Spring vs. Spring

It's Spring here. It's pretty amazing, quite frankly. It's like I've forgotten the 6-month winter that just concluded. It's like it never happened. Now owls hoo in the morning, birds chirp, buds are budding, and the air is warm. Everything is right with the world.

Well, almost.

I told Jon the other day that I discovered some conflicted feelings about Spring, realizing that Spring is the time "when all the things I hate come back alive." So even though I've spent a few days taking long drives, seeing little white lambs and little black lambs and baby cows nuzzling up to their mums, I've also spent a few days pointing out spiders that should be killed, searching for tiny ants that should also be killed, and watching for mosquitos lounging around our front door just waiting to get in to the house and ruin us. Bastards.

A couple of nights ago I was making the rounds in the house, seeing if anything needed to be killed. For some reason we are having a mini-outbreak of small ants. They seem to be migrating around the house, never returning to the place we first saw them but popping up somewhere new each time. This invasion has never happened before and is yet more proof that the earth continues to reclaim our house on a yearly basis.

Over the weekend the ants were hanging out on the bathroom sink. Why? WHY? What is it about the bathroom sink? I didn't have time for questions. I fired up the hot water and soaked what I now call The Hot Facecloth of Death™ and started smashing them. I can't believe I used to not kill things. I used to tell Jon "Hey it's an ant just doing it's ant thing. Leave it alone." No more. Our house is a battle ground and I've been pushed beyond my limits. Look, we're paying rent for a whole biosphere at this point. Enough. So I moved things around on the counter trying to find them. I noticed a cluster of them next to some Children't Motrin. I realized that the syringe Jon used for a 1 a.m. teething-pain-dose for Walker had some residual yumminess stuck to it. The ants couldn't get enough of it. And, like in an action movie, I got to utter my own cruel yet wry one-liner:

"Don't worry ants," I smirked, "you won't feel a thing."