Let the Mouse Eat Casserole

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The problem with going on vacation is that you have to come home.


Now, obviously, home is a major part of the vacation. Otherwise we wouldn’t need a vacation ever, because home would be the best place on Earth.


Nope, home is important. But getting home can be challenging.


We got home at 1 a.m. this morning. Our vacation was wonderful, minus the significant bummer of leaving the iPad behind in the seat back pocket of the plane nestled up against the SkyMall magazine and barf bag.


We reminded ourselves that the most important things, the kids and family, were all safe and happy. Vacation continued.


Yesterday the fun began once more. First my dad lost his ears. (That’s what we call his hearing aids in our family.) Frantic searching ensued, with no results. Sadness abounded amongst the hearing folks of the group. My dad just hollered, “Eh?! Eh?!” a lot.


Plane ride went well, though not as flawless as the ride out. We timed it wrong, but I was still proud of the girls and none of the other passengers united to lynch the small passengers we spawned.


Then came the next fun: baggage claim. We should really be traveling by passenger train, or maybe a carnival caravan, because when you travel with a 2, 4, and 6-year-old posse the luggage is… significant.


We almost got out of the airport without problems. But, no. There had to be something wrong as we only have one iPad to lose.


A suitcase went AWOL.


I don’t know if it was the stress of trying to contain so many items or maybe it just had a mid-life crisis, being a relic from my college years still in use, but one thing is for sure, the suitcase was not on the cool carousal do-hicky that makes travelers’ eyes glaze over and heads slowly rotate as they watch for their special bag to appear.


The suitcase had all the clothing for the girls and for myself in it. Which caused my heart to grieve, particularly as the only maternity shorts I own were packed away inside.


We filed a report with the airline. We headed home, arrived at 1 a.m., showered and made it to bed at 2 a.m. where I drooled heavily almost immediately.


Dos woke up at 6 a.m. {sigh.}


I started on the unpacking of suitcases, laundry, and then innocently opened the cabinet drawer with clean kitchen rags and hand towels.


There was mouse poop in it.


Rodents decided our house was their vacation destination. I do not approve.


This is why I don’t want to come home from vacation. Upon further investigation I discovered the rodents had created a nest for themselves in my casserole dish while I was away on the coast getting charged by raccoons at midnight.
They even ate the ends off my basting brush.




These are the stories of why coming home from vacation is not ok. It’s better to just stay in the happy zone of a vacation indefinitely.


All of the excitement of our travels cause me to have false labor symptoms, so instead of being able to completely sanitize my home I have had to sit on the sofa with my feet up and guzzle water. I’m up to 125+ ounces so far today, so I can only imagine how many midnight potty breaks that will translate into!


I’ll cut the rest of the story short: my mom found my dad’s ears wadded up in a gallon Ziploc bag in her make up case. She has no explanation. Neither does my dad.


The airline flew our luggage up to our mountaintop town. I now have shorts and the girls are ready to wander the world wearing their own special clothing.


So far two mice have shuffled off their mortal coil thanks to the traps set up by the casserole dish. I will moan incessantly (internally) about the mice in my cupboard. Yuck!


I guess all’s well that ends well. The coming home process has been challenging but we’re all still talking.


And that’s something to write home about.

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