The kids were voicing to me about how "bored" they are. Seeing as how we just got back from the pool, this made me ill. So what did I do? I got out a bucket, Murphy's oil soap, and a rag and said, "mop the floor." I made them get on their hands and knees and everything. I must say my floor is nicely clean now. They actually enjoyed themselves too.
I didn't know that living out in the country was such a crazy thing. The first day we got here the kids were playing outside and found a mole. They wanted me to look at it because they were not sure what it was but I was certain that some killing had to be done. I went outside and sure enough there was a mole, just up from the surface, playing dead but twitching a little. I told the kids to wait for a minute and I went inside. I asked Dear Sir, "So, aren't moles harmful to the yard and the irrigation? Should I kill it?"
"Yes, kill it," he said.
I went to the shed and got a shovel with a point on it and went to where the mole was and where the kids were standing all around it. "It dug its way back inside the ground!" the eraser-eater yelped.
"I'll find him," I said. I dug my way a little and sure enough found him just below the surface of the soft earth. I had him on the shovel. He continued to play dead. I set him down on the ground and hacked at his middle. Blood went all over the shovel and gushed out of his mouth. More like shot out. The kids jumped back in disgust. The eraser-eater (my middle boy) whimpered a little and wailed how he thought I was being mean by killing the poor mole.
"Bad for the yard," I said, "I just bought this house too."
"Who cares about the house!"
I dug the mole a little shallow grave and put the earth back on him.
"That poor mole!" The two youngest ones exclaimed.
I felt bad but knew that it was right and meet to kill the mole. Amen.
I went inside. "Did you kill it?" Dear Sir asked.
"Good, don't tell me about it," he said.
The next day I caught the kids outside. They were all huddled around the old grave of the mole. The eraser-eater was placing what it looked like a number of rocks on the ground.
"What are you doing?" I asked, a little mad.
"We dug the mole back up and re-buried him," the boy whined.
"Yes, and we put these stones here to mark his grave so that we know where he rests," he said.
"He needed a proper burial," my oldest blurted out.
"Did you touch it?" I could barely contain my anger.
"She did--" they pointed to my girl, "but we didn't really."
I marched them all inside and told them how horrible it was to dig up some dirty animal and touch it. I made them all wash their hands thoroughly.
Then the two youngest (Eraser Eater and the girl) proceeded to take the rest of the evening to play "mole." They closed their eyes and crawled on the ground saying, "We're moles! We can't see!"
And Mommy hacks at us with shovels.