What's your Poison?

On Sunday morning we caught a mouse in a trap under the kitchen sink. And by we, of course I don't actually mean me- I was far too busy standing on a chair screaming Tom and Jerry stylee. The little fecker got his leg caught in a trap, and then proceeded to drag the trap underneath the kitchen cupboard, where he squeaked and wriggled and created such a distraction, it put Cormac right off his breakfast. Which absolutely never happens.
 The only way for us, ( NOT me-as if!), to get at him, was to take the plinth off the front of the cupboard and suck the horrid creature AND the trap out with the Hoover. Obviously Himself then did what any normal person would do-he threw the whole lot into my mop bucket, got out the camera and took plenty of photos.
After which, I naturally assumed we, (I COULD have done this bit), would bash him squarely over the head with a brick, but instead Loverboy made the rash decision to release him from the trap, whereupon the fecker ran off back into the field, as fast as his gammy leg could carry him.
Now, can you just imagine the story he told his mates? He'll be eating out on it  for the rest of his life for goodness sake  - he'll probably write a book, sell the movie rights-  he's on the pig's back! (metaphorically speaking)
 God, I HATE mice and it happens every Autumn-our house is surrounded by fields, which in turn are jam packed with mice. Combine that with the chill in the air, the warmth of the kitchen and the kids leaving the back door open ALL THE TIME, and we may as well just issue an open house to the entire mouse population of Glenavy.
Then, on top of that, this morning I got a text, (A text! I ask you!), from Anna's school to say that headlice had been discovered in her year group, and it advised me to check my child's hair. Well, my blood just ran cold right there because, much as I loathe mice, I'm undoubtedly on the OCD spectrum when it comes to headlice. Thankfully, we haven't had them for a number of years *touches wood repeatedly* but just the thought of them makes me shudder.
It brings me right back to Christmas Day 2005 (Christmas DAY, FTLOG!) We had just moved out to the country, (major stress),  I was 9 months pregnant with Rory (even more stress), and I was getting the older three ready to go visit relations, before hosting dinner for 16, (stress +++).   Then I found the lice AND with them my tipping point, and that was that. Christmas was immediately cancelled and the entire day was instead spent fine combing, delousing and weeping. It was horrendous, and it probably didn't help that we'd also had mice the week before, so I was ready for the hills.
The time prior to that, was in 2001 when we were living in America. Anna was two and Jude was 8 weeks old.  We were all due to fly home later that day for his Christening, when I  discovered, to my utter horror that Anna's ginger curls were walking....and so the wheels began to come off.
First,  I rushed to the supermarket for the special delousing shampoo for her, but then I panicked about whether or not I should treat Jude as well, even though, in hindsight, he was entirely bald. But in that skewed moment,  it seemed perfectly reasonable to me to phone the 1800 LICE number on the back of the bottle and implore the poor woman on the other end for advice.  And although I'm fairly certain she was well trained on the side effects and treatment times of her product, she was woefully unprepared for the oversharing, sleep deprived, Irish madwoman on the other end of the phone, crying about colic and flights and newborns and  feeds, oh, and headlice. Not my finest hour, and as you can imagine it's all left me with a bit of a phobia in that department.
Truthfully,  I 'm MILITANT about Anna wearing her hair up in school, I switch channels if the headlice ads come on the TV,  and I literally cannot look at  pictures of a magnified louse without feeling sick. But needs must ...I've got that text from the school, so  I HAVE to do a check later whether I like it or not...and just talking about it now makes me want to scratch...Ugh!
What about you?  If you HAD to pick-  Mice or lice- what would it be? Go on, choose your poison...

The Caravilla Experience

So where was I? Oh yes, we were just about to head to the caravilla for our inaugural trip. Just to put you in the picture, prior to that, I'd had the most head spinningly, busy week, so by the Saturday, (our proposed day of departure), I took one look at the driving rain, and another at all that needed to be done before we left, and descended swiftly into the blackest of moods.
In all honesty, at that moment, the only thing that would have pleased me, would have been waving the whole troop off, double bolting the doors behind them, and bedding down in blissful solitude with the remote, Hello magazine and lots of chocolate. (Did I mention I was PMTed as well?) As that was clearly 50 shades of pure fantasy, (without even the faintest whiff of Mr Grey), I grudgingly got stuck into the packing.
Much later, after final orders for the toilet, (When did you go last? Go and try anyway.), indulging in my usual OCD checking frenzies, (Did I lock the door/unplug my hairdryer/turn off the computer?), and somehow squeezing in that extra box of cereals, we were good to go. It may have been many hours after our ETD, but excitement was in the air and even the relentless rain didn't dampen spirits...(Nah,that came later!)

I would actually!

Hopes and expectations were high- I REALLY wanted it to be a good first week. I wanted to be able to  reassure each other, that spending all the money on the caravilla had been the right thing to do. 'Sure where would you get it? And isn't it fabulous? And aren't we lucky!' I suppose in the back of my mind, I knew that I was the weakest link. I knew that the kids would love it regardless, and that Loverboy had spent all his childhood summers in caravans, while I had only one horrendous experience to draw from, which had left lingering, unwanted doubts in my mind, as to whether I was cut out for it at all! I wanted very much to embrace it, but in order to do that, I had to just jump right in there for a good old stretch, and see how it went. Oh, I could talk the talk about caravillas till the cows came home, but could I walk the walk? And if I couldn't, would I learn to? Or just suck it up and get on with it? For years and years on end?
I'll be honest though, it was a tough start. It rained relentlessly for the first few days. This actually meant, that it had rained relentlessly every single time we'd been up so far, and when I read in the paper en route, that it was going to rain for for several decades at least, I felt a big knot in my stomach that definitely wasn't eager anticipation.
Don't get me wrong- one doesn't go to Donegal for the weather. I know this. And that suits me just fine, because I'm not a hot weather kinda gal. I'm blessed with a bluey, white complexion that prickles, freckles, swells and burns in the sun. Blessed, I tell you. But three days of driving rain was wearing thin, with all seven of us inside, and the TV not working properly yet.
I'd also made several glaring errors on my packing front, the most serious of which was overpacking excessively on the heels/jewellry/ floaty scarves front, and drastically under packing, in the sensible footwear/ knickers front. Under packing, as in none whatsoever... at all. What was I thinking!? An emergency knicker-buying trip to Letterkenny was immediately scheduled, but I still had to make do with my leopard print platform wedges as my only 'covered in' shoes.
Then to top it all off nicely, having been feeling rundown and generally exhausted for several days, the most grotesque monstrosity of a coldsore appeared on my lip, right in time for my birthday. It was the  icing on the cake, so to speak... Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, very gradually and hardly without my noticing,things began to improve. The rain stopped (mostly!), and we had a few beautiful days. (We actually needed sun cream, only I forgot it and the kids got roasted).

My new Wellibobs!

Little by little, I began to feel better, the kids made lots of friends, we walked the beach, barbequed and drank wine. I learned how to work the washing machines, we decided to put a deck on after all, my numerous sandals got worn and my mum and dad came to visit. Then his mum and dad came to visit, we ate 99s, I'd a lovely birthday lunch with friends, we started watching 'Game of Thrones', and I ordered wellibobs (thanks Johan!). I'd breakfast in bed, we ate enormous picnics, the kids went crabbing, we had a lunchdate alone, and then on our last night, we congratulated each other on buying the caravilla. 'Sure where would you get it? And isnt it fabulous? And aren't we lucky?'
 My goodness-It was such a relief to feel like that, and if truth be told, when it came to it, I didn't want to come home ...and now I can't wait to get up there again!  Note to self- next time though, I'll be ditching the wedges for wellibobs, and remembering to pack the knickers!