Filthing Station

I was treated to an unusually rough morning today.  In addition to being awakened by Felix every 2 hours on the nose along with Stella being unusually restless last night (congested, coughing, and talking in her sleep), I was greeted by a giant tree roach in my sink this morning as I stumbled in to make my morning coffee at 5:05 AM.  Now, 3 years ago, I would have full-blown screamed and grabbed the most noxious chemical I could find as well as a long-handled implement for killing, all Sigourney Weaver-like.  But when you have kids, you have to behave like a grown up at these moments.  I calmly grabbed a flip flop, turned on the water, and proceeded to try to herd the damn thing down the drain so that I could make roach mousse out of it in the garbage disposer.  I think I only made one muffled shriek the whole time.  While roaches are vile, I don’t want my kid to be afraid of silly things.

But back to the matter at hand.  There.  Was.  A.  Big.  Ass.  Tree.  Roach.  In.  My.  Kitchen.  Sink.  For those of you  not in the deep south, picture the biggest roach you’ve ever seen in real life and magnify it about 15 times.  And they sometimes fly.  At you, and stuff.  They’re the size of those damn hissing cockroaches you see on TV sometimes.  Huge.

Shudder.

Now I know logically that A) roaches can’t really hurt me despite the fact that they’re vile and spread germs, and B) these things come in from outside.  It’s not like German cockroaches that really infest a place in the billions.  Furthermore, I know it’s hot outside, and like us, these repulsive things are looking to escape it and find someplace cool with water to ride it out.  But come on, man.  Not in my house.  Especially not in my kitchen.

Let’s face it.  When you see a roach – any roach – you think “filth.”  I do my best with housekeeping.  I really do.  But I work full time and have 2 children under 3 years of age.  One of these kids is very much mobile and disgusting.  I’ve said it before:  kids are nasty.  They chew things up and spit them out.  They pick their nose.  They dig in their diapers.  They steal your fork when you’re not looking, replacing it with their own, and you don’t realize it until you recognize that your fork is slipping out of your hand while you try to eat because it’s covered with this slime.

Yeah, I'm cute but I'm pretty damn gross.

Yeah, I’m cute but I’m pretty damn gross.

Shudder again.

I actually got to mop most of my house yesterday while my kid was at school.  Sure.  You can vacuum and sweep, but mopping with Stella around is just stupid.  You might as well cut out little footprints and attach it to the mop-head as if you’re doing some kind of tropical-themed sponge-painting.  So my floors were cleaner than they’ve been in quite a while.  Even still, there was a roach.

I don't like roaches.  Not at all.

I don’t like roaches. Not at all.

Guess what Will is going to be doing this weekend?  Cloud of death, anyone?

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About larva225

Working mom. Is there any other kind? Geologist. Nerd.
This entry was posted in House and home, Parenting and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Filthing Station

  1. dorkdad says:

    I guess I shouldn’t pick you up in my car, although I’ve never seen a roach in there… yet.

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