Otto had a “work thing” this weekend, and by that I mean that I said goodbye to him on Thursday morning and other than the occasional in-the-wee-hours mumble of “what time is it? did you just get home?” we didn’t see each other again until last night.
Well, that’s not quite accurate—he called late yesterday morning to say he needed to bring some folks over for a late lunch, and could I get to the store? The kids and I ran over to Publix for cold cuts and supplies to make banana pudding; the former so that we could all have sandwiches, and the latter because when it comes to embracing Southern hospitality, my children are ALL ABOUT pudding and Nilla Wafers. Then I got to have lunch with the group before Otto left to take everyone back to the airport. So there was some meaningful conversation inserted in there, sweet nothings like “Hello, I remember you! I think!” and “Dude, why did you take out the ketchup? Do you think people want ketchup sandwiches??” to round out the day.
[Please note: Monkey found the ketchup thing SO HILARIOUS that he has been asking for a ketchup sandwich ever since. Apparently being easily amused is genetic.]
Last night I sat everyone down to handle some scheduling issues, once Otto had returned; everything that I would’ve normally addressed throughout the week needed to be gone through one item at a time. Would this work for Chickadee’s birthday? Could he take Monkey to a make-up soccer game while I took Chickie to the doctor? Etc. The kids watched us work out logistics with something akin to fascination. Truthfully I think they’re still a little surprised every time they get to watch us negotiate responsibilities without rancor.
Once the kids were in bed we puttered about until I insisted Otto go to sleep; he looked so tired it was all I could do not to pat him on the head and tell him I’d be there in a second to tuck him in with his favorite stuffed animal. (He was rather pitiful, is my point.) He finally stumbled off and when I came to bed ten minutes later, he was already snoring.
When the alarm went off this morning, it was clear that he was still exhausted, so I offered to take the kids to school (usually he does it on his way in to work) so that he could sleep a little longer. He thanked me and rolled over and was snoring again in under a minute.
I stumbled out to the kitchen, turned on the light, and opened the cabinet to pull out cups for the kids.
And a palmetto bug scuttled down the cabinet and dropped to the floor.
My distaste for palmetto bugs is well documented by now. But I guess maybe their season (ewwwww… they have a season??) is starting up again, because this was the first one I’d seen in a VERY long time. Coincidentally, we’re just about due for a pest treatment.
ANYWAY. I sprang into action—I ran for the 409 and sprayed that sucker until he was drunk and wandering in slow little circles, and then I slapped a cup down over him. I then used the puddle of 409 to wipe up the floor a bit (just like mopping, but lazier!), and left the cup there and went about making breakfast and packing lunches.
“Why is there a cup here with a bug in it?” asked Monkey, when he came into the kitchen.
“Just leave it alone, please,” I said. “I had to trap that bug because he tried to eat my face.”
“No. Eat your breakfast.”
He sat down. “After breakfast, can we take him outside?” he asked, hopefully.
“We’ll see. EAT.”
Chickadee had a rough morning and it wasn’t until just before we left that she said, “Why is there a cup here with a big bug in it?”
“JUST LEAVE IT ALONE!” I snapped. “EVERYONE GET IN THE CAR!”
I dropped them at school and came back home. Otto was getting up, and I sat down at my desk to work. I heard Otto walk into the kitchen and stop.
“Why is there a bug inside this cup?”
“I HAD TO DO IT. HE WAS TRYING TO EAT MY FACE. I stunned him with 409 and trapped him and… ummm… now he’s in that cup.” I flashed what I hoped was a winning smile.
“So now I suppose it’s my job to take care of disposal?” His tone implied that perhaps I could’ve handled it, or let Monkey do it, but was nonetheless remarkably patient for someone who is dangerously sleep-deprived and awakens to Roach Patrol.
“Yes, that would be lovely,” I replied. He may have grunted. “DUDE, it’s in your contract,” I added.
“I have GOT to learn to read the fine print,” he grumbled, sliding a magazine underneath the cup and taking it outside.
It sure is nice to have him home again.