Thankful

I don’t know about you, but my brain can barely function these days. Conversations are embarrassing. Simple math has become differential equations. Not only am I struggling to remember whether I left on the oven, brushed my teeth, or paid the electric bill, but am attempting, without much success I might add, to plan for the holidays. So many people, places, items, sizes, addresses, ages, preferences, colors, sweet, sour, and salty. The only way to cope with this madness is to list my way through it. I have even started to make lists of the lists I need to make. So, please find listed below my thankful Thanksgiving list.

I am thankful that I no longer burn food on a daily basis.
I am thankful that my husband likes my cooking, even when it’s bad.
I am thankful that my mother-in-law likes me and buys me cute clothes.
I am thankful that I like my mother-in-law even though she tells me to put on lipstick.
I am thankful that my wedding dress still fits.
I am thankful that I still wear my wedding ring.
I am thankful for my mommy friends who know how to listen and serve chocolate.
I am thankful for my non-mommy friends who remind me of my former self.
I am thankful that I traveled before I had children.
I am thankful that I have a washing machine, unlike most people in the world.
I am thankful that I don’t have to change diapers anymore.
I am thankful for my children’s teachers who have more patience than I.
I am thankful for a nonfat latte at 8:40 a.m.
I am thankful that I don’t have to sit in Los Angeles traffic anymore.
I am thankful for the ocean breeze and deep blue horizon.
I am thankful for my neighbors who bring me fruit and vegetables from their garden.
I am thankful for the people who are re-building the canyon in front of my house.
I am thankful that my friend Tom, who is in Iraq, will be home in 18 days.
I am thankful for my Mom who, among many things, taught me how to list.
I am thankful for my Dad who, among many things, taught me how to write.
I am thankful for my editor who lets me write about rats, double strollers and my life.
I am thankful for my two beautiful daughters who give my life meaning.
I am thankful for my husband who makes me laugh.
I am thankful they are healthy.
I am thankful I am healthy.
I am thankful.

The Rat Pack

The night before Halloween, I was on the phone with Renata discussing important matters such as how Britney Spears has such a flat stomach 4 weeks after childbirth when my husband asked me to get off the phone.

“We have a mouse in our pumpkin,” he said in a very low voice. He had gone outside to extinguish our jack o’lantern’s candle when he discovered our rodent friend. I went to investigate for myself.

“That’s no mouse, that’s a rat,” I exclaimed. I pointed out the long thick tail wrapped around the pumpkin’s candle. My husband and I look at each other long and hard. This was no ordinary rat, this was our Rat. The one inhabiting our garage, and on one disastrous day, our house.

“We have to kill it,” he said. I soon realized that the proverbial we actually meant me. I was supposed to kill the Rat. After two weeks in a Buddhist monastery, I can barely kill a bug. There was no way I was going to kill a rat. I thought maybe the kids would have a good idea of how to handle it. They had watched Charlotte’s Web several times.

My husband panicked, “Don’t take the kids out there. Rats bite.” I started laughing. I’m not afraid of rats or spiders. I don’t want them in my house for cleanliness reasons, but I realize they are part of the circle of life. The only creature I cannot stand to be near is the snake. To me, a green garter snake might as well be a rattlesnake.

But this was a rat not a snake, so I re-approached the jack o’lantern. At that moment, the Rat ran out of the pumpkin’s mouth and down the front steps. Before darting around the corner, he turned around and gave me the “I’ll be back” look.

This pesty problem had started over a month ago when rat evidence was discovered, dare I say, in my office. After a meltdown and a shot of tequila, I called Handyman Jim. He came over and helped me plug up every hole left open from painting. He dutifully put me in touch with Vector Control.

Vector Man Bill gave me several traps to set with peanut butter and said we had to seal off our garage. Since the garage door problem was going to cost over $2000, we decided to focus on the traps. The next couple of nights, my husband and I would lie quietly in bed listening for any snapping sounds. “Did you hear that?” “I think we got him.” You go take a look.” “No you.” Every night we were convinced we got him. And every morning we were wrong. This was no dumb rat. He wasn’t going to hop on some piece of wood for a dab of organic trans-fat free peanut butter.

“Maybe I should do catch and release,” I suggested to Annie.

“So they can go to someone else’s garage?” she replied. “Besides another one will just come and take its place. You have to have a plan.”

So after Halloween, we decided to do a re-org on the garage. Clean it up and take away the hiding places. That is when the war began. I don’t know if Rat was just pissed off that we kicked him out of the pumpkin or that we took away his cubbyhole, but the droppings tripled. He had obviously brought the whole gang over for a raging party in our garage.

Now I know that some people actually have rats as pets, but after experiencing two kids in diapers at the same time, I am not cleaning up any more poop. Those days are over. The rat and his friends had to go. I whipped out the Simple Green, my only weapon available, when my husband called. Who knew our friends have five snakes in their garage, one of them a ten-foot long boa constrictor named Josh? They had foolproof traps for catching rats. Josh was hungry and suppertime resided in our garage.

We set the traps with doggie biscuits and went inside to eat dinner. By the time you can say “slow-cooker supper,” that trap door was shut and Rat was locked inside. We were completely freaked out and decided a margarita on the rocks was in order.

The next day, I sent my husband to Josh’s house with Rat in the trunk. I waved a final good-bye knowing that this time, he wouldn’t be back.