Life is not about finding yourself, but about creating yourself.

I know I don't have a whole lot going on right now, by many standards, but it's not like I don't deserve a solid night's sleep. (And, for the record, I'd argue I have a whole lotta goin on.) For crying out loud, it's on the first level of Maslow's hierarchy. Especially when sleeping through the night has eluded you for nearly 5 weeks and you don't have a newborn in your house. Grr.

Which is why I am ready to kill the fucking mouse. He's everywhere. Some nights it sounds like he's behind the bookcase. Sometimes like he's under the bed. In the closet. EVERYwhere. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Yet I can never find him. The traps are worthless. And how is he still alive anyhow? Where is the food and water source in this bedroom?!

Last night we reached a critical point. I was ready to do battle. It's my fucking bedroom. Technically, it's the guest room or maybe the girls room. But right now, I'm the only girl/guest here. So Stuart Little is getting evicted. Per usual, around 2:30am, he scratches, only this time it's at the closed door, seemingly as if to escape. At least I think that's what's going on, I can't see very well with all the shadows and my glasses are in the bathroom. Very quietly, I take the plastic bag out of the trash can next to the bed, ready to pounce on Stuart, figuring I'll catch him first, then figure out how the hell to get rid of him. I come within inches, but I miss him. So I say, "Fine, Stuart, I'll open the damn door for you, but leave and don't come back." I never see him leave, but later I wake up AGAIN having to go to the bathroom and I close the door behind me. Around 4am, scratching again, at the door for sure, but I can't see anything (and now I have my glasses). I get up and as I get to the door, I can see the shadow of Stuart trying to get in. Like hell he's getting back in here. But clearly Daisy has fallen down on the job as she hasn't yet killed him for me. Yet another strike against the damn cat. Again, with the trusty trash can, I try to open the door and catch him. Again, I miss. And again I think, why do I think this is going to work?!

But at least he's outside of the room. That's a victory of sorts. I move the trap to the outside of the door and go back to sleep. In the morning, no Stuart on the trap. Shit.

Tonight, I'm thinking tylenol PM, warm milk and/or chamomile tea and a quick prayer that Stuart doesn't make it back into our, I mean, MY room during the time the door is open today while the cleaning service is in the house. I just want 6 or 7 uninterrupted hours. Not even 8 or 9.

In other updates:

Dad looks basically normal. Which is to say I hope the changes he wanted are visible, but I'm very happy that he still looks like my dad and not some freakish version of my dad. I also keep learning new things about the man, like I had no idea that he loves Christmas lights. My whole childhood, we were a house with plenty of Christmas decorations inside, but never more than a wreath on the front door. He and Donna have always had lights, but Donna's a bit of Christmas nut (in a good way) so I chalked it up to her preference/influence. I never knew all those years my dad would have loved a few strands in the bushes. Fascinating.

I made a meatloaf, creamy cheddar corn pudding and oatmeal raisin cookies yesterday. All of them were pretty tasty. I mostly followed the recipes and I'd make them all again, but with even more modifications, naturally. I'm on a bit of a quest for oatmeal raisin cookie recipes right now. Dad and I were talking about how my mom's recipe for them disappeared like so many of her recipes and I commented that I remember boiling the raisins. Donna suggested perhaps we hypnotize me to see what else I remembered. I opted instead to look for recipes with "boil" and have a few to work through now. The cookies tasted too dry out of the oven last night, but the one I had with breakfast (that's right, cookies for breakfast. I'm on VACATION.) was much softer. But I have to keep looking. Suggestions welcome. I plan on doing some more cooking, but Dad and Donna have such different tastes than me (i.e. they don't eat most vegetables and as enlightened as he is, tofu is not dinner in my dad's book) that it's going to be challenging. I've been given the strict rule that I'm not allowed to trick them into eating any vegetables. Shh, the meatloaf had oatmeal in it to give it a fiber boost and they were none the wiser. Again, suggestions welcome.