The oddest things happen to me. I’ve almost stopped questioning the absurd. That’s why when I was taking my mom’s bags from her trunk this weekend, I took the package of tortilla shells and threw them to the back of the trunk.
“No! Those go inside too.”
My mother scolded me for the tortillas, but honestly, you would be downright stupefied at the things I’ve found in her car.
When we finally hauled everything inside, she began unpacking. She brought some wrapped Christmas presents for the kids, and my daughter put the packages under the tree as grandma pulled them from her super extra-large plastic Kohl’s bag. My mom stuck her arm far into the dark reaches of the bag and pulled out a remote control.
“Oh, there it is!” She exclaimed. “I’ve been looking for that.”
Is there any wonder why I did not question the tortilla shells in the trunk?
I was born into oddity.
Yesterday after school we ran down to the doctors for allergy shots. I started thinking about dinner when I was in the waiting room, and realized I needed to stop at the store for mashed potato flakes.
Now before you begin judging me for feeding my family processed potatoes from a box, please understand I had about a twenty minute window to get dinner on the table and eaten before my husband had to get back to work. He was only coming home from one job long enough to change and eat before he was going out to another job. And, doctor’s offices frown on you bringing five pounds of potatoes and a peeler to your office visit.
Although I was feeding my family a box of flakes, I was fully prepared to do the responsible thing and throw some green beans on the side. In my world green beans absolve you from many a processed sin.
My kids and I shuffled in the front door and my daughter headed straight for the kitchen with the bag of flakes. She screamed “Mouse!”, and I ignored her.
So she yelled again. This time louder.
By the third time she screamed M-O-U-S-E, she was really starting to get annoyed at me.
“Why aren’t you coming? I screamed mouse three times.”
How often does a mouse freeze in place when you scream?
They don’t. They run for their little vermin life – head for the hills, and all that.
Not this mouse.
It froze in place. I stomped my feet. I yelled at it. I poked it with a straw and shewed it in the direction of an escape.
I didn’t want to kill it. I mean, I most definitely did. I just didn’t want to have to do it with my bare hands. You know?
I seriously had no idea what to do with this mouse, but he wasn’t going anywhere. So we carried on. Life as usual. Still he didn’t move.
Finally I got fed up with this mouse and my daughter grabbed a plastic cup and I pushed him in with the dust pan. I told her to bring him outside, so she starts walking the long way, through the entire house, with a mouse in a cup.
Why is my life so dang weird?
Anyway, this is simply one more edition in the chronicles of my mousey life.
Tonight, when we go to the chorus concert at school, I am setting traps and hoping to kill his family. I’m sure he’s got a family somewhere in my basement.
Speaking of the chorus concert…one of my children has this holiday event at school tonight, only I forgot to write down which kid.
FringeMan still remembers the time we had to chicken dance our way out of the slow-cooker, so I doubt he’ll forgive me if I bring him to the wrong school. He’s pretty sure he’s already forgiven me seventy times seven. He’d probably ask for my head on a silver platter.
That pretty much sums up the last twenty-four hours of my odd life. If you’ve read this far, bless your heart. If you come back tomorrow, you may want to get your head checked out.