Cotton Carnage

My traumatizing moment of the week took place a couple days ago and I finally have time to share it with you, my beloved readers. The saddest part of this story is the fact that it took my frazzled, baby-diminished brain to even notice the carnage right before my eyes. I could have infected my entire family with the plague.
The story begins calmly enough; I was preparing dinner for my dear family. Dinner is generally prepared on autopilot as I am constantly distracted by a million other things, like laundry, hungry infants, and toddlers trying to commit homocide by tripping me every time I take a step. So, on autopilot I grabbed an oven mitt from the utensil drawer, served up plates, yelled at Zach for throwing BBQ covered meatballs on the floor, washed Zach's face, nursed the baby and attacked the mound of dinner dishes. Through all of this I didn't once notice the pile of death in my kitchen drawer. It wasn't until I wiped down the counters and opened the drawer to put away the oven mitt that I saw it: It was a mouse. A dead mouse. A dead mouse lieing on a mound of cotton. A dead mouse lieing on a mound of cotton that had exploded out its backside because it ate a hole in my oven mitt.
I was livid. I bathed the babies, whom I had carried after wearing a mitt out of this drawer, threw away everything cotton out of that drawer (mitts, hot pads, etc.), scalded all the utensils, bleached out the drawer itself, and rushed to Wal Mart to buy more traps and poison.
I thought I had eliminated the evils vermin a month ago. It's on, Devil Mice. You, your children and your children's children will suffer my wrath. There will be no mercy and I will take no prisoners. It is ON.

On an equally unpleasant note, we will have a high of -5 on Sunday.

I want to go home and go to the beach.

I hate this state. Who decided to admit it to the Union anyway? Retards.