Operation Weasel Removal: AKA the ferret, the sledgehammer and my kitchen

Sunday is a day of rest, right? I like to think of it as such, especially with my life as I am lucky to rest, alone with my thoughts, free of demands made of my mother status, even whilst on the toilet. In fact, going there must send out a red alert to the previously occupied children that it is time to have a big fight with each other, make the dog yelp, break a window, or tell the Jehovah’s witness at the door that “mom is going poo, she will be there in a second.”

I have to plan my sleep-in days like a military operation. It requires a great deal of intelligence on “the enemy” (aka my children and pets and even my mother who, as an old person, goes to bed at like 7 pm, is up bright and early at 6 am and likes to call!) When her husband does this it is even worse because he sounds really really cheerful.

I am telling you, it is a war out there! A war against the most basic of human rights…..SLEEP!

That’s me third from the right ..marching like a warrior.

Reconnaissance,  counter-insurgency, target acquisition, perhaps a convoy to ensure my peace and quiet in restful, mouth-open slumber for just a couple more hours.

Ya’ think????????????

Today is a perfect example of a planned Sunday morning sleep in. The insurgents??? Three teenagers, a ferret, and a sledge hammer and my dogs.

This is how it went down.

Sunday morning at 8:00 a.m. Phone rings. My son is calling me from the soon-to-be-vacant house I am putting up for sale and currently working on FIXING IT UP A  LITTLE!!

“Hi mom? Can I tear the kitchen apart?”

Me, thinking he is looking for something to eat, “No there is no food there anymore.”

Him, irritated, like I am supposed to know exactly why he needs to “tear my kitchen apart”, “My ferret stuck her head in a hole by the dishwasher, well, sort of a hole. We have to take it apart, we have a sledge hammer.”

Me…silence as I try to wake up a little from my intended noon sleep in mission.

“What hole?” I ask.

Capital letters now because he is annoyed and talking to me like I am a deaf dense old lady. |”IT’S HARD TO EXPLAIN, WE JUST HAVE TO CHOP OUT SOME STUFF AND TAKE THE CUPBOARD APART.”

Me…”Well I guess if yo have to do this to save the ferret’s life, ok, but……”

Him, “That’s all we needed to know.”

Click.

Then I hear my cell phone beep and since I have one eye open anyway, I reach over and look.

Here is the photo he sent me.

(please note all kitchen cupboard doors had been ON yesterday when I was there CLEANING up the kitchen!) And I think that’s a drill on the counter next to someone’s shoes!!!

And this is NOT my ferret….I don’t care for ferrets…they make me stand on a chair when I see one…..it is not even supposed to be at the house.

So Operation Ferret Recovery was completed with the ferret being alive and well and drinking alot (as I am right now) with, sadly, the cupboard doors “accidentally” splitting in half (I suspect the sledge hammer combined with teenage panic) and the bottom shelf of the under-the-sink cupboard suffering grave injuries.  Not to mention to carved hole in the corner to the left of the ferrets head….I am sure this will all make for glorious selling features!!

My son said that he and his friend would “look for” some wood clue today and try to glue the cupboard back to a whole from two halves.

So, I hung up the phone, rolled over and went back to sleep, hoping to survive the “War on Slumber.” Problem is my dogs were determined not to wave the white flag.

My daughter Emma who got into bed to sleep with me suddenly asked ” What’s that smell?”
I guess one, or five of the dogs decided to drop some “biological” weapons because they had been kept contained too long. Dammit.

So I gave up. And not quietly. I kind of had a tantrum. I threw the covers back dramatically mumbling a profane run-on-sentence that certainly lacked decorum, stomped out of bed and right onto an improvised “land mine” left by one of my loose-boweled canines.

This was not my finest hour.

Until next time, remember, hiding under the covers can be fabulous.
Sian Erith Thomson
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