Still Daddy’s Little Girl …
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- May
- 22
If there’s anything that will revert me back to being a kid, it’s a mouse.
I know all the sensible things: I’m bigger then they are; they’re “cute” (I’m so sure about with that one); you can get rid of them fairly easily. Never mind all that: I’m terrified of them.
So when my 13-year-old son and I came into the dark, empty house one night last week and saw our otherwise tame cat chasing something, I did what any other mousephobic person would do: I took my kid and fled to my room upstairs. Since my husband was still at work and my younger son was away for the night, I decided we would stay there until my husband came home. Thinking that would be soon, we just settled in and watched television.
When an hour passed and my husband still wasn’t home, new problems arose. We were hungry, but I was too afraid for either of us to go into the kitchen, because the MOUSE might be there. So I called for a pizza and then encouraged my son—who is not as fearful of mice as his mother—to pay the delivery guy. My son scurried back up to my room with the pie and we ate sitting on my bed.
During all of this, my father called. He noticed uneasiness in my voice (parents are SO good at that!) and asked me what was wrong.
I immediately became 7 years old: “Daddy! There’s a mouse in the house and (my husband) isn’t home to kill it!” At which point, my father reprised his role as the parent of a preschooler: “What? Do you want me to come over and get it?” Now, my father lives just 15 minutes away and could have come over and killed the big, bad mouse, but my adult brain took over and told me that I shouldn’t ask a 78-year-old man to leave his home at 10 p.m. and drive to kill a mouse in my house. So as much as I didn’t want to, I declined his offer.
(To wrap this up quickly: My cat killed the mouse later that night and then drowned it in his water dish and my husband had to dispose of the entire mess when we found it the next morning.)
But I did feel a little guilty about almost reverting to Daddy’s Little Girl. Until I talked to my neighbor, who ALSO had a mouse in the house last week. When her husband wouldn’t come home early from work to get rid of it, she DID call her senior-citizen father, who drove over in his Jeep, stomped in the house and promptly flushed the critter away. Then I realized that I’m not the only one who still needs some parenting, sometimes. And I’m very grateful that I still have a parent who’s willing—and able—to come to my rescue.
What about you? Do you revert to being a kid from time to time? Do you feel guilty about it?
This entry was posted
on Tuesday, May 22nd, 2007 at 2:17 pm by Gayle T. Williams.
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Here’s to the child in all of us and those of us adults blessed to still have our parents around. I couldn’t do it without them!
Mice remind me of a friend of my mom’s who came to visit us years ago (more than I want to reveal now) when I was a pre-teen; my mom’s friend had brought for me as a gift a couple of white lab mice. I was, well, intrigued; but while my mother concealed her feelings, she was actually pretty grossed out and made me take the mice the next day to the Children’s Museum, where they happily took in the little critters.
Anyway, a couple of weeks ago my mom, who now needs a wheel chair to get around, was spending time with us and I said, Hey why don’t we try to reach Eleanor? It had been (umpteen) years since we’d seen or heard from Eleanor and we didn’t know if she was dead or alive, but I actually found her through the Internet now living in Tenneessee (are there too many e’s in there?). We called her and she was very pleased, and my mom enjoyed being in touch with her again.
Anyway, it all brought me back for a brief while to my childhood and the time that I was, very briefly, the proud owner of pet mice.
My mother still hates mice but loved being in touch again with her old friend.
Great story. It reminds me of the time my dad had to try and get rid of one of these. I was probably in my 20s and we were both trying to catch the thing in a small kitchen, worried that the thing would get away or jump on us. He finally got hold of it somehow and, holding it well at arms length, flushed it down the toilet. Afterward we sat down. And I honestly told him, I was kind of nervous there. He said, yeah, me too. I miss him and I’d give good money to get to feel like that much like his kid again. I’m thankful that I have my moms who can still make me feel like a kid when forcing a sweater on me on a chilly day. We’re lucky people those of us who have and have had parents we can appreciate. Thanks again.
Parents—heck! When I lived in California, we used to get SNAKES who would slither up on to our patio and front walk. We’d call the police!
One time when we called the police, it must have been a slow day because four squad cars responded, the neighbors must have thought it was something really gruesome with all of the policemen with guns drawn.
Years earlier, we used to have a neighbor, a petite lovely lady, who, when the snakes came, would dantily take her garden hoe and chop them up, put the remains in a garbage bag and dispose of same. Needless to say, we missed her when she moved.
I’d take a mouse over a snake.
one thing i will not stand for and have never had since i was young. seeing a roach.
Great story. We all still need our parents. If my mom is around and there is a bug  she is the designated bug-killer for sure!
Great story Gayle. I once shoveled a dead opossum from our backyard (the dog killed it, yikes!) without a second thought but I can’t bear to hear even the mere mention of mice. Go figure.