We are now in the eleventh month of our extensive remodeling project. We are flip-flopping the house by creating an eat-in kitchen in the long, narrow living room, and gutting the old kitchen and dining room in order to create one large living space. I know we will love the finished product, but getting there has been quite a trial.
I have been without a kitchen for three months except for the microwave on the floor, and the refrigerator sitting in the middle of the room, waiting to move to its new spot. It was actually the purchase of the refrigerator that initiated this entire project. It’s enormous. It didn’t seem so big when it was sitting in a warehouse store, but when we moved it into our kitchen, we discovered it was actually a cooling behemoth.
We sketched out every possible configuration for remodeling the existing kitchen, but nothing worked. The house was built a hundred years ago, when they closed each room off from the next, and kitchens were not places where families gathered to hang out. As you progressed through the rooms it was like moving from box to box. I felt as though the dining room was a big, wasted space, and I hated devoting one entire room to nothing but eating. The massive remodel I’d been dreaming of for years was finally given hubby’s stamp of approval.
Many people feel compelled to preserve the architectural design and period elements of older homes, but I suffer from no such compunction. I feel as though the home you live in should not only work for your lifestyle, but should also reflect your personal taste. So, down came the dark wood entry way. Out came the drafty, one hundred year old front door. Gone is nearly all of the wide, dark trim. The only place I saved it was the old dining room which is now the family room. (I tried calling it, “The room formerly known as the dining room” but so far it hasn’t caught on.) It has a lovely window seat that I wished to preserve. I thought I also wanted to save the built-in, glass front cabinet on the other end of the room, but when hubby suggested we replace it with a fireplace, I couldn’t get it out of the wall fast enough!
Part of the problem with not having a kitchen is that the mice have nothing to eat. Being surrounded by fields, we have periods of rampant rodent activity. I had thought eliminating food from the premises for an extended period of time would solve the problem. Instead, we have seen an increase in activity, as they search desperately for something to eat. We came home from a three week trip and found a dead mouse right in the middle of the floor, presumably starved to death.
Our daughters heard something trying to claw its way through the bedroom door. It managed to eat a hole in the woodwork and new carpet before we trapped it. Incidentally, a rule of thumb I shared with my freaked out teenagers: When something is trying to get through a wall, it is nearly always an animal and not a demon. Just something to bear in mind as you go through life.
Anyway, yesterday hubby and I went out for seafood. I was really more in the mood for Mexican, but every so often I choose not to veto his restaurant choices. Halfway through the meal he got a phone call. I continued eating while I listened to his end of the conversation and tried to piece together what sort of situation had compelled the kids to call. I figured they were complaining about the antics of their preschool aged siblings, but then hubby said, “Have your brother take them outside and kill them.”
Okay, so they weren’t calling about their little brother and sister.
As hubby hung up the phone, I gave him a curious look. “Do you really want to know?” he asked. I took another bite of my crab-crusted Tilapia and nodded my head in the affirmative.
While waiting on a new bed, our fourteen-year-old daughter had spent several nights with her mattress on the floor. The bed was delivered just before hubby and I left for dinner, and he instructed our son to assemble it while we were gone. When son lifted the mattress from the carpet, he found four baby mice. Well, he only found three at first, and then a fourth one dropped to the floor.
This news really would have been better received over a plate of enchiladas.
We assume the mouse trying to tear through the wall was the mother, although without DNA testing, we really have no way of knowing for sure. What I do know is that I can’t wait to get my kitchen finished and have food in the house again. That way the mice can carry on as mice are wont to do, and I can fix a nice, big dinner of cheesy enchiladas.
