Dead Meat and Broken Bones

We had some mouse poop on a few of our things in the storage unit outside, so I had Chet set a couple of traps before we left for our trip to NE Missouri. We got back on Monday night, and on Tuesday morning, I needed something from the storage unit. So I went to get it but refused to look at the traps to see if there were mice on them. I sent Chet out later to examine the evidence. As it turns out, they were BOTH full of dead mouse meat!!!!! Disgusting! I nearly puked when Chet told me.

Let me backtrack... when I went to the store to buy the silly traps, I was just staring at the section of mouse traps with this ridiculously knarled up face when I decided I had no clue how to choose them. I had to ask one of the old ladies in the aisle what kind of traps I should buy (I deduced that most people over the age of 60 are at least likely to have encountered a mouse trap or two in their lifetimes). She told me to buy the cheapest ones, use peanut butter instead of cheese, and when the mice were killed in them, I should have my dad come and throw them out! Ha! Too bad my dad is dead, and even if he was alive, he'd live 4 hours away. Nevertheless, I decided that her gray hair and fur coat signified that she had probably learned a thing or two in her life, so I was going to follow her advice as closely as possible. All I can say is it's a good thing Chet grew up in an old farmhouse and knows a thing or two about mouse traps, because I certainly am not ready to handle dead rodents.

Back to the storage unit... Chet went out to set two more traps yesterday. After taking care of business, he walked back inside holding the jar of peanut butter with the spoon sticking out of it. I asked him if he put the peanut butter on the traps before or after he picked up the previously slaughtered mice. He said that he never touched the mice and that he only touched the very end of the spoon and didn't come near the peanut butter. Still, I cannot bring myself to eat from that jar of peanut butter or serve it to my family. So I'm labeling it "Mouse food". And until we know that there's a good chance these mice are gone, Chet will probably get some extra exercise walking out to that storage unit for me!

My name may mean "Country Girl", but there are certain aspects of growing up in a city that I appreciate. The fact that I have never had a mouse in my home is one of them. The storage unit 100 yards away is close enough, thank you very much.

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Now, for the broken bones part... I keep forgetting to write about how I injured myself coughing shortly after Thanksgiving. I had a cold or something, and I was coughing quite a lot. Well, I guess I coughed enough to cause some trauma to my ribcage. Six weeks later, I'm still healing. I talked with quite a few people I know who've had broken ribs, and I'm pretty sure that I at least cracked one. My mom told me that they don't even wrap broken ribs anymore, so I didn't worry too much about having an x-ray. And since we don't have extra money to go throwing around just to find out something for the sake of knowing, I determined that the grinding and crunching when I move certain ways along with pretty intense pain when I laid down, coughed, sneezed, laughed, hiccuped, sniffed, or breathed deeply were likely evidence that it might be more than a simple muscle tear.

The only problem with this decision is that I tend to be ultra-curious, so I really would like to know if it's broken... you know, just for the sake of knowing (which, if you know me well, is why I ask many of the questions I ask on a daily basis). I sometimes drive Chet crazy asking questions like, "Who picks up your trash in the country? Is it a trash truck, or just a man driving a pick-up?" or "Why is a 5th wheel called a 5th wheel?" One year, to give me some new information to absorb, my mom bought me one of those crazy trivia books titled "Do Penguins Have Knees?" All that to say, the most difficult part about not knowing is not that it would have changed much of anything... it's just the not knowing that drives me crazy.

The one thing I did want to know is how long it normally takes for ribs to heal if they are broken. We were able to hang out with one of the guys who was in our wedding who also happens to have his doctorate in physical therapy. I asked him about it, and he told me it should heal within 5-6 weeks of injury. I'm a bit beyond that, but I've definitely been overextending myself. In the end, I've realized that I probably haven't been drinking as much milk or taking my calcium supplements as I should be. And I probably won't be needing to lift 60-pound suitcases anytime in the near future again. I'm trying to be more diligent in the hopes that I can sleep on my side again and sneeze without wincing sometime in the next week or two. I'm also looking forward to being able to do my Pilates video and going for my jog/walk with the boys. We'll see how it goes!