Mom vs. Mice
I woke up this morning hungry for peanut butter toast. Why? Because there's a mouse-trap laden with the yummy goodness under my bed.
Each day, we check the traps, and we are often surprised when they are found empty - no mouse, and no peanut butter.
In case you've ever wondered how this is possible, I have an answer, as drawn by my 11 year old daughter:
Here's my letter to the mice:
I am not your friend or your benefactor who wants to make sure you are eating well. I am your enemy, and I want you to step on the traps, not go around them. You wouldn't be so unwelcomed here, except that you leave your fecal matter under my cleaned cabinets and on the floor of our closets. That's disgusting, and I won't have it. I've hidden my food to stop you from nibbling holes in our bread. I've kept crumbs off the floor. Your only options are to either leave - there's a great big world out there for you - or to fully embrace the peanut butter - dive all the way in - and get your well-deserved surprise.