The first night of the year, and I’m writing this after facing off with a rat. I heard it in the pantry, it was in a bag of dogfood. It leapt out when I entered and hid behind some jars. Jacob and I discussed what to do for a while, landing on the notion of sealing it into the shelf with some plywood.

It caught wind of that plan and scurried out, coming straight at me. I screamed in a way that I’m not sure anyone has heard me scream, apart from Jacob, now. 

It ran off and scurried into whatever hole it came through. This thing has been trying to get in for weeks, I should have handled it before I was staring it down beside my jars of mango and dogfood. Alas I did not, so now I am writing this with some very hot blood pumping through my veins. 

What does this mean for the new year? 
I am not sure. 
Do things properly, perhaps, and first thing. 
Not that it’s the -end- of the world. I’m going to put out a bucket trap tomorrow and if that doesn’t work I’ll call an exterminator. 

It’s three degrees out and that rat has got to be freezing. Unless he’s cuddled up in some pink insulation in my garage. I bet that’s where he’s at. Or in my walls. I hope I don’t have to kill him, or her. 

—
This is going to be a big year. 
I’m hoping to start a daycare this year,
to do that I’ve got to build a big ol’ fence. And I’m also on the books to build a deck, and finish a tent platform, and all manner of other things. 

It’s a whole lot, and those are things, at least the infrastructure things, I’d like to get done before Roby’s sibling graces us with their presence. Always fun when you get to use a word that’s generally delivered with derision, with earnestness and love. 

That’s another thing, another resolution. To love more.
I can be so dang mean to archie, and to my dad, and to other people in my life. Never to Roby, never ever to Roby, even in moments of pique. 

If I could treat every person and animal in my life the way I do Roby, I think that would be good. I think that would be Christ like.