I read a quote recently about blogging; "Never has so much been written about nothing by so many people and read by so little." Pretty much sums it up. But, as long as I realize that I am doing this for me and my kids and not to get discovered by Oprah, then who cares, right?
It's a lazy day today and as usual, I am putting housecleaning at the bottom of my priority list. The amount that needs to be cleaned is overwhelming and I'd rather sit my butt down in front of the computer and waste time. Speaking about wasting time in front of the computer. I joined Facebook recently. There is absolutely nothing redeeming about the time spent on Facebook; very little return for the investment you make. But...it is addictive. People that I haven't even thought about in 20 years-now all of the sudden I know when they are going to go to the bathroom or have their dog groomed. I wonder what it says about us as a society that we'd rather electronically peer into obscure acquaintances' lives than have a conversation with your own family who is sitting in the same room with you or the neighbors that live next door. I'm not proud of this fact, but I have hushed and shooed away my children because I was busy reading Facebook. Not only is that downright pathetic, it's extremely pathetic. I'm 40 years old. I should be busy doing something worthwhile. Sadly, I don't think I am going to quit anytime soon. Like any addiction, it is feeding some deep seated need that I have. I'm not sure what that need may be, but I am feeding it nonetheless.
Piggy, our black and white mouse, died yesterday. I was very flummoxed as to how I was going to break the sad news to our kids. It's not like they haven't experienced loss (in the form of pet death) before. They are actually veterans at this point. After I allowed myself a moment of sadness and reflection, I decided to wait until this morning to tell them. Lee is the one who noticed that she was dead. Earlier in the day one of the neighbor boys asked if she was dead, but I was preoccupied and wasn't really paying attention, so I answered, "No, she's just sleeping." I never went and actually checked Piggy out myself. I went back to whatever I was doing and forgot about it. Later in the evening when Lee told me that she was dead, I thought he was lying. We joke about killing the mice and have fantasies of their demise all of the time. They stink and we are the only people who clean out their cage (except for our housekeeper when she can't stand the stench any longer and she does it herself).
Earlier this week we thought Piggy was on her way out and I actually took the damn thing up to the vet. "Get her here right away!" the vet receptionist instructed me, with alarm in her voice. I immediately jumped in the car (after strapping the cage into the seatbelt) and raced up to the vet's office just to be told, mockingly, that there was nothing wrong with Piggy. "I don't really know that much about 'rodent care'" he told me (and still had the nerve to charge me the $9 office fee). "They can get something called wet tail and you have to get them to me right away so I can give them a shot of antibiotics. But your mouse's bottom looks clean. Sometimes they can get tooth abscesses, b/c their teeth grow continuously. You can just get a pair of nail clippers and clip off the end of their teeth. Just do that and watch for signs of diarrhea."
I gazed at him like he was stoned. "Do you really expect me to be vigilant about my mouse's anal and dental care?" I asked him. He just shrugged and looked at me like I was a fool (which I suppose I was. If wasn't in this pseudo-housewife role, would I have the time to take a mouse to the vet?). I took my mice and left.
For the next couple of days Piggy was fine. She rebounded from whatever mouse ailment from whence she suffered and resumed her role as the less dominant mouse in hers and Snowflake's relationship. She gathered seeds, tended to the mouse dome and occasionally took a foray around the cage...until last night. Last night was the last time that she would climb to the top of the waterbottle to better search for nuggets of food.
Lee banged on the cage. "See, she's not moving." Sure enough, Piggy lay there, amidst the blue shavings, rotting. God only knows how long she had been dead. As I mentioned, I was slightly sad. As much as we joke about it, I could never actually bring harm to the damn things. Even after I threatened to euthenize them earlier this week. After confirming her demise we debated about the best way to rid of her corpse. I thought we should put it outside in a plastic bag and let it freeze (it's been near freezing here) and then take it to the vet to incinerate. Lee didn't like this idea. He scooped it out of the cage with a couple of plastic bags and threw it in the garbage can outside. He said he didn't really care if it decomposed in the garbage can and stunk up the whole neighborhood. He just knew there was no way he was taking the mouse up to the vet. Remind me to make sure I have some plans written down somewhere so he doesn't just put me in a plastic bag and throw me in the garbage for Thursday trash pick up.
The next morning I decided to tell the kids after ruling out my other options; a) get a replacement mouse (been there, done that) or b) lying to them. I'm not opposed to the latter-I lie to my kids quite frequently, especially when it makes my life more convenient. But I decided that it was too much work to make up some elaborate lie about how the mouse escaped, etc...All 3 of them were sitting on the couch with the boys' friend who had spent the nite. The boys were playing with their hand held electronic games, so their noses were buried deep in the screen.
"Kid's I have some sad news. Piggy died." I told them in my most solemn tone. I waited for a second thinking that the wailing and gnashing of teeth would begin at any moment. Complete silence as the boys are trying to navigate thru the 8th level of whatever particular game they had been playing. I add, "She died peacefully and she's in mouse heaven now. She didn't suffer."
"I told you she was dead!" the boys' friend proclaims triumphantly. "So where is she rotting?"
"Daddy put her in the garbage can last nite."
"Oooh! Cool! Can we go see?" the friend wants to know. Obviously he does not appreciate the delicateness with which we need to approach the situation.
"Where was she?" my middle son wants to know. "In the cage." I answer. "No, I mean was she in a corner or in the middle of the cage? Because Sally [9 yr old next door neighbor who the boys worship-name changed to protect anonymity] said that mice only die in the corner of the cage. If they are lying in the middle of the cage they are just sleeping." he explains to me.
"No, she was definitely dead" I assure them. "Dad checked her to make sure."
"How, how did he check her?" This is the oldest who never ceases to ask questions. I begin to explain, but notice that neither of the boys have stopped playing their games since I began the conversation. I decide to just leave it at "She wasn't breathing and he's a doctor, so he knows."
"Yeah, but he's not a vet." He says this with complete seriousness, still playing the handheld game.
"She's definitley dead" I told him.
Meanwhile, my daughter is busy flirting with the neighbor boy. It's more important to remain cute in the face of tragedy, she decides. Later when we are by ourselves, she expresses sorrow. I tell her that the mouse had fulfilled her destiny on earth and now she is in mouse heaven with all of our other deceased pets. She's okay with this for now....Until another one meets his or her untimely death!
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