My six-year-old daughter was grounded yesterday. Why you might ask? Because the night before she threw a complete temper tantrum at bedtime. She was absolutely convinced there were mice in her bedroom (it’s on the second floor) and that they were going to “get” her. Now, I can understand childhood fears, but I commisserated with her, explained there were no mice in our house, and then lost it when she wouldn’t stop screaming. It’s one thing to cry and be upset, it’s another to FREAK OUT. At any other time I would have just shut the door and left her alone, but she got her three-year-old brother started, and that was the end of my patience.
So…grounded. A full day. Can’t get in control even when I tell you the truth? So be it.
Fast forward to today…
After a full morning of working, I went out to the refrigerator in the garage to get myself a diet Dr. Pepper (needed a caffeine boost). And as I’m walking back across the garage (in my bare feet even!) what do I feel? A FREAKIN’ MOUSE! The little bastard ran right across my foot and darted into a pile of shoes.
Do you remember those episodes of Tom and Jerry where the mistress of the house sees a mouse, screams and jumps on a table, then dances all around? Oh yeah, that was me. I screamed bloody murder, ran into the house, locked the door (please…like a tiny mouse can open a door!), and refused to go back into the garage the rest of the day. When my big, brave husband came home, I sent him to find the darn thing and KILL IT!.
Of course, now my conscience is getting the best of me. I’m really in a pickle.
*biting lip here*
Darling daughter was at school when this happened, so she didn’t witness her mother FREAK OUT. The little devil on my shoulder is telling me not to say a word – what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. I am the adult here after all, aren’t I? But that damn angel on the other side is yelling “hypocrite” loudly in my ear.
What to do…what to do…
The ironic truth is…if I thought there were mice in my bedroom…you couldn’t pay me money to stay in that room.
