My mom hit a kid with the van tonight. She’s shaken up pretty bad so I don’t have all of the details. It was dark and it’s winter in Illinois, so he was in the road, not on the sidewalk. The cop didn’t ticket her. But she’s distraught. If only she’d gone some other way home. If only she’d waited five minutes more before leaving for home. It sounds like a genuine terrible accident–just a confluence of events you wish had somehow gone differently.
It’s tough. I don’t know what to say to her. I just mostly listened. She’s most distraught that she won’t know, because he’s a minor, what happens to him, if he’ll be okay.
He was talking, though, to her and to the people who stopped to help. So, I told her that’s a good sign.
Still, that poor kid. Just trying to get to the bus stop so he can get home and gets hit.
I finally got the Butcher to watch the Wayne White documentary on Netflix, which was even better than I’d hoped it would be and, of course, he loved it.
But the most important thing we realized is that, if ever someone makes a fictional movie about Wayne White, we have the perfect actor: Timothy Omundson. Yes, Lassiter from Psych.
Considering what a terrible, unproductive waste of a weekend this was and how both tired and unable to sleep I have been, I was not amused to be woken up at five this morning to a singing cat. My first thought was that it was the fire alarm running out of battery life. But no, it was just the squeaky cat squeaking up a storm. It woke the Butcher up, too, and he got up and I heard him rumbling around the house. That seemed to quiet the new kitty down.
When I got up just now, I saw the dead mouse on the dining room floor. Good job, new kitty! And I can’t fault you for bragging triumphantly about it, considering how brave you had to be to hunt, on the ground, where the big, scary dog might get you.
The big scary dog, who did not bother to get up and even explore why you were singing.
Anyway, as they say about both mice and deer–where you see one, there’s another, so I set the trap and put it in the silverware drawer, which seems to be where the mice like to get when they get in the house.
I also want credit, for the record, for fixing the toilet AND setting a mouse trap, even though I still feel like crap.