While growing up I was somewhat of an organized neat freak. Everything had it’s spot and I hated when people (read: my mom) would clean my room in an attempt to find something, anything, that would give any indication of what I was up to because that’s what parents do. They snoop and pry to find even the smallest thing and move things around. Apparently coming in to do laundry meant root through your drawers, desk and under the bed to find my dirty gitch. Whatever. Past is the past. *ahem* Someday down the road I will be doing the same thing anyway.

As I grew up, my need for cleanliness diminished. Not to say that I turned into a dirty filthy pig leaving dishes to mold in my bedroom (yes, I know someone like that. Not a pretty picture), but cleaning my room became a thing of the past giving my mom more reason to “clean my room”. Stupid, stupid me.

When entering college and living on my own, it was necessary to re-learn how clean after myself again since after all my begging and pleading my mom still wouldn’t agree to move with me. I don’t think a two bedroom basement apartment was her idea of a great time, especially since she would have had to share a bed with me.

Now, as a parent. Once again, my ideas of clean have taken on a new life. I am by far a spotless house keeper. Things are messy, my floor is not somewhere you want to dine; unless it’s your last supper, then by all means, dig in. (do they call it the Last Supper on Death Row or in the bible? *shrug* Because I mean Death Row).
I don’t regularly clean my carpets (okay, I vacuum when the urge strikes or I feel bad that Carter can’t play on the floor anymore without getting a mouthful of dog/cat hair); laundry is about the only thing I keep on top of - but since I am so shitty at putting it away, sooner or later the clean get mixed with the dirty, and it’s all a big dirt pile again.

I can’t win.

After spot treating the carpet for the umpteenth time I figured it was due for a good steam cleaning.

Vacuum, clean, repeat.

Boy was I right. That water was rank! The basement, where we had the crack(ed) pipe was horrid. Since this is the first time in oh.. a couple months, that I’ve actually done something about it. As I vacuumed the area in preparation I decided that I might as well clean base boards too, you know - do a good job. I thought using the narrowed edge cleaner would be best, since you know, it’s narrow. I stuck the end into a crevasse between the stairs and the cinder block wall; the hose wheezed as something blocked the end.

At first glance I thought it was a ball of cat fur.

Until I noticed IT. HAD. EYES!

Yup, sucked up a fucking mouse. Dead. I hope. I didn’t stick around long enough to find out.

Screaming my head off; like I was on fire, I ran upstairs. Far. Far away from the bodiless little beady eyes staring back at me. Ugh. So sick.

This cleaning thing sucks.

Bad news? Apparently we have mice.

Good news? You can feast on my carpet, though I’d still advise you to stay away from the kitchen floor.