  IN MY HOUSE. 

And cue high pitched screaming.  I drop the load of towels I had just folded on to the floor, went and grabbed my other dog since the first one just stared at it.  Once my other dog saw it, he was like, "Master brought me another playmate!  THANKS, MASTER!!!" They were zero help. God forbid  our doorbell ring, but they'll allow vermin to be inside, no problem! 

I'm screaming, the dogs are barking happily, the kids are banging on my door wanting to know what was going on, it was chaos. The thing finally ran out and hid under a towel that I had dropped and without thinking, I went to town.  I beat the ever loving shit out of that towel, and essentially, the mouse, with my broom.  I screamed like a wild banshee, literally the whole time. It would've been funny had it not been happening to me. Upon realizing the mouse was dead, more panic set in because I knew I was the only one there to get it outside.  I lost a good towel in the process, and I was in full on panic mode while getting it to the garbage can outside, but I did it.  In my mind I was thinking, "This thing isn't dead, it's playing me.  It's going to pop out of the towel and run up my arm and into my hair, and I'll die."  Seriously, I was thinking this while flying down my stairs to get outside. I'm a runner, I workout regularly, but I probably burned more calories from sheer panic last night than I did the entire week. 

I don't think the thing suffered, I hit the towel the first time and I didn't see any movement, but I wanted to be sure...so yeah.  I felt bad about it for like, 2 seconds once I knew I was safe from it's little reign of terror, but ultimately, I had to defend my home.  This morning, all the closets were gutted and cleaned. Under the kids beds were cleaned again.  I was petrified I'd see another one scurrying around but I didn't.  I'm thinking this one might have come in from the garage 2 days ago when I was going through boxes.  Silly me left the door to the house open, so I might have scared him and he ran inside.  That's the story I'm choosing to go with. I've cleaned everything I know of and can clean, and nothing.  No droppings anywhere, no nests or chewed up places.  Please let that be the only one!  I don't keep a dirty house, I clean daily and hard clean problem areas twice a month. We're a clean, nice people!  

So that's my drama for now.  A while ago, I could've picked up the phone and called maintenance to come take care of this problem for me.  But now?  Now I am Homeowner! Here me ROAR!