I don't usually write “cute” mommy stories, mostly because my kids are not cute. Oh wait, my kids are the most adorable children since the dawn of humanity, even more darling than yours! Actually, I haven't posted many since I don't want to reveal that saccharin sweet side that every mom has (even if I keep mine well-hidden). I also know that these types of stories are sweet to parents and grandparents while friends and extended family politely nod as they inwardly die of boredom. But just in case you get the wrong idea that I think deep thoughts or read great literature all day long (actually I think Mr. Wonderful-still waiting for a new moniker-used to think it was “watch Oprah and eat bon bons” – but it's really “watch Man vs Wild or Shark and eat peanut butter cups,” but ANYWAY . . .)
While I was locked in the closet, I mean working on homework, I heard the most blood curdling, horror flick shriek coming from the girls' room. I leaped over piles of (clean? dirty?) laundry in an (almost) single bound (actually it was more like scaling Mt. Everest) to go see what the trouble was. Bear was shaking and about to dissolve into a puddle. Bug was on top of the dresser with his footie jammies unzipped and stepped out of. They are green so he looked like a goofy superhero – “It's a bird, it's a plane, it's a frog!” So he's on the dresser half-naked, dancing to the song “My Baby Hippo” with his big white belly hanging out, but this is not why Bear is screaming. “A spy-doo, mommy! A spy-doo!” The “spider” turned out to be an ant of microscopic proportions (yes, I had an ant in my house, so what?!) The ant was smushed. The day was saved. Now I must go. The Frog Man calleth.