Lost in Translation

I wish I had my act together enough to blog every day because I would definitely have a story to tell every day. It might not be that exciting of a story, but without fail at least once a day something happens that I want to share, get feedback, or just preserve the memory of.

I am going to make a conscious effort to put those thoughts or stories out there - even if it's short and not that thrilling, but there are definitely so many things that I don't want to forget!

For example....

We have mice living in our house. I've heard them for awhile, when I'm on the computer at night, they sound like they are having a party in our oven (don't worry, they aren't, believe I (and by I, I mean Matt) has checked a number of times). I've been bugging Matt since I first realized it, but getting rid of them hasn't been high on his priority list (perhaps he will weigh in and let us know why not). However, this weekend he was spurred on to action and set some traps in the drawer where we kept our oven mitts.

We caught one pretty quickly. Not something I am excited about, because they are little and cute (theoretically, not in my house though) and I wish there was another way to deal with them. Matt reset the trap and that was that.

Fast forward to yesterday afternoon. Matt made Ella some cheese and chips in the toaster oven. He was upstairs and yelled for her to check on the chips to make sure they weren't burning.

She went to get an oven mitt....

I have to take a break right here and let you know that we really don't encourage our kids to touch the toaster oven or check things in it. I do think Ella is probably capable of doing that on her own, but it's always something we do. Matt just wanted her to peak in and take a look, but she could easily have interpreted that differently...obviously she did!

So, yeah Ella went to get an oven mitt. She opened the drawer and upon seeing the (dead) mouse in the drawer she let out the loudest scream ever and was so traumatized that she continued to scream and cry for about five minutes.

I was holding her and trying to comfort her as Matt came down the stairs, and apparently her scream clearly communicated dead mouse because he knew exactly what had happened. I was feeling bad for Ella and a bit frustrated that a dead mouse had been in our kitchen all day so I said "Daddy gets a big "F" for that, he gets a big "F"" As in failing grade. For failing to remove the dead rodent from the drawer before our daughter came close to using it as a pot holder.

Ella eventually calmed down. I told her that maybe she would want to call her Nama, because Nama had just had an experience with a mouse and would understand how Ella was feeling. When they finally got to talk I was listening to Ella tell the story to mom and I heard her say "...and then mommy said, daddy the "f", daddy the "f" "....

What does that sound like to you? Because to me it sounded like I had been calling my husband a thinly veiled vulgar word. I grabbed the phone from Ella and explained to my mom what I HAD said, thankfully she didn't really get what Ella was saying so we were all good.

I was upset, but I definitely wasn't that upset. I can't even imagine what could happen to make me that upset - if dead mice doesn't do it, then I think we're pretty safe.

Happy Monday - I am moving my recipe post to Tuesdays, so check back tomorrow!