One night I was pretty sure I heard it. That old familiar scratching. <shudder!>
The next night I saw what I hoped was only imaginary... a dark FLASH! across the floor. <SHUDDER!>
The following evening as Hubby and I curled up under a blanket together to watch some TV, I definitely saw a small shape on the carpet where there shouldn't have been a small shape. I leaned forward to get a better look and ZOOM! it sped away, under the sofa.
I felt an overwhelming need to bleach-scrub my house from top to bottom.
We had a mouse.
And the mouse had to go!
That very same evening, Hubby put out the traps. 2 downstairs, 1 upstairs. There would have been more but some of them were no longer in working order after having been stored during the summer months.
Two mornings later and the mouse had been adequately dispatched. And I felt not one twinge of guilt about participating in its demise. Nasty creatures!
It put me in mind of a humorous moment that occurred this past summer...
As I mentioned, we store our mouse traps over the summer in the back corner of the pantry after they have been thoroughly washed and air dried, ready to be brought out for the killing season. Which is any time a mouse enters my house. But predominantly in fall and winter.
Hubby had scrubbed the little black traps and had set them lined up on the floor between the stove and cabinet, near the kitchen sink. I was to put them away later on in the day.
My son dropped in for a quick visit and stood, leaning against the sink, while we chatted about one thing or another when he looked down to his left and saw a line of 6 mouse traps, did a double-take and immediately asked "Expecting a stampede?"
Our son and his wife moved in with us early February, 2012 when we found out they were expecting twins. This was to afford them the ability to save some money to purchase their own house and allow my daughter-in-law to continue her college education without having to work outside the home. This kind of arrangement has become more common, a sign of the times. I think it is called the "Boomerang Generation"-- adult children moving back in with their parents after having been on their own for a time.
Zachary, our son, had moved out a few years earlier when he was 18. He and his wife had rented an apartment and then a small house before moving into our renovated garage. NOT the ideal situation for any of us, but affordable and with built-in babysitters! Armed with good intentions and a plan for success, we began this unexpected phase.
It wasn't always easy. It wasn't always fun. In fact, it was occasionally terribly stressful. But the intention was fulfilled and I was blessed to be part of the daily lives of my first grandchildren for over a year. My husband and I became a team unlike any other time in our marriage. I learned that true apologies are made out of strength, courage, and humility. I gained a deeper understanding that love and strife are a part of every relationship but the outlook we want the most WILL conquer the other, if only in our own heart.
I miss seeing Levi and Liam as often as I used to but now our time together is primarily about having fun. Tiring fun, but still fun. And I love that!
"The kids" have done a great job of sprucing up their new place, making it their own. It is a cute little house with a nice big yard.
Now my nest houses fewer people but it is still Not-So-Empty because it holds memories of both generations past and generations future, and the potential to be filled with the visitors that come our way.
I am entirely grateful for all the lessons that I was presented with in the past year. Hopefully some of them stuck. I certainly didn't pass all of the tests! But we each are moving forward, and filtering it out as we go. And I am not ashamed to say that when I moved a piece of furniture a few days ago I got choked up when under it I found a Cheerio.
P.S. My husband also is not ashamed for me to tell you that he got choked up when he read that last sentence. He is an AWESOME Grandpa... as you can see HERE.
My daughter, Amelia, attends a private Christian college in Arkansas. We live in Delaware. At the time of this writing she is beginning the second semester of her Junior year and you'd think by now that I would be used to "letting go". I am not.
The first time we left her at college my husband was not quite prepared for the outpouring of, well, just the outpouring. We had a plan, you see, for the separation. Yes, there was a plan. The plan was supposed to afford me the opportunity to cut the umbilical cord apron strings less painfully than if we left her quickly. But even my best laid plans failed to predict all the variables.
We have some dear friends who live in the same town where Amelia attends college who generously allowed us to stay with them for a week while we got her all settled into her dorm. We had even sent some of her things ahead of time to their house so that we did not have to rent a U-Haul. Why do kids need so much more stuff these days to start college? I don't recall having half that amount when my parents dropped me at the curb. But I digress... and sound old... so I'll move along with the story.
After we unloaded all of the belongings that we brought with us and had sent ahead of time, we left her to unpack and put things to rights. We then went back to our friends' house and enjoyed visiting with them and waiting for her to let us know if she needed anything. Over the next couple days we made approximately 10 trips to Wal-mart, 5 visits to her room "just to see how it was coming along" and 2 trips to Frozen D's. There was a dinner with roommate's family thrown in the mix as well.
The final goodbye took place on the afternoon before the morning we were to head home. Daddy was stoic. Mama was shedding an appropriate number of tears. Amelia was perfectly fine. Extra tight hugs all around. I love yous and I'll miss yous were said. It was a normal scene that played out a couple thousand times on that very same campus on that very same weekend. Stewart and I buckled up and as we drove away I looked in the mirror, back at my baby girl, and saw her walking in the opposite direction. In my imagination I witnessed her sprout wings.
Again, we went back to our friends' house after driving around for a few extra minutes to compose ourselves. In their wisdom, whether consciously planned or not, I did not ask, they provided an evening of easy fellowship and lighthearted competition that distracted us from our separation anxiety. Things went very, very well. All according to plan, right? Only so far.
I went to bed that night thinking "Not bad. Not bad at all." I woke up in the morning thinking "I'm leaving my baby!!!!!!" and it went downhill from there. I readied myself with as much courage as I could. I didn't want our friends to think I was ungrateful for their hospitality but I'm pretty sure they sensed my tension. The suitcases were loaded up and we said our goodbyes to our hosts. As the last words of "safe travels" and such were spoken, I could not hold myself together for one more second. My hand went to my throat as tears sprang from my eyes with a force that I was unaware was possible. What occurred next is hazy but there I was, buckled up again and we were headed out the driveway.
I cried and sobbed and groaned my way out of Arkansas and much of the way across Tennessee. Falling asleep was my only relief but then we'd stop somewhere and the tears would start afresh as I would step into the car and see that the back seat was empty. It. Was. Awful. And it was as it should have been. Yes. Separation from loved ones is designed to hurt.
Designed? Yep. Designed. Whether through death or by choice, separation is designed to hurt. I think of it as a revelation of Mercy, actually. How can the pain of separation be merciful? Because that pain is of greater value and has greater purpose than for the here and now. It minutely foreshadows the pain that we will feel if we are eternally separated from God. Think about it. If you are a Bible believer, which I am, you know that God created us to be in relationship with Him. He longs to be in relation with us so deeply that He anticipated and implemented a plan to span eternity that could ensure an everlasting relationship with Him.
No relationship ever in the history of ever has not required sacrifice. The healthiest of relationships are sacrificial on both sides. So God sacrificed. He sacrificed first and He sacrificed big. Now I don't pretend to understand the entirety of the Triune God... Father, Son, and Holy Spirit... but I do know that it was with great sorrow that the Father sacrificed the Son even though They would only be parted for a short while. And now it is up to me to search out the sacrifice required on my part. I think it can be summed up in one word... Self.
So despite whatever separation comes here and now, whatever level of pain that causes it or is caused by it, I look to the Sacrifice that redeems it-- redeems what is separated and broken.
This week it fell to me to take Amelia to the airport at the end of her Christmas break. I've never done that. Her Daddy always does that. It is just easier for me that way. What a coward I am!! Since I could not escape the task, I dealt with it the best way I knew how... humor and brevity. We'll get to the humor momentarily. Brevity was my closest ally at the airport. Once she was checked in we sat for about 5 minutes and then I knew it was time for me to go. I spoke a blessing to her, kissed her quickly and headed out the door.
Now for the humor...
Here is my baby girl all packed and ready to go. Doesn't she look sickeningly pleased to be headed out the door?
Let's take a closer look at my point of view... at the kitchen door.
getting into the car.
getting out of the car at the airport.
No, letting go does not get any easier but I deal with it differently than I did at first. I miss her terribly, especially the laughing we do. Unfortunately for the rest of the family, we have a similar silly humor that runs amok when we are together. I can't think of a single thing that I would willingly choose that would cause me to miss our reunion at the end of the semester. But the real question is... Will I willfully choose the one thing that will cause me to miss THE reunion with my Creator?
