I guess I’d better prepare to constantly have critters around the house, but I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to it.
One of my earliest memories is my Dad bringing a garter snake into the house when I was about four years old. I recall my brother (five) and Dad thinking it was hilarious scaring my mom with the snake, but I distinctly remember being aware of my own feelings – fear, creepiness, and plain confusion as to why in the world anyone would pick up a snake, let alone bring one in the house.
Boys, boys. Just two days ago when we were moving out of the rental house, Cubby picked up a dead roach and was holding it in his hand. (It may have ended up in his mouth, had I not horrifyingly screamed and shaken it from his curious fingers.) Tigger and Tadpole are frequently trying to catch lizards, and the bug jar from Tadpole’s “Science Box” quite often has a multi-legged creature dizzily wandering in it.
I was immensely proud of myself for helping capture the baby frog that was hopping down our hallway after a Florida summer afternoon downpour a few weeks ago: a major milestone in my getting used to embracing ALL of God’s creation. I tried not to let my bug-happy kids see the fear in my eye – fear, I suppose, that the thing was going to pounce on me and start munching off my nose and ears.
All this was brought to my mind again when my eldest received to his extreme delight an Ant Farm for his fourth birthday. After all, who needs another truck or car when you can harvest your very own farm of insects in your home? I know the critters are contained, but truthfully, the very thought of purposefully having ants in my house is a bit, well, disconcerting. I don’t know much about Ant Farms, but they better not decide to cleverly tunnel out and make their Great Escape into my kitchen.
I dread the day that one of my own creepy-crawly obsessed boys picks up an oversized beetle or harmless snake and brings him in to the house to scare Mom.
I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.