There's a mouse in the house dear Liza!

This was the scene outside my door this am. Beautiful and crisp and clear it gave me hope for the coming day. It was all the more beautiful considering the event of the evening prior.

I was in my room contemplating the difference between velocity and acceration and trying to discern if there was an applicable real life happenstance so that I may understand this concept more clearly. Physics and clearer thinking are not two events that coincide in my noggin so when I heard my son yell from downstairs I almost dismissed him. Then he yelled again,

"Mom there's a mouse in my bed!"

The calculation of displacement using a directional component paled in comparison to this new adventure. I ventured forth to my sons room expecting my children to be partaking in some sort of jest. I am usually the object of their pranks, which is ok. I cook. Sometimes I make them eat tofu. I figure it all equals out in the end. We'll know for sure when I am elderly if they ever visit me or not.

So I enter the room in which Anna stands behind her big brother and Connor is watching his bed with an unveiled look of disgust and mortifiacation.

"It's in my bed." Not on, around or near...in.

"Are you sure it is a mouse?"

An ungentlemanly snort erupts from his 13 year old countenance and he replies with total beleif,

"I saw it's beady little eyes MOM. It scurried ACROSS my bed." He crossed his arms in defense and stood glaring at the bed. He was offended that something small with beady eyes would dare to "scurry" anywhere near his abode.

Did you ever notice that when we dislike anything it has beady eyes and it scurries? I Never imagined the Black Stallion scurrying across the white sands to Alex Ramseys whistle. I don't have to image Connors disgust, it is plainly visible. I tried to interject a life lesson about the correlation between Connors room being the messiest in the house and the appearance of said scurrying beastie. Like me and physics, the lesson whistled over my kids head without even the slightest rustle of hair.

You see, Con is a bird guy. If it has 2 legs, 2 wings, feathers and a beak it is the ultimate in cool. Apparently if it is small has beady eyes and scurries it is not.

Not quite beleiving there is a scampering mouse in my new house I begin by pulling of the comforter. The kids quickly and in unison step back. No mouse.

"Its there Mom." It is so charming that he believes this but can't grasp the concept of cleaniness being next to Godliness.

I am trying to imagine if a mouse has constant velocity and if he travels in meters per second as I lift up the mattress.

Connor shrieks pointing and Anna zooms out the door all the while I'm holding the mattress in search of the offensive scurrierer and wondering if the matress qualifies as a freely falling object and if in fact it's accelration rate of -9.81 m/s squared (-....directional component...I know physicists are nuts!) would kill said mouse or just render it younger (- velocity....??).

Yes his eyes are beady. And yes the little bugger scurries with constant velocity and accerates infuriatingly well.

Now let me tell all you non parents out here a little known fact about the males of the human species. We may think we live in a civilized society, regale ourselves in History about our brutal ancestors (I have French and Scot in me...not a real peaceful combo) and we all brag about how far we have come in our peaceful times BUT add a mouse into a young mans personal space and let me tell you the testosterone level will spike.

All that barbarity you thought you left behind with your 7x great great grandfather will come roaring back with a vengence in the form of your sons coming of age rite.

Man vs mouse. The epic battle.

Being a mother means you carried said child for about nine months and learned some modicum of patience. It is 9 pm and I know the local feed store that will sell me mouse traps and poison is going to open up in the morning. My son however, now beginning to understand the concepts of physics and the quickly changing directional components of mice and their ability to accerate over your feet as you clobber your own digit with a broom, has become a warrior before my eyes. I now understand why my forefathers were booted out of Scotland for supporting Bonnie Prince Charlie. If Connor is any indication, we were death with brooms.

Connors mode was predatory and his focus was Mr Beady Eyes. Vaguely aware that my constant nagging about cleaning his room is hindering his attempts at a victory over this foreign invader to his demense I have to duck as a pair of gubby socks are flung with disregard to my personal hygeine at my head.

Realizing with a maturity that Connor won't attain for another 30 years I return to my room to ponder the amount of displacement that said mouse is creating in my sons room. As I study the difference between displacement and actual distance travelled I am envisioning total destruction of my sons room within seconds. The noise is loud enough to have me considering the insertion of ear plugs when Anna arrives announcing that she is camping out on the living room couch becasue she is not sleeping anywhere the beady little mouse might be.

Soon after a disheveled and somewhat tired young warrior announces his intent to sleep in the spare room. His bird cage is under his arm. Apparently Simon is offended too.

The really funny thing is that Connor does not seem to be mad about the mouse being in his room as so much disgusted that it touched his bed. That its mere presence is enough to start a plague. So my young warrior retires to bed. The little princess snores softly on the couch and the damn bird sharpens his beak on the cuttle bone all night.

I know I'll never be able to envision Physics without the assistance of Mr. Beady Eyes.