How I spent My Sunday

My day begins benignly enough when I notice three out of the four cats hovering in the kitchen. They had already been fed, and my husband announces to no one in particular "Mouse alert in the kitchen"  No one takes much notice, sad really that we are so blasé about it. Rob, not prepared to be ignored, exclaims louder "There is a mouse in the kitchen between the oven and the wall". I'm not sure what he expects to accomplish, because (a) I couldn't care less, and (b) I have no plans on squeezing behind the stove to capture an erstwhile mouse. Even the cats gave up, so for all I know it is still there. 

I had bigger fish to fry today. In a weak moment I had agreed to let Grady hold a Nerf war. For those without a 10 year old boy, a Nerf gun fires foam rubber bullets and unless used as a club, it is relatively harmless. I say relativity, because my son is capable of crafting weapons of mass destruction out of something as ubiquitous as  a roll of toilet paper. Anyway, his buddies at school decided they wanted to have a Nerf war, and because we have the biggest back yard (we have half an acre, so it's hard to argue with that logic) and because the other parents are too sensible to agree to such shenanigans, the vote was unanimous to hold said battle at our house.

The day dawned bright and sunny, despite my fervent prayers for rain, and the boys start rolling in at 1:00, armed to the teeth with Battle Strikers, missile launchers and god only knows what else. The RB casually mentions that he is taking Lindsay to her babysitting gig (fair enough) and then on to the farm to ride. Hang on a minute, that means I am left alone with all these little hooligans. I must protest, but as far as Rob is concerned I agreed to it, so it's my problem, not his. Fine, be like that, but I strongly suggest he sleep with one eye open. 

I am expecting a court summons any day now. I'm sure after this afternoon the neighbours will spare no expense in trying to get us evicted.  Over three hours of hooting, hollering and blaring whistles (that was Sid's contribution to the hullabloo) and I really can't say I blame them. 

One nice - but obviously misguided - mother dropped off her son and handed over a bag of Lindt chocolates "In case they got hungry" she tells me. To hell with that, I had chips and crap for that eventuality, I'm not wasting Lindt on a bunch of 10 year old neanderthals. But don't I hear the little snitch telling all his friends, "My mum brought chocolate for us". Over my cold dead body ! 

Meanwhile my husband makes it back from riding just in time to meet all the parents at the door as they arrive to collect their offspring. Doesn't he just stand there and take all the accolades, smiling and joking, telling the adults that their little darlings were so well behaved. Truthfully he was correct, they are a nice bunch of kids, but how the hell would he know how they behaved when he spent the afternoon with his horse ?.  Like I said - One eye open honey !