Notes from My Prison

I write this as a prisoner, trapped in my own home.

At my dining room table, to be precise.

Just a few minutes ago, I was a free woman, sitting here at my dining room table preparing to feed my son breakfast as he beside me in his high chair. His oatmeal was on the stovetop, and I was sitting at the table copying down a recipe from an email while he munched on cheerios as we waited for his oatmeal to cool.

Then it happened. 

I walked into the kitchen to retrieve his breakfast, when I noticed a slender, silver object lying on the floor beneath the tall cabinet at the far end of the kitchen. 

Oh wait, my computer has a camera. Here is a picture of the kitchen from my vantage point:

photo-22

The small, slender silver object was on the floor directly beneath the tall cabinet.

Then I realized it had a tail.

GASP. MOUSE!!!

I immediately scurried back to my table, sat down and put my feet up. The mouse simply sat, still as can be. I watched as it slowly crept across the floor along the wall. It knew I was there.

There is no phone within reach. There is, however, a laptop. I quickly jotted an SOS email to my husband at work, begging him to reply. Of course, he was probably teaching a class and could not respond at the moment. So I did the only other thing I can think of to do: I decided to blog.

These are notes from my prison…journal entries from my deserted island, if you will. 

I still need to feed my son breakfast. Oatmeal, is, of course, now out of the question.It will just have to go cold.  I see a box of Clementines on the kitchen counter. I grab one, unpeel it, break apart a piece and give it to him. He’s never had a Clementine before; perhaps he’ll love it. He tastes it, and…

…gives me a sour expression.

I survey my surroundings, and see that there is a bowl of fruit on the table in front of me. The bananas are just purchased and still green, but I take a chance and unpeel one anyway to see if it’s edible. Success! I feed my son a banana for breakfast. It helps that it is one of his favorite foods in the universe. He is still hungry, so I break apart a granny smith apple and he enjoys several pieces of that.

I then consider what step to take next. The mouse is no longer under the cabinet, but I cannot tell if he is gone. Perhaps he is on the floor beneath the stove. I consider where else he could have possible run to, and weigh my options.

We have just over 7 hours until my hero arrives home. We could sit here all day, right? Let’s see…we have 6 bananas, 10 apples and a box of Clementines within reach. That should suffice for lunch. We could watch videos on the laptop all day to keep the boy occupied. Of course, that wouldn’t be too healthy now, would it — watching videos all day. He does have some reading material  – a board book of “Where is My Mother” – on his high chair tray. He’s sick of it, though, so I hand him a copy of the Pottery Barn catalog that was sitting on the counter behind me, and he is now eagerly tearing through that. It was a sacrifice, but really it was all I could do.

There is the question of naptime, which is quickly approaching. I could fashion a makeshift bed out of the dining room table chairs (they have padded seats) and since I’m still in my fuzzy PJs and bathrobe, he could use my bathrobe for a blanket. Yes, yes, that will do.

I think we could sit here all day, right?

(To-do list? What to-do list?)

The phone rings and goes to voice mail. It is the Salvation Army. I’ll give later.

A few minutes later the phone rings again, but the dialer hangs up.

Yet again, the phone rings, and yet again the dialer hangs up.

I then hear my cell phone ringing from it’s resting place in my purse in the downstairs entryway. It is no doubt my hero, valiantly trying to make contact — but fat chance that I am going to leave this very spot!

Really, I think we could sit here all day. 

Or maybe I’ll grab the boy, run upstairs, put him down for his nap, hang out upstairs for a couple hours, and then go to grandma’s for the afternoon.

Yes yes, that will do.

Update: Contact with the outside world has been made! I bravely ran across the kitchen floor to grab the phone and was able to reach my hero, who patiently instructed me in the location and art of setting a mousetrap. The trap is now set, the boy is sleeping…and the boy & I will still be going to grandma’s house for the afternoon after he wakes up (as if I’d stay here to see if the trap goes off!). I suppose I should call grandma to make sure that’s OK!

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4 responses to “Notes from My Prison

  1. See you soon.

    XOXOXOX,
    GrandmamaD

  2. oh you poor thing. Seriously I can relate to a mouse keeping me prisoner!

  3. Jennie Hohnstadt

    I sympathize! We had mice for a couple years before Anna was born. We finally managed to figure out where they were coming in and found that steel wool fluffed up and stuffed in the hole did the trick (something about trying to chew through shredded metal that the little things don’t like…)

    It’s not much fun until you know they’re all gone… Hang in there!

  4. Why is your refrigerator on the other side? Did you remodel again?
    XOXOXO, Mommy

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