Walking Stick Of Doom

Let me make one thing perfectly clear, I despise bugs. I do not like them, no way, no how. I don't like this about myself. I like to think I'm more of a toughie than that, but alas I am not. Spiders in particular but any bug can get me squealing. There are a few tolerable versions of bug, lady bugs, butterflies, dragon flies (well all but the airplane sized chunky ones), lightening bugs. Some I can handle alright from a distance, others, well, not so much. I've gotten better with my fears. I've managed to progress enough to smash them unless they're above head level, or too big, or too chunky, or have the ability to jump, or are fast, or they look at me funny. I can also bring myself to spray pretty much anything. When we first moved into this house I found a scorpion. As a mamma I just can't ignore that kind of thing anymore even if I want to. So I frantically shewed the boys into the other room, bravely hopped up on a chair, squealed a lot and sprayed that sucker until the air in our house was more likely to harm us than the scorpion.

As careful as I've tried to be about keeping my bug related squeamishness to myself, Mr. Golden curls has acquired my feelings. Lil' Spitfire on the other hand is an animal lover, bugs included, and walks around the house picking up bugs to take them outside, flipping poor tipped beetles (Kafka's ill fated Gregor Samsa would have appreciated his presence!) and imploring me not to swat flies because "they might have a mamma who will miss them." When our sea monkeys died he was the one who was convinced that a prayer would resurrect them and was unfazed when, a month later, they did. Last week Lil' Spitfire Bug Lover Extraordinaire met his match.

It was a beautiful day and the boys and I went into the backyard to play. I sat under the pergola while the boys played in the sandbox. They were playing so quietly that I was actually able to read and was really getting immersed when Lil' Spitfire's screams pierced the air. I looked up to see him, eyes clenched tightly shut, running through the yard. He acted like he was on fire and I thought for sure sand gotten sand in his eyes...again, though the reaction seemed a little wilder than normal. He was running towards the front of the house and I hollored "I'm over hear!". Without opening his eyes he changed directions and headed straight for me. Me: "Did you get sand in your eyes?" LS: scream scream, incoherent talking/screaming... Me: "Honey you have to calm down a little or I can't help you." I'm starting to get a little nervous about what's causing this volatile reaction when he manages to get enough out that I realize he has a bug on his shoulder. "Ok, it's alright let me brush it off"

Then he turns his shoulder to me and I don't know how I held back the squeal. This was no measly little bug but a walking stick the size of my hand! This bad boy was going to require I take off my water sock and brush him off. No big deal, I'm cool as a cucumber. I calmly remove my shoe, swat at the bug to brush him off and...he doesn't budge! This sends Lil' Spitfire into full on panic and he starts running through the yard again. I swear if anyone had been watching us they'd have thought I was beating my child with my water sock! There I was brandishing it like a weapon chasing down a screaming child yelling "stop running, stop stop stop!!!" I finally get a second swipe and *ack, it gives me chills* the stupid bug not only doesn't fall off, again, but moves to higher ground, my child's face! It filled up the whole side of his head!!!! I felt like I was in that Indiana Jones movie where the chick puts her hand in the hole to open the door, pulls her hand out, thinks she's broken a nail but it's a giant bug...that looks like a walking stick! Well I didn't like it but I knew what had to be done. I threw down the shoe and pushed it off his face with my bare hand, that's right people, my bare hand. Motherhood changes you.