I'd like to think I've got a bit of St. Francis in me. I mean, for the most part I like all of God's creatures, and I have a pretty notable respect for life, generally speaking. Exception to this rule: I despise snakes because they're evil and scary and sneaky and they remind me of, oh you know, HELL. In fact, that is my definition of hell. Just a whole "hell" of a lot of snakes slithering around. But I don't bother them and they stay away from me, so we're cool. And while we're going there, I should mention that I really don't understand the POINT for flies to even be in existence, but thankfully we have screens on all our windows and sliding glass door. In the unfortunate event that one sneaks in, I tolerate the occasional perpetrator and roll with it. Or I make Dan kill it with a rolled up magazine, depending on my irritation level.
But the million-member ant army that ruthlessly invaded my beautiful clean kitchen last night/this morning? They can all die. In fact, they did. They're dead. ALL 2.6 MILLION OF THEM.
Here are words you do not typically want to hear from your 3 year old son at 6:45 am (who likes to get up at the crack of dawn and help himself to breakfast hors d’oeuvres hour):
"Mommy! Come check it out! There's LOTS AND LOTS of bees! All over the floor!" *
This shot me up and out of bed quicker than the smell of bacon.
There, waiting to greet us was the ant infantry. (*Because when you're 3, you are still learning insect-ology basics, including how to decipher between bees, flies, ants, spiders, and roley-poley bugs. Cut him some slack, it's a lot to learn in 3 years.) We were completely ambushed. They were not joking around, these ant imbeciles. If we hadn't caught them when we did, I'm fairly certain they would have commenced laying out booby traps. Needless to say, they were in full swing, attacking everything from the counter tops to the highchair (which I TOTALLY cleaned after dinner) to the bar stools to the random little innocent crumb that dropped on the floor after dinner. But the worst part....the very WORST PART....the part that kills me just a little bit inside, every time I think about it....they came for my fresh, organic, newborn, beautiful, made from scratch strawberry-rhubarb crisp. I KNOW! Do you need a minute to recover, like I did? It hurts, I know it. Go ahead, take a moment.
Before some of you begin thinking I'm too emotionally attached and involved with my food, let me just say a few words about this crisp. It's inception was quite sweet, really- Dan & I had both been ready for something fantastic to end our day with. I had some beautiful organic Driscoll's strawberries (thanks, sis) sitting around waiting to be combined with sugar and rhubarb and butter. And Dan always talks so fondly about the massive amounts of rhubarb that grew wild in his yard as a child. So....being the thoughtful wife I sometimes am, I bought enough rhubarb for a crisp and the TWO OF US TOGETHER in the kitchen made & baked it (a rarity would be an understatement here). We were so excited to pop it in the oven for many obvious reasons, but one being it was FINALLY cool enough in this county to turn on an oven or a stove and start having some kitchen fun again! (By the way, what was all that 101 degree madness we had there for a few days, neighbors? I was not a fan. Oh, and speaking of fans, they totally help. I recommend buying a few so we're all prepared for the next heatwave). We did have a little piece when it came out of the oven, both he & I. But when I say "little" I mean it. You know, because we wanted to pace ourselves and save plenty for the upcoming week. You know, we didn't want to over-indulge or anything. You know, because sometimes the only light at the end of your tunnel-of-a-day is A LITTLE PIECE OF STRAWBERRY RHUBARB CRISP!
And what do the ant idiots decide to do? Storm the kitchen walls, swarm my precious and (might I remind you) barely-eaten crisp and then drown in its sweet berry juices. Oh, for peet's sakes! Couldn't they have attacked and drowned in something a little less sacred?! Who do they think they are? Doesn't it say in the Bible somewhere that Adam & Eve were given complete reign over these creepy-crawlies in the Garden of Eden? Because now those disobedient boogers will have to answer to GOD for their crime! That's right.
So yeah, I'm a little bitter. And you should have seen the revenge that was alllllll mine. There's nothing quite like an angry mom (me) fending for her family in her mis-matched pj's (and disheveled hair and morning breath) attacking the enemy with the Raid bottle like it was my job. In fact, I may have just earned myself the employee of the month award. In fact, I DARE those ants to step foot in this house again. Make that a double-dog dare. You don't even want to see the bottle of Raid I'll be sleeping with under my pillow tonight, just in case.
And so flash-forward to tonight. Now the hubster & I are just walking around pacing the kitchen like a couple of addicts without a stash. Seriously out of luck. I would say it's painful, this deep craving we're experiencing. Just an innocent craving for the days of yore, yearning for a delicious buttery sweet-yet-tart homemade crisp. It's all I've ever wanted.
That...and a dutch oven. (To which I've just reminded myself....thank goodness Christmas is just around the corner) (DAN! See how easy I make it for you?)
No comments:
Post a Comment