Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Feeding the mosquitos ... one kid at a time
Let me tell you this: I have hated mosquitos since I was little. I remember them buzzing in my ear at night, and I HATED it. I started wearing glasses when I was three years old, so by the time that I was six or seven, my sight had gotten worse (as an aside ... I was born with cataracts that deteriorated my vision over time ... I just had them removed about 3-4 years ago, and it was a GODSEND, let me tell you). And why do I tell you this? Because I couldn't see these things ... these miniscule pains in my ass. So I would cover my head with my sheet, not even thinking about the poke through factor.
Fast forward a few years, and now it is my kids getting munched on. Damn parasites. And we even sprayed them down GOOD last night. But when you live on the banks of a river that is not known for its flow, you deal with mosquitos.
Queen Bee has a welt the size of a golf ball on her arm, and the Door Man looks like someone took a baseball bat and smacked him on the forehead.
So what do I do? I, of course, go on Google and look up the syptoms for West Nile virus. Of course I do. And did you know that the incubation period for that can be as little as two days? And you know, I have already decided that these were WNV-bearing mosquitos. Do I have proof? Heck no. Will I? Probably not.
But the next time we are out after dark and the Monkey is with us, I will have to plaster her with bug spray because she's just small enough that a good 20 mosquitos could just carry her off to some far away land.
I'm a mom of three peeps ... Queen Bee, The Door Man, and the Chandelier Monkey, and wife to Ace, the Helpful Hardware Man. I created this space to get away from the people known as my inlaws, and because life with three kids and a hubby is all Unexplored Territory.
The nine-year-old who seems to be growing older every minute, has an opinion and a comment for everything, and has a true servant's heart.
The seven-year-old who loves the organization of things, will someday be someone's therapist because of his kind soul, and will more than likely be living with us until he is 40 years old.
The five-year-old with the 13-year-old attitude, who has a dictator's personality, asks you to watch her all the time and say "hold on" to keep your attention, and will someday come home on the back of some dude's motorcycle with 10 tatts and a body piercing or two.
The man of the house, the fixer of things, the winner of prizes, and the only person in his family to escape the South.
You know it is time to leave the family get togeth...
Tell 'em Jimmy Honk sent you
And with a dismissive wave of the hand...
It never hurts to ask, does it? Well I don't know ...
Good morning to my new renter!!!
Oh who are the people in your neighborhood?
Break out the wine and the margaritas
All grown up
What do you want to be when you grow up?