Sam works the graveyard shift on weekends.
As a result, his sleep patterns are pretty messed up.
Sometimes it is frustrating, to have him still sleeping in the afternoon.
At night, I usually go to bed, and leave him watching a movie.
"Come to bed" I say.
"I am not tired."
The day before Thanksgiving, he slept in longer than usual.
I had to make sure he was still alive...
"What time did you go to bed last night?"
"What were you doing?"
"You don't want to know."
Since he knew my imagination could conjure up something probably worse than what he was actually doing, he quickly explained that we had a MOUSE! in the house, and he stayed up to make sure it caught its demise.
A little background here.
I am deathly terrified of mice. That puts it mildly.
I am not actually sure there are words in the English language to describe my terror of mice.
"They are more afraid of you than you are of them."
That is a lie.
We had an unwanted visitor last year, and I almost put the house on the market.
He found our vulgar little house guest IN THE PLAYROOM!
WHERE MY BABIES PLAY!
He set a trap, and then blocked the door off by shoving a blanket under the bottom.
He watched the disgusting rodent go up to the peanut butter laden trap, run OVER it, and to the other side of the room.
Good quality trap, right there.
Then the offensive fur ball ran towards the door, was confused at it being closed off, and headed for the other side of the room.
In the process, the germ-infested creep ran over the top of Sam's slipper-clad foot.
(Sam is narrating this story, half asleep)
He said this is where he was only slightly embarrassed to admit that he squealed like a teenage girl, and did a rapid two-step that would have made his old clogging teacher proud.
As he skipped around the playroom, shaking himself, he realized he lost sight of the enemy.
Then he looked down.
Under his slipper.
And there it was.
I am not sure it was being stepped on as much as being a witness to 190 pounds of man flitting about in slippers and underwear that did him in.
Whatever the reason, I am grateful it is gone.
And thankful that my husband loves me enough to leave me out of it.
Also thankful that my kids are old enough to clean out that playroom today without their skittish pansy of a mother.