Barehanded Bravery

Yesterday Gracie and I decided to compete in a serious one-on-one game of Bananagrams. You would think that being an accomplished writer and an adult, that I could easily wipe the floor with my nine-year-old daughter’s limited vocabulary. Well, you would be wrong. I have learned over the last few months of being Bananagrammed by Gracie that my attempt to create long words with many letters is never a success over her skill at creating multiple three and four letter words.

Despite my repeated previous losses, I willingly engaged in yet another word match. We were actually having a great time laughing and feverishly competing when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. My dog was hopping around on the floor. Griffin is not a dog who hops. I glanced over and sure enough, he was hopping. I looked closer and saw the reason for the behavior. There was a mouse skittering around on the floor and every time Griffin tried to sniff it, the mouse would run and it would scare my dog (Griffin is cute but not the least bit brave).

I reacted in the typical girly way that millions of wimpy women before me have done. I screamed “Mouse!” and frantically reached for the phone to call my husband.

“Come home now,” I cried into the phone.

“What’s wrong?” Asked my clueless husband.

“Come home,” I repeated even more desperately.

“What’s wrong?” My clueless husband asked again, probably thinking there surely must be blood all over the house due to someone’s severed limb.

“It’s a… a…,” I sniffled, ”a…”

“Mommy?” I heard my daughter’s calm voice and spun around, convinced that the huge mouse must have her cornered somewhere. “Mommy, I have the mouse,” she calmly said while holding her cupped hands out in my direction. “What do you want me to do with it?”

My daughter, fresh from her role as zookeeper in the school musical, had apparently reached under the table and casually caught the mouse barehanded.

“Take it outside,” I screamed, still stunned. Then I turned my attention back to the phone and my desperately confused husband. “Never mind,” I calmly said.

I now know who will be responsible for all rodent removal in our home.


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