The camera has been found. Oh, Happy Day!! It had fallen down between my bed and my nightstand. I had looked there several times, even lowering my considerable girth to the floor and crawling on my belly like a flashlight-wielding reptile (have I poked out your mind's eye yet?), all to no avail. Then yesterday, I glanced down there and noticed the square, black case, and the camera was found! I probably left it in some off-the-wall place like the confirmed goobersmack that I am, and God sent an angel to put it somewhere I couldn't miss it. It's the only logical explanation.
In other news, Claire informed the good patrons of our neighborhood Taco Bell that I am cool. In a voice that can be heard for three ZIP codes, she expounded on the source of my coolness: "Because you have that flower stamp on your bootie." I tried to quietly change the subject. I did not succeed. "When I'm a grown-up mama like you, will I have a flower stamp on my bootie?" Which brings me to the source of my conviction that children are given to us to help us maintain our humility. My children are, in my humble opinion, over-achievers. Bless their little pointed heads.
We had ourselves some wildlife excitement last week. Hannah came in the house one afternoon and said she'd seen a mouse in the garage. I promptly wrote "flaming bazooka" on the grocery list, because I think if there's anything that calls for a little overkill, it is rodent elimination. Olivia went immediately to the computer, tears streaming, to google "harmless mouse trap no kill live" (she's nothing if not thorough). I was torn. I have no qualms about sending a mouse to its eternal reward, but I hated to see Olivia so upset.
She requested permission to set up a trap she found in her research. I told her to go ahead. She gathered her materials and put together a trap that would make Wyle E. Coyote beam with pride. Next she announced her intention to spend the night on the hood of the car, waiting for the furry little devil to fall prey to her device. I had told her that she had until I went to the store on Saturday to catch the mouse and free it in a nearby field.
Friday night, the little varmint was rustling around in a trash can in the garage. The kids put it in a small wastebasket and Dan took them to set it free after dinner. I may pick up a flaming bazooka as a preventive measure, in case Jerry (oh yeah, they named him) has a wife and kids somewhere behind the garden tools, the thought of which makes my skin crawl.
And on that note, y'all have a great week!