Late last night, I went downstairs to have a well-deserved mindless chill-out involving nachos and a saved episode of Parenthood. And then I heard it.
There was a sound that wasn't coming from the TV. I pressed the mute button. I still heard it. It seemed to be coming from the corner of the room. I prayed it would stop. It didn't. I listened carefully and walked toward my husband's comfy chair (that used to be our comfy chair before we both fattened up with child number 3).
The chair was definitely ground zero. And the sound was a gnawing sound. Something was there.
I had a mild freak-out where I ran out of the room, turned on all the lights, and ran upstairs to my bedroom. I called my husband. When I told him, he screamed, "Holy cow!" (or something more R-rated than that) and had a freak-out on the other end of the phone. Not what I needed or wanted.
So I posted my angst on Facebook while I figured out what to do.
I decided to:
1. Turn on the TV with the volume on high to make the creature(s) think someone is there.
2. Call the exterminator in the morning.
3. Leave the downstairs lights on all night long.
4. Wear shoes.
5. Never again let my kids eat in the family room or bedrooms or anywhere but the kitchen table.
6. Throw sticky traps down behind the couch and my husband's comfy chair - I have no idea why, but I had two traps that were exactly where I thought they were.
7. Buy more sticky traps if the exterminator can't come out immediately this morning (he can't).
8. Get my older son to pull out the couch after school to look for evidence of whether they were inside or just in the walls. Just in the walls...awesome.
9. Shut the bedroom doors before we go to sleep, so the creature wouldn't be as likely to crawl in and join us. My little guy fell asleep in my bed. I protected him all night from the creature(s). Or maybe he protected me.
This morning before I left the house with the boys, I found an opened and not-quite-empty cheesy potato chip bag on the floor of my son's bedroom. Luckily, I was so tired, I didn't have a huge freak-out.
When I dropped off my littlest to preschool and we started to walk across the road toward the school, a mouse was crossing the road too. I screamed. And then I cried. The teachers smiled at me and patted me on the back. My little guy assured me it was no big deal. He said he's worried about dinosaurs, which are way worse than mice. Very true.
I will keep telling myself that today. It's no big deal. It could be dinosaurs.