This past Saturday, Hubz and I were watching football playoff games with my sister and her husband. None of us had a vested interest in the teams playing, so it was fun to watch. We had some sandwiches and snacks and chatted as we watched the two games. When the game between the Seahawks and New Orleans was looking to be a foregone conclusion, we switched to watching Iron Man 3 for a bit.
While we were watching the game, the boys were playing in the basement. They also watched way too much TV, but they were content and relatively quiet and getting along, so who was I to put a stop to that?! Right after we got the boys some dinner and set them up with a movie in the basement, Tate came charging up the stairs. “Daddy!!” Hubz was busy, so asked if I could help. Tate was adamant that “Daddy” had to come downstairs. In his exact words, “Daddy, help. There is squeaking, like a mouse.” Hubz was a bit annoyed, but if Tate says he hears something, you do NOT question it. Hubz went downstairs, listened a bit, and looked around. He concluded that it was just the furnace.
About 5 minutes later, Tate scrambled up the stairs again. “DADDY!! DA-DEE!! COME HERE! THERE IS SQUEAKING!” Hubz rolled his eyes. I asked if I could come check it out instead. Nope. Tate has declared that Hubz deals with these issues. So down he went, again, to appease Tate. I heard Jake telling Hubz and Tate that it couldn’t be a mouse because mice are hibernating from the cold right now…they wouldn’t be in our house. Ha ha ha! (I’ll let him believe that…in fact, I think I want to believe that.) Hubz came back up saying that it was nothing, and that he wished Tate would let it go.
Hubz was no sooner on the couch when Tate was at the door to the basement. He was practically in tears. “DAD-EEEEE!! HELP! The squeaking!!!!!!” If it wasn’t dealt with soon, it could have brought on a meltdown. Hubz went down. He was down there for a few minutes, there was a flurry of activity, and I heard him telling the kids that they needed to come sit upstairs for a few minutes while he dealt with the sump pump. Uhhh…that didn’t sound good.
As he walked into the family room, Hubz whispered in my ear, “Ummmm….there’s an opossum in the window well. I need to get it out. Keep them up here.” EWWWWWWW! Thank goodness he went down there, because if I had seen an opossum in our window well, it would not have been handled in such a calm, cool manner. My screams would have likely caused a huge meltdown and scene. I kept the boys in the family room, while my sister and brother-in-law helped keep them believing that it was just something with the sump pump.
Hubz went outside to deal with our visitor. He said it was decent sized, and kept hissing at him. He couldn’t get a good grip on it with one set of tongs, so he asked for the fireplace tool to flip logs. Using that, he was able to get it up and out of the window well. He flung it, hissing, into the yard. If you look in our yard, you can see the spot where the thing landed. Ew, ew, ew! It stood up, hissed at Hubz again, and then waddled off. Mission accomplished.
Any of the other boys would have listened and dismissed the squeaking as just a by-product of the sump pump or furnace, but not Tate. He KNEW it was a critter. Even as Hubz said he was going outside to deal with the sump pump, Tate said, “You’re going to get the bunny out of the window.” Yes, Tate…”the bunny”. I think seeing a hissing, mangy, ticked off opossum would have scarred him for life. Or well, at least until his teens.
Yesterday, I admittedly was a bit afraid to go outside….I kept thinking that maybe it decided to take shelter in the area where we keep our garbage cans…and what if it attacked me in revenge?! Ugh. Never, ever a dull moment at our house….