I Have To Kill The Bugs

When Daddy goes out of town, it goes like this:

I have to kill The Bugs.

Last night the nasty huge ants seemed to have extra incentive to be out. Usually they hang out on walls and counters, but for some reason they were all over the floor. And they are fast. And I was barefoot. The trick is, you gotta have something really heavy. No flimsy flip-flop will suffice. Even when Michael is gone, his big, heavy, size-12 loafers come in handy.

The little suckers had no chance.

Getting ready for bed, I bent over to reach something in the cupboard in the bathroom under the sink. I glanced up. Literally, and I actually, really, truly mean LITERALLY, in the literal-sense of the word, less than two inches from my face was a big ol' juicy cockroach staring at me on the edge of the cupboard.

Michael's loafer saw a lot of action last night.

The smacked cucaracha fell off the cupboard into a plastic bin. I tried to tip the thing into the toilet, but he was stuck in the crack of the broken plastic. The loafer, for the win, banged that thing out of the crack and tipped it into the bowl.

I woke up this morning at 5am, thanks to The Return Of The Curse Of Eve. The squawking bird didn't want me to fall back asleep. I laid there, convincing myself that laying in bed, trying to sleep, was better than just getting up, when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Mommy. I had to pee. And now my bed is kinda' wet. And my pajamas."

So I was up.

After getting said wet child cleaned and happy, stripping the sheets off the bed only to discover I totally forgot to put the waterproof pad underneath the sheets after the last time (months ago), the mattress is hanging outside to air out.

The same child decided she needed to get books and hang out on the pot, and I told her I'd be upstairs feeding Ruby, who was awake before 6.

Two minutes into nursing I heard crying and screaming from downstairs. I debated finishing nursing, though a quick calculation meant I could be several minutes, and I probably shouldn't leave my 3-year old downstairs screaming for several more minutes.

I detached my baby, who protested loudly and adamantly with tears and screams and arching of the back. Holding the screaming one, I ran quickly past the bedroom of the last child still sleeping, hoping not to wake her. Hazel was standing in the dining room, undies around her ankles.

"Mommy....(sob)....There was a....(sob)....a big cock-a roach."

(Baby is still protesting her feeding-cut-short with screams and cries.)

I walk in the bathroom, and aha! another nasty ant. They're not nearly as big as a cock-a-roach, but if I'm being honesty, they're still really gross. To my daughter, all those creepy, crawly things are all cock-a-roaches. And this one had like a weird big double-sized head.

"The head on that cock-a-roach is like my shark toy in the bath tub." Yup. Minus the razor teeth.

Ant gone, child happy again, baby back to the morning nursing.

Only a few more days until Daddy is home. At least he left me his loafer.