long live Parents' Day Out.

Today is shaping up to be what my grandmother would have called a "doozie."

Incidentally, that was also her nickname for me. Doozie. I miss that.

The Hub is out of town for the day, watching as some fabulous musicians make a fabulous music video. Thank God he won't be gone overnight because I'm not sure my insanometer could handle it.

That isn't an actual thing, an insanometer. But it should be and, henceforth, I shall pretend that it is.

So the Hub successfully escaped the house at a decent hour for his road trip, and the kids and I got all dolled up (i.e. put on something other than sleepwear) for Parents' Day Out.

Let's pause for an important note: Parents' Day Out is amazing. Not only does it keep my insanometer in check, it also allows me to drink a full cup of coffee while it is still warm. These are the things I dress up for - drinking warm coffee in public. Bliss.

So the kids and I are piling into the car, wearing our PDO best, when E drops the bomb. "Mama, what's that all over Brother's window? Is that bird poop?"

I wish.

It was an egg.  Several eggs. A widespread plethora of egg goo dried fast to car in the summer heat. I am confused for a moment before reality sets in. Someone egged our car last night. And now I have to wash it. IN MY PRECIOUS FREE TIME AND MY NON-SLEEPWEAR CLOTHING! 

The insanometer redlined.

Needless to say, it wasn't that big a deal. I dropped the kids off at school, ran back home to search for quarters, and spent the morning at the DIY car wash with my cute shoes on and my jeans rolled up. Eggs are no longer cooking on my car. Crisis averted.

Bonus: I also vacuumed the car for the first time in approximately 19 months. If you think I'm exaggerating, then apparently you and I haven't carpooled in a while.

Slightly less annoyed thanks to my goldfish-free floorboard, I drove in my egg-free car to my favorite coffee shop to redeem my kid-free morning. I was about three pages into my book when the Hub called. Could I meet the guy from Critter Control at the house in 10 minutes? Sure I could.

Book closed, bag packed, to the house I go.

Critter Control stopped by yesterday to investigate what we thought may be a mouse (or skunk? or raccoon?) problem in our unfinished basement. Critter Control was back today to confirm that no, it is not a mouse or a skunk. Not a raccoon.

I hope you are sitting down.

It is a rat colony. Not a rat. A rat COLONY. IN MY BASEMENT.

Between fifty and one hundred rats, that is Rat Guy's educated guess.

I want to cry just typing this.

I will spare you the gory rat details, but if you want to be thoroughly grossed out and interminably terrified of basements, you know who to call. Suffice it to say, these are things one does not wish to hear about the area above which one lives and sleeps.

So. Eggs and rats. Before noon. Seriously, Thursday?

On the upside, I still have two hours of silence left. Two hours of me + nothing. Two hours of me + anything. Two hours of breathing in quiet, of taking in perspective.

Lord knows I need perspective.

The laundry beckons, the dirty dishes call out, but this time I'm ignoring them. My productivity was maxed out on eggs and rats, thankyouverymuch.

No, instead I shall attend to my insanometer.

By sitting here.

And reading this.

And thanking God for the blessed soul that invented Parents' Day Out.