The highlight of the morning was walking out into the front yard and discovering a dead mouse. A boy's dream. All things dead, smashed, noisy, and on fire, appeal to the life giving neurons of boys.
It appeared that the mouse had been dropped by a meat eating bird since no blood was present. Since school was minutes from starting, the mouse sat in our grass all day while the boys were away.
As soon as we all arrived home in the afternoon, all eyes were on the dead mouse, and some feet. Flip flopped guys kicked the mouse around the grass and into the street and "ahhh!" and "ewe!" echoed down the sidewalk.
At one point during the afternoon the voices were reduced to an uncommon quiet. I ventured outside to see why quiet had replaced the squeals, and discovered two of the boys sitting on the curb, staring into the empty street.
"What are your guys doing?" I queried.
"Waiting for a car to run over the mouse." They replied as if I asked a stupid question
Upon further investigation I noticed that they had kicked the limp remains of our furry entertainment into the middle of street. They sat, watching, and waiting, as each car zoomed down the street hoping that one of the black tires would smash what little guts were left of the mouse.
They screamed each time a car came by, and a great "ahhhh" in unison sounded when the car's tires missed the mouse body.
After the fifth car failed at squishing I had to do what any good mother of boys would do. I grabbed my keys and started my car. Backing out of the driveway I watched as all four of children lined up curbside and my husband stood in the doorway of our house. With my tires perfectly positioned on the black asphalt I inched forward attempting to squish the waiting rodent. I missed.
I backed up, and missed again.
The third time my tires met fur, and I was well on my way to a good squish. My daughter closed her eyes and plugged her ears, while laughing hysterically. I'm not sure what noise she thought would emulate from the road kill, but she was prepared nonetheless.
Everyone screamed, "yeah!!!" and I was quickly voted "Most Likely to Please."
Now, in front of my house, in the middle of the street, sits not only a dead mouse, but a dead mouse that has been run over by a twelve year old Suburban. Now we must wait for vultures.
Pure male bliss.