Because my husband and I are morons, we took not one single picture on Christmas Day. Oh wait, I did just discover one I took with my iPhone, during our Christmas over at my parent's house, but it's blurry. Awesome.
We did, however, have a fantastic, if not very low key, Christmas. We didn't overspend, we didn't over eat (at least not to the point of making ourselves sick.) We also didn't have two feet of snow, unlike last year, and while some people were all "Oh man, I wanted a white Christmas!" I was all, "Thank you God, now the old people will not fall down in the parking lot of the church on their way to Christmas Eve services."
It's a little hard to find the magic sometimes when you work at church, is what I'm saying.
But now we're focused on New Year's Eve, which isn't really anything special, it's not like we have a babysitter or could even stay up until midnight if we wanted to. But it's another long weekend, and I'll take as many of those as I can get. And then school starts again on Tuesday, and so if we can just keep it together for a few more days, nobody has to die.
Except the squirrels. The squirrels have to die.
Oh, I didn't mention the squirrels? Well, they're in my attic. Or they were. They've been dancing and scratching and partying up there for a few weeks, building a nest that would fit King Kong. I don't know how many babies they think they are having, but I do know they aren't going to have them in my attic. Why, you ask?
Because we called in the Squirrel Hunter.*
Here's something you probably need to know about me. I am generally a hippy dippy, tree hugging, bring home stray dogs, All God's Creatures kind of girl. Rodents nesting in my attic don't count. Sorry. The traps the Squirrel Hunter uses are not, shall we say, catch and release friendly. The only thing that releases when this trap goes off is the squirrel's sphincter, all over your patio.
So on Christmas Eve morning, I awoke to the sound of an animal being snapped practically in half, so my husband checked out the window and exclaimed with glee the little thing was indeed flapping in the wind hanging off the side of the gutter. Squirrel Hunter was out in no time to collect the body and set another trap.
It hasn't gone off again. I've heard the thing, scratching around on the roof, but it can't get in. I've seen it, sitting on my deck trying to contemplate how to get into my house through another way, and then probably pay us retribution for going all medieval on its mate, but I don't care. I"m saying "it" because this thing is HUGE, big and fat, but I don't know if its the male or the female, who is probably freaking out now that she has nowhere to drop her furry little tree rat spawn.
I promise I'm not normally so cold hearted. But I have smelled dead animals in the wall before, and had to vaccuum up the maggots that came afterward into my precious Dyson, and I am not interested in doing that again. This time, we're using traps.
Happy New Year!
*not his real name, ya might know.