Hold the Mayo, Extra MouseTurd.

Every now and then you have experiences in life that really define you as a person...that really separate you from the pack....that really show the world what you're made of. And I'm proud to say that this summer, I had one of those experiences. And now I'm here to share the good news.

Prepare yourselves, ladies and gents (I know there are a few of you!), for a tale so shocking, so horrifying, so toe-curling, that it'll make you fill your drawers on the spot. So go get a change of clothes before you start reading, cause you're gonna need it. Or a Depends Adult Sized Diaper. Or if you're more of a preemptive striker, go ahead and read this directly from the bathroom. Cause things are about to get crazy.

**Cue lengthy lecture from husband about hyping up story too much, leading to massive let down and  disappointment**

Ahem. What I meant to say is, something sort of creepy happened to me. No biggie. Wanna hear about it? Here goes!

This summer my extended family all gathered together at the Heber Valley Girls Camp in Utah for a family reunion. It was a most excellent little shin dig, complete with kumbaya-ing around the fire and head-butting contests. Your typical reunion fare. But on the night of our talent show, things took a dark turn.

I had returned to my cabin to change my clothes... flashlight hanging from my mouth as I danced around all the sleeping babes, trying not to wake them, when suddenly, perched atop my freshly removed flip flop, I spotted this little sonoffabeach:

I wet my pants on the spot (as I'm sure you just did) and screeched in a whisper around the cabin before gathering my wits and trying to find him. I couldn't see where the little d-bag had scurried off to, so I grabbed my hoodie, threw it on, and ran out to tell my family all about my near death experience. 

I was standing in front of our large group, delivering the bad news, when I felt a strange sensation on my back. I couldn't quite place it. It felt like tiny hands, with tiny claws, scratching my back. Like, exactly how it feels when Sam scratches my back, but with tiny, tiny hands. And claws.

Suddenly it hit me.

"It's crawling up my back! The mouse is crawling up my back!" I shouted amid full body convulsions. 

My family sat there motionless, watching me doing the worm back and forth in front of them, their faces dripping with condescension and mockery 

"Oh that Vanessa. She sure has grown up to be a drama queen! Poor thing got spooked and is imagining things. Tsk Tsk."

Their failure to take me seriously stopped me in my tracks. Was I losing it? Was I really just suffering from a severe case of heebie-jeebie induced hallucinations? Who was I? What was I doing there? Why male models? I gave my hair one more frantic fa-loofing to be sure. All was clear. 

And then I felt it again.

And I broke out into a sprint and stripped my sweatshirt off and began shaking it violently.

More hisses and jeers from the audience. 

I shook it again. 

Nothing.

I stood there in horror....ashamed and confused, searching for an exit.

I thought of shouting, "what's that!?" and bolting into the woods. But I knew they'd never fall for that. Not this group. 

Should I parlay this whole charade into my "acting talent" for the night and feign some monologues? Should I fake a seizure? A demonic possession? I practiced my demon voice. Not good enough.

I sat there contemplating my options, my life flashing before my eyes, when the most amazing and unexpected thing happened. I looked down at my sweatshirt, gripped in my trembling, sweaty hands...and there he was, perched atop the inner armpit of my sweatshirt sleeve, not a care in the world, looking up at me longingly with those big varmint eyes.

And we kissed.

Just kidding.

But the little POS was sitting there in my sweatshirt. Just sittin' right there like he owned the joint. And I threw my head back in slow-motion maniacal laughter and thrust my vindication out in front of me for all the sign-seekers to behold. 

It was a real Christmas miracle.

And can you believe, after my mom swooped down and plucked that little mouse from my hands to make sure he made it safely into the woods without further distress, I returned to my cabin and came face to face with THIS little sonoffabeach? 

Not the same one, but they all pretty much look the same so you get the idea. And my sister, Bethany, and I went all Dog the Bounty Hunter on its a**. But that story will have to wait... until you're a little older.

In the mean time, here's a few photos of the humans at our reunion. 

During the Olympics. And my mom verbally berating Bethany from the center, "YOU WILL NOT SHAME OUR FAMILY!!!"

She pulled it off in the end, accepting the green winners' blanket like a champ.

Shaving with popsicle sticks. Another Olympic event. This one was really cut throat. See what I did there?

Candy Cannon

Awaiting the goods.

Carson and Isaiah

 I begged them not to post this because I was making such a hideous face, but....

Chip munk hunt... for tin foil dinners...

Poor Sam... didn't even know what hit 'im. Teach him to eat the last pancake...

Talent show

We sang for Jesse.

This is my favorite picture. Not because of the children all fleeing in delight, but because of the candy pelting my Uncle Larry is taking in the background.

Poppa and Isla June photoshoot. Too much.

The Turkey Sub on plymouth rock. Yuv her.

 Now I know your brain may be short circuiting trying to digest all of those photos. Forgive me. And forgive my lame commentary... I've been typing them with one hand, hunt and peck style, while frying up some bacon, changing a diaper, and playing the piano with the other. 

But the bottom line is, a mouse stowed away in my sweatshirt... and tried to climb up my back... and made a nest in my hair. Not really the nest part... but it wanted to. And I lived to tell about it. So maybe we can all  hug our children just a little bit tighter tonight. Tell your family you love them. Because you just never know. 

Luff you.