Lo and behold, the next day when I went to get an item out of the closet (where a trap was set) there was... gasp....a dead mouse. And I, of course, did what any normal woman would do. I left the dead mouse for my husband to address when he got home from work. Here is where it gets interesting. Micah came home from work blah blah blah. I told him there was a surprise for him in the closet. He then picks up the trap, throws it in a bag, and throws it in the trash. There was no removing of any dead mouse, or cleaning of any trap. No, he threw the whole darn thing away.
Uhm, so I asked, 'Hey Micah, I thought we were going to reuse the traps?'
'Uh, yah, I changed my mind.' And with that, we decided that no mouse trap would ever be worth reusing. Ever.
But it doesn't end there. The next morning when I got up to get the kiddies ready for school, I found a dead mouse on the stairs.
I will neither confirm nor deny that I shat myself at that moment. Let's just say, that this was not what I wanted to wake up to. The moral of today's story is: If your husband ever suggests moving to the country. Just. Say. No.