Three Kid Circus : What Next? The Plague?

Wednesday, September 08, 2004

What Next? The Plague?

Alright. I've had it. Not only has it been nearly 100 degrees for the last week, but now? There are ants. All over my kitchen.

Ants come with the territory. When it's cold, here they come. And when it's hot, the ants come marching two by two, hurrah! Hurrah!

When I rose at 5 am this morning (and don't even get me started on that) my sink looked like a waterpark for ants. They were lining up all over the place. I turned on the water, and used a Clorox wipe to sweep the incoming tourists towards the thrill ride that is my garbage disposal. They just kept coming. They crawled off of the wipe and onto my hands.

Adjusting the temperature to a slight scald, I blister my hands, but remove all the offending ants. I open the dishwasher full of clean dishes, and yep, there's a party going on in there too. Aaaargh. We put out ant stakes and they just saunter around them. I decide that the dishes could use another hot rinse, and watch in horror as the machine spins to life, causing an exodus of ants to spill out the steam vents. And head for the sink.

At this point, I started getting that creeping skin thing. I was twitchy and icked out. I backed away from the sink, ran to the garage, found the ant spray, and headed back in. Adreneline kicked in and I mashed to trigger, coating the sink, the counter and half the dishwasher in white foamy lethalness. I kid you not, it looked like I used a fire extinguisher. At this point, my husband appeared carrying the baby.

"Get away! I have to clean up all these chemicals!" I shout as he heads toward the coffee maker. My husband stood in the entry to our kitchen, holding our daughter and shaking his head as I frantically tried to mop up the dead ants and clean the poison from the tainted surfaces. Every few minutes, a twitch would work it's way down my spine.

From behind me, I heard my daughter say "Funny Mommy."

"Ha ha." I offered, sarcastically.

"Mommy dancing," crows my daughter. "Mommy's got ants in her pants," deadpans my hubs. With that, my girl throws back her head and sings, "Ants-pants. Ants-pants. Ta-daaaa!"