Turning two

Saturday kicked off my busy fall social season, also known as the toddler birthday party circuit. Nephew Bone and I attended the first fall informal of the year, a birthday gala for the godson at Kywana's house. It was boys night out. Or, boys morning out, as he tends to get sleepy around 2 in the afternoon. And to be quite honest, so does his uncle.

The godson officially turned two yesterday, and Nephew Bone hits the big dos mañana. The cool thing about turning two is it's the only time in your life that your age doubles in a day. I've tried explaining this to Nephew Bone, but instead of blowing his mind he seems instead to take it all in stride. I'm like, "OK, but don't act all confused next year when your age only increases by fifty percent."

The other cool thing about being two-years-old is that you have no idea who your friends are, so your parents just invite whoever and tell you, "These are your friends." The red-headed kid down the street? That's your friend. The son of your mother's college roommate? Another friend. That frees you up to concentrate on more important things, like eating cake icing and... pointing at things.

Overall, it was a decent party with delicious cake and a pinata, which I didn't get to hit. And like any happening party, there were girls there, including Setup Girl and her daughter, formerly known as "the kid who was almost mine." Setup Girl is expecting another child, which we'll call "the kid who is definitely not mine," and also engaged. So Nephew Bone and I steered clear and headed for open waters.

At one point, I started playing with this super cool bubble blower and began to lure some of the younger kids away from the pinata. In my plaid shorts, I was beginning to feel a bit like the Pied Piper. But I thought it best not to march out of town. You never know how parents these days are going to react to something like that.

The party started to fizzle out around the break of 12:15, and I decided to take Nephew Bone to see his grandma. On the way over, "Lovefool" came on and of course I turned it up a bit and was singing along. In the middle of the song, I glanced in the back seat to see Nephew Bone "dancing" to the music. "You like this song, buddy?" I asked. He smiled and nodded.

While we were at grandma's, I caught myself still singing the chorus because, well once that song is in your head, it's there for awhile, and let's face it, I'm always singing something. Right after I sang, "Love me, love me," Nephew Bone hummed, in tune, "Ha huh, ha huh."

Sigh. I must have done something right.

And how about one more Nephew Bone story for the road? Alright, you talked me into it. My sister was telling me that while cleaning recently, she had moved Nephew Bone's piggy bank from one end of his dresser to the other. So a couple days ago, he was standing by his dresser and pointing up. When she picked him up, he grabbed the piggy bank and moved it to the other end of the dresser, where it usually sits.

"I think my kid might be a little OCD," she said. "And I'm the complete opposite of OCD, so I don't know where he gets it from."

"Hmm, I have no idea," I replied, reaching to straighten the ever-so-slightly-crooked mouse pad on my desk.

"Love me, love me, say that you love me. Fool me, fool me, go on and fool me..."

The simple plans of mice and Bone

Sunday night brought an unexpected visitor to casa de Bone. I was downstairs on the couch when I spotted it out of the corner of my eye darting in front of the staircase.

A mouse! In my house. Eww!

After an involuntary full-body shiver, I went over to investigate. At which point, it ran back behind the entertainment center and presumably into the utility room. And there's no hope of finding it in there because, well, you could lose a small child in there.

After another full-body shiver, I pondered my next move. I didn't have any mouse traps or other rodent-inhibiting devices. In all my years of living on my own, this is the first mouse I've had. It was like 11:30 so I wasn't really up for a Wal-Mart trip at that point. Besides, I figured why pay $2.49 for something I should be able to do myself.

Well, it turns out that virtually all my knowledge of mice comes from Tom & Jerry cartoons, so I decided to pay my good friend Google a visit. Using what I learned spending a couple of minutes on there along with knowledge gleaned from years of watching MacGyver reruns, I began to construct my very own mouse trap.

My crude-but-efficient homemade trap consisted of some cardboard, a small bucket, an empty toilet paper dispenser, and a shelf I had left over after I put my DVD case together a few months ago. I have debated whether or not to share a picture of my invention with you here, as I've yet to file a patent application. With that in mind, I would just ask that you use great discretion as I unveil for the first time in the history of blogging, a photograph of my homemade rodent capturing mechanism.

Behold, a mouse's worst nightmare:



Not bad, eh? (This is where I pause a few seconds with a proud, cheesy grin on my face to allow you to admire my handywork.) I mean, what rodent brain could outwit this marvel of human ingenuity and resourcefulness?

Since I am fairly certain most of you have never seen anything like this before, let me explain how it works. Ideally, the mouse will run up the black piece of wood to the first step, then up the cardboard to the second step. It will a then enter the toilet roll dispenser on the left side to reach the a piece of delicious feta cheese which I have strategically placed on the right side. (Do mice like feta? That's all I had.) However, little does the mouse know that I have left the dispenser teetering on the edge of the stairs so that the weight of the mouse will cause it to go tumbling into the bucket. And down will come mouse, feta and all.

And so, the trap was set. I retired upstairs to my bedroom, barely able to sleep knowing the rodent was scurrying around, but at least it was downstairs. Wait, mice can't climb stairs can they? Don't answer that.

Monday morning, I hurried downstairs with great anticipation, fully expecting to find the trap sprung and my mouse problem solved. Unfortunately, it was just as I left it. Disappointed but not defeated, I left it in place and hoped that maybe something would happen while I was at work.

No dice... or mice, as the case may be. (I think the main problem is that there were no MacGyvers where he had to catch a mouse.)

Unable to stand the thought of sleeping another night in my rodent-infested abode, I broke down and journeyed to Wal-Mart. I purchased some kind of twist-and-set traps that enclose the mouse so you don't have to see it, and also some of those sticky pads.

I set one of the traps in the utility room and placed four of the sticky pads in various hot spots I thought a mouse might go. (That got me to thinking about prepositions because a teacher once told me a preposition is anywhere a mouse can go. So I lost a few minutes there. But I digress.) That was Monday. This is Wednesday. Still no mouse.

So the commercial traps didn't work. The homemade trap didn't work. Or did it? Because while I haven't caught the mouse yet, I also have not seen the mouse again.

Here's what I'm thinking. (You may want to sit down for this.) Do you remember that anti-theft device for cars, it was called The Club or something? And in the ad, it said when theives see The Club, they move on to another car.

Well my friends, that's exactly what I think has happened here. I think that mouse came out of its hole Sunday night, saw this intimidating yet magnificent contraption, and said, "(Expletive) this (expletive), I'm going to another house!"

I have just invented The Club, for mice. The ultimate rodent-deterring device.

At least I hope that's what I've done. Otherwise, my next option may be to don some pied clothing and start playing a horn.

"Come on, babe, can't you see? I'm the Pied Piper. Trust in me. I'm the Pied Piper. And I'll show you where it's at..."