I have a dear friend - let's call her 'Bear'. (She is a Dutch goddess of beauty with a genius with Bach.) And because she loves me, she allowed me to organize her linen closet. Organizing is my source of joy, my comfort, my stress relief. So when I say that she let me organize her linen closet, please understand that I was thrilled.
It was the highlight of my day! Children played with Bear's one year old daughter, Lil' Belly, while I refolded pillowcases and designed an efficient way to store and reach spare blankets. It was pure heaven. Bear served burritos while I folded towels into perfect thirds.
After such a glorious lunchtime, we headed to a birthday party for a four year old friend. I loaded the monkeys into the car and pulled out into traffic while singing, "Who built the ark? NOAH! NOAH!".
I felt a slight sting and brushed at my arm before shifting into second gear. "Brother Noah built the ark!" As I accelerated, a sharp pain in my leg made me jump. I may have squealed.
"Mommy! Whatchoo doing?" asked Spiderman.
"Nothing," I stammered, scratching at my pant leg. "I just - oh!" I swerved to avoid wandering outside our lane. The engine whined that I was unworthy to pilot a standard transmission while I risked a look down.
Ants. Fire ants. Dozens of them swarmed across my shoes, my socks, my pant legs.
Shift - demanded the engine.
'NOOO!' - shrieked the Mommy.
Move! - honked the car behind.
"MOMMEEE!" cried the Spiderman.
"Everything's fine!" I lied. I kicked off my shoes, tore off the socks and chucked them into the passenger seat. Ants swarmed up onto the seat. "We need to make a -- ack! - quick stop." I pulled into the nearest parking lot and proceeded to entertain the corner pharmacy's patrons by dancing like a wild woman. My apologies to Walgreen's and anyone in the parking lot.
"Mommy?" Spiderman asked. "Are you all right?"
"It's just a few ants," I said, rolling my dress pants up past the knee and slapping my unshaved-and-not-appropriate-for-public-exposure legs. Shoes were tossed across the asphalt as I hopped from one foot to the other. There were four dozen evil ants still swarming the floorboard of the Jetta, not counting the twenty or so that were angrily regrouping on the pavement next to me.
"Ants aren't bad," Spiderman called over his sister's singing, 'I will make yooo fishers of meeeeehn -"
"Everything's fine!"
"They won't hurt you, Mommy. They ants."
I yanked the carpet out of the driver's side and beat it onto the ground. "They're just a different kind of ant, buddy."
"But, Mommy!" he tried again. "Mommy, don't be sad! The ants, they won't hurt you!"
"I wish that were true," I answered, grabbing a Lysol wipe and wiping the last of the monsters from my pale legs. I flipped the carpet face down on the wet parking lot and jumped up and down on the rubber backside. "Die! Die!"
I drove to the party as soon as I thought possible, as death by fire ant is infinitely preferable to being late. (Punctuality is the tenth virtue). I only stalled out once, while trying to save my left foot from a surviving ant. I managed to get through the preschool festivities with only a moderate amount of scratching (and a quick run to the ladies' room to turn every article of clothing inside out). Now I'm home, full of Benadryl, and fighting the urge to scratch everything.
Spiderman asked on the way home, "Mommy? Were they green ants or fire ants?"
"Fire ants, dear."
"Oh," he said in the voice of an entomological expert. "The fire ants, they are mean."
"Agreed."
"But they don't hurt your eyes. The fire ants, they not bite your eyes."
"And that is a great comfort, son. Thank you."
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