September 14, 2022

The Ants Go Marching 100x100

My life revolves around bugs. The extent to which I think about, strategize against, and am tortured by bugs has increased 100 fold in a few short weeks.

We saw a tailless whip scorpion in our sink. Ugly. But whatever. I'm no wimp.

However, the mosquitos have our kids looking like intravenous drug users (combined with Lou's green-tinted hair from the pool, and she's really starting to look like a 90s club kid). They basically go to school in the jungle. And when we pull up to drop them off, entire extended families of mosquitos settle into our car for a roadtrip.

Manley killed a freaking TARANTULA in our house and maybe got bitten by it and so now has a sore paw and is wearing a cone of shame.

We are the foxes.

They are the hunters.

And the ants, OH MY GOD THE ANTS. There are tiny ants everywhere, and I don't mind them too much. But every night, the big fat ants invade our home and make us feel unwelcome. I bought a bunch of delicious bananas the other day. When we woke up the next morning, the ants had eaten all the peels off, like some freaking horror film killer mutants. Today, I reached into a bag of tortilla chips (totopos) that I had rubber banded and clipped tightly, and it was full of ants. As I write this, Tom is playing Ant Field Hockey—a game where he dribbles them with the broom all the way to the back door and then sling shots them out the door. I hate the ants so much. I hate them. I hate them. I hate them.

This is what our pool looks like every night.

So yea....

had to

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