While the phrase “Not my job” is often a sign of poor service, it has somehow made its way into the everyday vernacular of our household, where our domestic operations have morphed into a complex system of varying responsibilities.
“Hey, can you play a video game with me?”
“Sorry, that’s not my job.”
“Can you help me find matching socks?”
“That chaotic abyss of a drawer is not my job—ask your mom.”
Recently, however, a wrench was thrown into our well-oiled machine: My husband accepted a job overseas for a year. Suddenly, I found myself in charge of all operations, and I quickly realized how essential it is to have clear roles to keep things running smoothly. Instead of deflecting tasks outside my expertise, I had to take them on, hoping for some future compensation—though I knew the chances were slim.
Shoveling snow? Not my job…until now.
Burying pets? Definitely not my job, but it’s not something you can put off.
Frozen pipes? Well, that’s a new department added to my portfolio.
Rodent control? Apparently, that’s my new promotion.
Just last week, my new skills in pest control were put to the test when my 9-year-old son exclaimed, “I think I just saw something crawl under that door.” My instinct was to scream “Eek!” like a cartoon character, but I maintained my composure. After all, this was now my responsibility.
We concluded it was likely a mouse, even though my son insisted he hadn’t seen a tail. Ironically, we’d just lost our two pet rats, so you’d think we’d have a bit more empathy for a tiny intruder seeking warmth. But no. “Kill it! Kill it!” my son chanted, standing on the dining room table, avoiding any potential rodent encounters.
So, I packed everyone into the car for a trip to Home Depot—far outside my usual jurisdiction—to gather supplies: a two-pack of “snap traps” that promised to be “effective, reusable, and easy to set.” Sadly, those promises fell flat, as I learned that a dab of poorly placed peanut butter can render a mouse trap useless. I made a mental note of this for the inevitable report I’d prepare when I handed this job off to someone else.
Days passed with two traps set and no sign of our guest, leading me to wonder if it had relocated. That is, until my mother, her husband, and my sister visited that weekend. A faint rustling from beneath my kitchen sink revealed several small piles of rodent droppings—right on the fine china and silverware reserved for special occasions. As I contemplated burning everything in that now-tainted cabinet, I noticed a box of coffee K-cups shaking ominously.
Had I been alone, I would’ve had to figure out how to remove the mouse-in-the-box, probably involving multiple layers of gloves and bags to dispose of it in my neighbor’s yard. But with adults around, I realized I had an alternative: outsourcing.
My sister bravely disposed of the box in the dark of my backyard, and I thought we’d seen the last of our tiny trespasser. But my sister’s next day report of “something slipping under the closet door” dashed those hopes. Could it be the same mouse or a relative?
Reluctantly, we returned to Home Depot for more supplies, as I was quickly becoming an expert in pest control—something I had no intention of adding to my resume. This time, we got humane traps, partly to maintain my mother’s husband’s belief that I’m not heartless.
Arriving home, I was greeted by a scene that would have been hilarious if it hadn’t been so chaotic: my mother’s husband and my son were yelling at my bookcase. “We caught it!” my son squealed, realizing they had trapped the mouse behind the shelf. As it poked its nose out, my son shouted, “Hey! Hey! Heeey!”
Without feeling guilty, I stepped back to let my family take charge. I baited the trap and watched as they tackled the task without me, giving me the emotional break I needed after weeks of running every department.
In an unexpected twist, our mouse turned out to be a mole, despite all evidence suggesting they don’t typically roam above ground. We decided it must be confused or perhaps longing for a life of adventure. My sister and I drove it miles away before releasing it into the snowy wilderness. Thankfully, we haven’t seen it since.
Alas, without visiting family, the next time I face rodent invaders, I’ll have to take on pest control solo once again. But that’s only temporary because, trust me, it’s definitely not my department.
For more insights, check out this blog post. And if you’re looking for a comprehensive guide on home insemination, you can visit Make A Mom. The CDC’s website is also an excellent resource for pregnancy and home insemination.
Summary
The transition from “not my job” to managing all household responsibilities led to unexpected challenges, including a rodent invasion that required creative solutions and teamwork from family. Despite the chaos, the experience highlighted the importance of collaboration and the humor in domestic life.