Mama vs. nature
I'm going to make the least shocking admission ever made by any human being. You can call me Captain Obvious.
I'm rather an indoor girl.
Now that you've not had to pick your jaw up off the floor, I must at least halfway qualify that statement. Yes, I do have very fond memories of playing outside as a kid. Loved to play softball, swing, ride my bike, swim, at times stroll through the woods (ignorant of animal dangers ever-present so deep in the country), and even (gasp) camp out on occasion with my dad. Very fond memories indeed.
And even now as a boring old grown-up, when the mood hits me right I still love to swing and swim and take walks and feel the grass against my bare feet. Play ball with my boys. Sit outside on a peaceful evening, feel the breeze and be lulled into half-consciousness by the tree frogs, watch the last streaks of light fade from the sky.
Yes, I like these things.
What I don't like...is bugs. I know, I know, they're good and they fertilize the plants and make every thing beautiful, blah blah blah. Don't like them. Don't. Not any of them. Well, caterpillars and butterflies are OK. And lightning bugs. But that's it. Anything beyond that is disgusting and annoying and scary.
And they alone make me a rather indoor girl.
One time not too long ago, as I was driving Ashley-speed down a back road with all the windows down, a bell hornet collided with my shoulder and fell down into the seat next to me. He was shaken up, but not dead. Yeah, you can imagine the scene. And why from that moment I refuse to ride around with the car windows all the way down anymore.
Bugs. A plight on humanity.
Guess what.
It's cicada year.
Crap.
They're awful. Awful. I have to believe in my innermost soul that these fellas did not come around until the Exodus. There is no way they were in the Garden at creation. God made these guys with "punishment for mankind" as their sole purpose. Seriously. God's like, "I'm gonna make these nasty fellas who crawl up out of the ground, latch onto something, climb out of their skin, make the world's most annoying sound, get all over everything, fly into stuff and then squirm around on their backs until they die."
This is not blasphemy, my faith is not shaken by the cicadas, but if there is anything visible today, to convince us of how horrible sin is, take a look at a cicada.
I don't want to say that the summer is effectively ruined. Really don't want to say that. Though I question how much we'll eat outside, since it's likely at some point that a cicada will be flopping around in the hot dog chili. And I will likely have to steer clear of my beloved flip flops, lest I inadvertently step on one hiding in the grass.
So gross. So very gross. I will not freak out, as to ruin the summer for the boys, whose main reaction to them is, "Look at all the bugs!" I will swallow my boy-mama pill and smile and play and pretend it doesn't bother me.
So gross.
The upside is that, once this is over, we get a nice seventeen year break. I call it an upside and then realize that the next time they come, both of my boys will be in college.
Darn you, cicadas!
I'm rather an indoor girl.
Now that you've not had to pick your jaw up off the floor, I must at least halfway qualify that statement. Yes, I do have very fond memories of playing outside as a kid. Loved to play softball, swing, ride my bike, swim, at times stroll through the woods (ignorant of animal dangers ever-present so deep in the country), and even (gasp) camp out on occasion with my dad. Very fond memories indeed.
And even now as a boring old grown-up, when the mood hits me right I still love to swing and swim and take walks and feel the grass against my bare feet. Play ball with my boys. Sit outside on a peaceful evening, feel the breeze and be lulled into half-consciousness by the tree frogs, watch the last streaks of light fade from the sky.
Yes, I like these things.
What I don't like...is bugs. I know, I know, they're good and they fertilize the plants and make every thing beautiful, blah blah blah. Don't like them. Don't. Not any of them. Well, caterpillars and butterflies are OK. And lightning bugs. But that's it. Anything beyond that is disgusting and annoying and scary.
And they alone make me a rather indoor girl.
One time not too long ago, as I was driving Ashley-speed down a back road with all the windows down, a bell hornet collided with my shoulder and fell down into the seat next to me. He was shaken up, but not dead. Yeah, you can imagine the scene. And why from that moment I refuse to ride around with the car windows all the way down anymore.
Bugs. A plight on humanity.
Guess what.
It's cicada year.
Crap.
They're awful. Awful. I have to believe in my innermost soul that these fellas did not come around until the Exodus. There is no way they were in the Garden at creation. God made these guys with "punishment for mankind" as their sole purpose. Seriously. God's like, "I'm gonna make these nasty fellas who crawl up out of the ground, latch onto something, climb out of their skin, make the world's most annoying sound, get all over everything, fly into stuff and then squirm around on their backs until they die."
This is not blasphemy, my faith is not shaken by the cicadas, but if there is anything visible today, to convince us of how horrible sin is, take a look at a cicada.
I don't want to say that the summer is effectively ruined. Really don't want to say that. Though I question how much we'll eat outside, since it's likely at some point that a cicada will be flopping around in the hot dog chili. And I will likely have to steer clear of my beloved flip flops, lest I inadvertently step on one hiding in the grass.
So gross. So very gross. I will not freak out, as to ruin the summer for the boys, whose main reaction to them is, "Look at all the bugs!" I will swallow my boy-mama pill and smile and play and pretend it doesn't bother me.
So gross.
The upside is that, once this is over, we get a nice seventeen year break. I call it an upside and then realize that the next time they come, both of my boys will be in college.
Darn you, cicadas!
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