Of mice and men

We got ourselves an unexpected house guest this weekend. A mouse. Did we just come across him in our home? Nope. Would you believe he actually came in through the front door? Patrice and Bella arrived at our house on Saturday afternoon so that we could make our way to a bridal shower via the subway. When Patrice got here she had quite a tale to relay regarding some mutilated mice that her pets had prominently displayed for her prior to her departure. We collected our respective babies, baby gear and strollers and started to make our way out the door. Mark opened the front door for us and ACK – realized there was a small brown mouse scurrying around between our wooden door and our glass door. We were all in a tizzy – not because we’re afraid of mice, we all agreed they are quite cute - but because when a wild animal is busily scurrying around and you want to shoo it out but obviously have no control it causes a panic. Unfortunately though I meant to open the front door and prompt our fuzzy visitor to exit, he decided instead to make his way into our cozy home. Mark, Patrice and I were baffled and hysterical. Patrice SWORE that her mice at home were white and therefore our guest did not come with her. But the questions remain – where did that mouse come from and how did he get trapped in between the two doors in the first place? We never had any mice before so it seemed entirely too weirdly coincidental that Patrice’s mouse tales were accompanied by a lovely mouse of our very own. I’ve decided Patrice is a pied piper without a pipe. It seems mice from all over are entranced by her beauty and sense of humor and are forced to follow her at a small distance. But then who isn’t?

The bebes and ladies had to hit the road to make the shower on time, so we left Mark to round up Itchy. But not before I let Noah roll out into the street in his stroller. Excellent mothering indeed. Is that what those pesky stroller brakes are for? In my defense I’ll point out that the stroller just rolled off the street curb and sat in the space between my car and Patrice’s and would never have rolled into any possible oncoming traffic (of which there was none) because the middle of the street is higher than the edges. Of course all I could do in the moment was turn beet red and laugh hysterically but still it was awful and I’m disgusted by how ugly an accident it could have hypothetically been. So we’ll return to our friend the mouse. One would have thought that our two cats would have been some help to Mark in his hunt, but no such luck. Mark apparently chased Itchy around the house for 20 minutes before she scurried under the basement door to make a cozy home for herself and her babies among our assorted cardboard boxes and old furniture.

The baby shower was a refined affair, marred only by the fact that two of its guests were ten months old. Other mothers left their babies at home, but that just meant more attention for Noah and Bella. I felt a tad bad about bringing the babies because other folk had thought it best to leave their kids at home, but we did ask permission first and honestly though some may have enjoyed the chance to be baby-free and among adults, I was happy to have Noah as a distraction and source of conversation. Plus Noah enjoyed sampling tiny tea sandwiches and slices of brie. Patrice noted that the Society Hill row home that hosted the shower was the nicest place she has ever been that wasn’t an actual historical site. The décor was stunningly old world and rich, and the walls were festooned with original art by known artists. The French themed shower was held in the lovely outdoor courtyard and the bride opened countless bags from Williams-Sonoma while Noah scuttled about on the floor playing with blocks and trains when he was taking a break from trying to dig in the flower pots. Thank God for him because otherwise I would have been bored out of my mind. Watching people open wedding gifts that they registered for has to be one of the most boring things ever. How many times can you go “Ooooh a spatula,” “Ahhhh a casserole dish,” or “Wow, coffee cups?” Hell I was bored by that part of my own damn shower.

The rest of the weekend was a blur of house cleaning and the slow development of sore throats for everyone in Casa de Eggerts. Probably even that mouse.