I've had a traumatic night people.  TRAUMATIC I'm telling you.  4AM this morning, I'm woke up by odd splashing noises coming from the master bath.  Feeling over on his side of the bed, I realize that it's not hubby having some bizarre prostrate problem because he's snoozing peacefully beside me...but not for long.  I let loose with a flying elbow to his ribs and hiss there's something in the bathroom.  I aim the desk lamp on my bedside table toward the bathroom door and hit the light.  There was a RAT stuck in the toilet.  I.  Am.  Going. To. Die.   Yep, I could see this dark shape attempt to leap out of it's porcelin prison, only to splash back into the water again and again.  Hubby goes in the bathroom and tells me to go get a cat.  I find Moucshie in #2's bedroom, grab it and toss it into the bathroom.  Hubby fishes the rat out of the toilet and lets the cat go after it.  He shuts the bathroom door and crawls back into the bed.  "I'll let the cat play with it for a while," he says.  We hear frantic squeakings, thumpings and growlings, then nothing and hubby said those words we all love to hear:  oh-oh.  Huh?  I say.  Oh-oh, what does oh-oh mean?  I forgot to block the hole where the rat got in.  Sure nuff, he goes in there and sees that the stupid cat let the rat get away while it was playing with it.  It's now back in the bowels of our house, waiting to torment me yet another day.  I gave hubby the look of death and he asks what he was supposed to do.  I informed him that he was suppose to do something manly like KILL THE FREAKIN THING!  Today we're going out to buy an anti-rat arsenal.

#1 taught #2 how to drive the moped yesterday.  Since he's got his temps, he'll want to start driving bigger vehicles, so he's passed the moped down to the next in line.  Sadly, he's created a monster.  The girl is now able to drive around at will, finding yard sales all over the place and coming home with all kinds of new junk.  As much as I like my kids to have their freedom, I'm not thinking this is a good idea.