So the appraiser is milling around the house. The plan is that all the snooping around, sketching and calculating of random figures will yield the numbers we need to complete a successful refinancing of our mortgage - so we can take advantage of the bargain basement interest rates that are available at this time. The kids have hidden themselves away somewhere in the basement - I mean "lower level" - as I believe this man makes them nervous. The hardwood floors are gleaming, organization is at its best, and the soft scent of a pumpkin pie candle is wafting through the air. As I am trying to make myself appear to be a responsible, deserving of high appraisal, homeowner - I sweetly call down to my children to ask them what they are doing in the "lower level." I stand at the top of the stairs only to see them lying on their stomachs at the bottom of the stairway peering into a small rip in the carpet that covers that last step. Before I can reach them, they promptly answer me (quite loudly), "We're checking for mice!! We think there is something living in this hole, Mom - come check it out!"
I don't think I will tell my husband that not only did I forget to mention that we had special, high efficiency, break the bank, entry doors installed - when asked about improvements we have made to our home (all I could think of was that we put up a few ceiling fans) but that our children also offered up a possible rodent infestation.