Monday, February 4, 2013

I have turned my 3-year-old into a killer

I woke up yesterday morning to an announcement from Daniel that our kitchen and dining room had "droves" of ants coming in. We'd been noticing large black ants here and there for about a week, but by yesterday, they'd decided that our house was a good place to hang out. Vivian was sick, so she and I stayed home from church and I spent my whole time squishing ants and freaking out. 

In the afternoon I escaped to Target.  Which was deserted, because the Super Bowl had already started.  So that was fun.

Then I returned to our infested house to find that Daniel had located the spot where the ants were coming in and had put 7 bait trap in that area.  And then I hid upstairs and decided to pretend that I was not living in the middle of an ant farm.  And I spent my time not watching the Super Bowl, but instead reading everyone's tweets about it, which were, really better than most of the game. 

At some point, Vivian ran in from her playroom, exclaimed "I need to kill an ant! There's one in my playroom!", grabbed a tissue and ran back to excitedly squish the ant.  I am worried that I have mentally scarred her with all of this ant stuff.

Pest control is coming later this week, and of course, there is not an ant in sight since we called them, but we pretty much live in a carpenter ant's dream home, so we still need to take care of things. Because I like my house and do not want it to be consumed.

Sigh. This is all probably because I laughed at Maggie's bat problem last week.

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