A Beautiful Mind

11ish pm: I'm sitting in my dining room, outside my kitchen, waiting in (eager) anticipation for the deafening silence to be interrupted by a blood-curdling squeak and a SPLAT.

Yes, the kitchen is officially a war zone.

We've laid TWO traps for the furry scuttleboo, placing a delectable cheese bait (blue stilton, no less) on one, a shiny unsalted hazelnut on the other. I'm certain even our prey would approve of this 'gourmet' selection. That, would be its last supper before its unpleasant demise, of course.

But enough prattle about kitchen nasties.

Danielle's begun to have memories.

I realised that a couple of months back when she started recalling events, places she'd been to, people she'd met (and their names), who gave her what, and more noteworthily-what she did yesterday.

Whilst I rejoice that minute chance she can remember (however vaguely) episodes of her life in UK in retrospect of her childhood, I'm concerned she'll remember the countless horrid occasions when Mummy got impatient with her, hollered at her, 'disciplined' her. Or my abject expressions reflecting my utter distress...

These are not good memories to look back on. And I fear these will outweigh the positive mother & daughter memories - filled with laughter, kisses, hugs and cuddles.

For isn't it always the sad events that stay ingrained in our minds, like stubborn stains that won't wash off?

I cannot influence what she stores in that compartment for memories. But I pray, for all my shortcomings, she'll always think of Mummy fondly...

Mouse update: we 'bagged' the little cheese-nibbler in our trashbag. The furry one was enjoying a smorgasbord of banana skins, scraps from unfinished dinners, Danielle's soiled night diapers, and other unsavoury, decomposing 'treats' when we sealed off its entry points to the garbage bag and promptly took the trash out for collection tomorrow. Hopefully, it's content being imprisoned in the trash. Afterall, wouldn't that be paradise for a bottom feeder? :)