My kids were cleaning up the requisite belch of clothing and toys that come from traveling when I heard the yelp from my oldest.
It’s a dreaded word in our house, one that has a strict protocol attached.
1. Never try and kill it yourself. Always call for a grown-up.
2. If the baby is nearby run and take him with you kicking and screaming if need be.
We live across from what used to be desert and is now a bunch of overpriced homes squished together England Industrial Age style, so close there’s really no need for windows since you just see into your neighbor’s house. Even with the build in, we have some pretty nasty desert bugs that find their way into our house.
I’d never seen a live scorpion until I moved into our home. Now I’ve seen and killed more than I care to remember. It never ceases to stir the heart. Today I gasped with the realization that my five-year-old was standing in that exact location, shoeless, only moments earlier cleaning up flip-flops and Clifford books.
Once the infidel had been smashed to smithereens and flushed for good measure, I reflected in gratitude that no matter how many of those little critters I’ve crossed swords with, I’ve always been blessed to notice them before they do any harm. That’s more than mere coincidence. So while I clean up random socks and My Little Pony brushes, I thank heaven for watchful care and handy thick soled sandals.