This post brought to you by The Garbage Pail Kids
At 6:30, Sam was screaming in the bathroom. Think of that music from the movie Psycho, but coming out of a 6 year old boy's mouth.
At 6:30.02, I was running to the bathroom door to fling it open, while my mind was speeding through the worst case scenarios:
There was someone in the bathroom with him. An ax murderer presumably.
He had somehow managed to summon Bloody Mary in the mirror, unlike all 10 year olds at every slumber party ever, no matter what they say.
Someone had squeezed the Charmin.
As it turned out, Sam had shut himself in the bathroom with a tiny mouse. The kid was traumatized, all whimpering and trembly. So of course I said the most comforting words I could think of:
"Sam, did it come out of the toilet?"
You know, because of that one time I read about a rat coming up through someones toilet, and it was seared in the part of my brain dedicated to recalling horrifying possibilities at the exact wrong moment.
Thankfully, it wasn't a toilet mouse, but I certainly hadn't eased Sam's fears any, and by 6:35, the whole family was in our bed, wide awake. I don't know what happened to the mouse.
At 7:30, everyone was up again for school. Yay.
By 9:30, Nate and I had a falling out over some cereal, and we reconciled by crawling back into bed for a nap.
At 9:32, Nate breathed in my face, and I almost died. Ever since he was sick a few weeks ago, his breath has been toxic. It smells like a dog threw up, ate its own vomit, and then crawled into his mouth and died, right after ripping a big dog fart.
If only I could bottle some of that, I'm pretty sure I could kill that mouse.
Done anything gross lately?
*I don't know why Insomnia is a male, he just is.