I believe I should get some sort of award for not screeching into the phone today and then letting it fall to the floor with a clatter while I was talking to my husband.
I mean, there should totally be a reward for such control of the situation.
Oh, I was just nearly attacked by a venomous shrew.
It happened like this…
All week I have had a terrible head cold. The worst part of this cold is the horrific headaches I have been having. Earlier in the morning my husband had called to check on me and I, being all strong and stoic, began to cry because even my cheek bones hurt.
I am so tough like that.
Anyhow, I had dropped two of the four boys off at school because one is home sick and the other, you recall, is now home-schooled. I had arrived home and taken the hottest shower I could stand, not carrying how dry my skin would be afterwards, and then I brewed myself a strong pot of coffee. I had skipped the MucinexD medicine today for some migraine medicine I had recently picked up but really have never thought of buying.
It worked miracles.
I decided I had better call my husband to let him know I was alive and feeling somewhat human again because I could, in fact, not feel my cheekbones any longer and if you can’t feel them then you must be feeling better.
I was stirring my coffee and chattering away to him when I heard a rustle, scratch and commotion. I looked toward the sound but the dog was not lying there scratching herself.
I wandered into the dining room to see where the dog was lying. She was lying outside on the porch.
I figured something must have fallen out of the full trash (I’ve been sick, people, my house is a disaster), and continued chatting with hubs.
Until I heard the sound again.
I cautiously walked toward the trash can and there, on my husband’s chainsaw blade, was a shrew.
Oh wait, you say, chainsaw blade? In the kitchen? Welcome to my life….
“Eeeeeek!” I tried not to scream but I may have screeched, “There is a shrew! A shrew is in the kitchen!”
“A what?” my husband asked, bracing himself for my all out panic.
“A SHREW,” I said slowly and clearly. “I have to let you go. I’ll call you later.” I may have mumbled out that “LoveYouBye” word but I honestly don’t recall.
I ran to the upstairs steps and screamed called for S1 to come down. I heard his chair drop to the ground as he hustled to get to me. My sick S3 did not even glance my way as he sat in the chair, glad to have the living room and tv all to himself, totally oblivious to his mother’s hysterical cries for his brother.
It’s as if hysterics have become common place to him. Hmmmmmm.
“What? What is it?” my eldest son asked, ready to come to my defense. I love that boy.
“In the kitchen!” I cried and then I creeped back into the kitchen to show him where to look. He was already undoing his leatherman that is always strapped to his side. “I don’t want to look,” I said and walked away. I joined S3 in the living room to watch Bolt with him.
He let me know when the coast was now clear and safe of all shrews.
Because I just couldn’t resist, and because they sorta do look kinda cute, I googled Shrews. This is what I found……
Also, it should be noted that although I sent my husband a text informing him that we were now safe, he never called me back. Don’t you find that odd? Shouldn’t he have checked on me? I mean, venomous shrew in my kitchen???