cleaning house

Last Thursday my oldest was trying to lure me from my pile of laundry on the floor with a Dr. Seuss book when I spotted a small furry creature make a bolt from our cracked front storm door to the couch. I shrieked (I won't deny it) and called for backup: my beloved with a broom. He propped our front door open and poked the broom under the couch in the direction of our prepared exit. My son's finger pointed toward the door and his verbal "uh-oh" made me confident the mouse exited our home.

Or so I thought.

Except I kept finding mouse droppings behind the couch, then the love seat, by a vent, inside the stove drawer, and then along the back of our kitchen counter top! Tired of cleaning like a mad woman for fear the mouse was a harbinger of my slovenliness, it was time to step it up a notch. In addition to the poison packets (Not to worry, Mom; they were out of reach of little hands), we (read: my dear husband) strategically placed sticky traps behind the stove and love seat and went to sleep disgusted that our house was hospitable to a mouse.

One sleep later, no success, more mouse droppings in the stove drawer, disinfecting. Two more sticky traps under the stove in far superior locations, more cleaning, paranoia. One sleep later, still no success, questioning whether the mouse ventured elsewhere, frenzied cleaning. A little shuffle under the stove this afternoon, success at last.

Wish I were as fastidious about sin in my heart as I was about having a mouse in my house. Vacuuming, sweeping, and deep cleaning the sin out of my life? More like ignoring, hiding, and excuse-making for my heart's filth, the stuff I hide in the back of dark, stove drawers.

good fences make good neighbors

When we planted our garden this spring, the plot wove organically into our backyard. But the probability of little critters feasting and toddler feet trampling prompted a fence weeks after it was planted. Set apart from the lawn with its strategically placed wood stakes and galvanized steel grids, the encompassed garden soon assumed an ostentatious manner; the only society allowed were long-legged benefactors.


Currently the garden is thriving--and sprawling, thanks to the cucumber and butternut squash vines. Instead of insulating the garden bounty, the fence now acts as a defense for the commoner blades of grass, ensuring the lawn has equal access to the sun. On a less Marxist note, the fence also prevents the vines from wandering into the neighbor's yard.