Vomit and Mice

    Catchy title, right? I hate coming up with titles, but this post is obviously (well, I don't know) not about my misuse of titles. I have determined that there are two things the will completely rock my world, causing an elevated heart rate, a general feeling of overall weakness, shakiness, shrill tones proceeding from my vocal chords, and what I hate the most, the complete loss of any control. Vomit and Mice. Having experienced the former less than two weeks ago and the latter only moments ago (which I'm still inwardly writhing over and find the keys on this keyboard typing all sorts of nonsense and find myself frequently using the 'backspace').
    I enjoy my life, even the ups, downs and all manner of topsy-turvy and rarely experience the above physical ramifications. These two are it. It's like a nervous breakdown when those two things happen. I crack. So, vomit. Makes anyone crack. Ha. Sorry. I'm a sympathetic barfer. Hear, smell or see it done and I'm a goner. It reminds me of that Jerry Lewis movie, The Disorderly Orderly, who experiences the patients illness/ symptoms. Anywho. So once I have a houseful of vomiting babies, I may have the same sickness or not, but I will be throwing kids away from the toilet to relieve my sympathetic symptoms. That means I'm at least 3 times more sick than anyone else and it will take 3 days more for me to recover.
    Mice (which spiders could be a close second, but I can appreciate their freakishness without losing my cool. Well, as long as they are not on me or about to be.) are Enemy #1. Every little thing about them creeps me out. Like the heebie jeebies kind of creep out. The physical aversion I undergo with these little terrors would make you think something truly horrid was taking place. The time is generally in winter when it's cold outside, the place is generally my kitchen (for more than one reason), and I'm ALWAYS caught unaware and in nanoseconds have reached the pinnacle of all breakdowns. I will scale furniture, scream, dance (not in a good way) and feel nauseous (which with point #1 about vomiting, this does not bode well).
    In today's breakdown, I was on the phone with a wonderful friend of mine. I was using the handsfree device for my phone and was cleaning up stuff. In the kitchen, I bent over to pick up a card that had fallen off the island and no sooner had my hand touched the floor, a frantic rattling sound came from two feet from my hand and only a little further from my face. You will never see me move that fast. I'm a blur of movement as I scream and climb up the island. It's then I realize that I'm still on the phone. Nice. Good friend, though, for not hanging up and calling 911 before hearing what had happened. I apologise and hang up after a stilted explanation. Okay, so now what. I'm a whole lot better if they are dead. I prefer they be that way. It might sound harsh, but good riddance. They have jokes about rabbit families, but they have no idea about the producing capabilities of mice. This one, however, was not dead. He was hanging by a leg and trying to escape. Jumping and trying to scurry back under the kitchen sink. It was at this point that my middle child walked into the kitchen and said "Mom? What are you doing up there?" Yeah, I was still on the cabinet, watching the dastardly villain. "Um, well, just go out, okay?" She stared at me, clearly thinking that Mom has finally gone insane. The mouse hasn't moved in about 30 seconds, so I determine it's safe enough to get down. I grab the kid and run out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind me.
    Now, what? It's another five hours before my husband gets home from work. I have no access to the sink. I'm freaked out by being in the same room with the beast. Call the husband and he laughs. Nice. So, now what. I told the kids not to go into the kitchen. Then, of course, the "why not?" occurred and we had show and tell. Caelan ready to cuddle the thing, yet again bouncing in it's trap, and Evelynn experiencing the same disgust I have. We leave the kitchen. But over the next 15 or so minutes, I start hearing it desperately trying to get out of the trap. #1: It's bad there's a mouse in the trap. #2: It's even worse that it's trying to get off the trap. #3: It would be absolutely horrid for the thing to come loose and scurry away to die somewhere in my house from it's wounds. (It's leg more than obviously broken).
    I have to do something. Be creative. How to get the monstrosity out of my kitchen and outside without getting near it. Huh. I pulled out a brown paper bag and unfolded it, laying it on the floor a few feet away. I got the broom and then climbed back onto the counter. Using the broom, I positioned the bag near the mouse, flinching and shuddering every single time he moved to get away from the bag. I start trying to herd him into the bag from my position on the counter, both of us squealing in turn. He knows it's about over so he makes a mad dash for the oven. OH NO, SIR. I move to the other end of the counter and use the broom to reposition the bag. I swish the mouse in and flip the bag up. UGH. Another shiver of repulsion. Now to get the mouse out of the house. I don't care that it's 22 degrees outside and that he will freeze. I quickly jump off the counter and take the bag outside. I turn around and realize that every single action of the last ten minutes has been observed and my children are in awe of my spectacle. Nice. I still have random shudders and words of disgust periodically escape my mouth as I visualize that monster. You know, I will never be able to stand on the small rug in front of my sink until it has been washed. I don't care if I'm wearing combat boots. He was SITTING there. IN THAT AREA. Which brings to mind the horrifying, eccentric creature known as the scorpion. I would never step on the same place I had found a scorpion in Texas. Thank you, Lord, you saw fit to move me away from common scorpion habitats. Now I just have vomit and mice to contend with.