AUTHOR: Sheri Lynch TITLE: Bugs Freak Me Out DATE: 8/29/2006 01:30:00 PM ----- BODY:

The other morning when I opened the back door to let the dog out, a huge, fat cicada fluttered in and crashed to the floor. It skittered there, making noises, flapping its wings. I swallowed a scream because really, unless the Loch Ness Monster comes in, the last thing any sane person wants is to wake up a pair of sleeping toddlers. But I do not like bugs. Especially big, juicy sorts of bugs that look as if they'd really enjoy getting tangled in your hair. And how do you kill something that size? Knowing that it'll both crunch and squish beneath your shoe? I debated trying to catch it in a cup and take it back outside, but the very thought of it crawling on my arm with it's dry, pointy little feet nearly made me gag. Then it hit me: Champ! Champ could come to my rescue. "Champ!" I whispered. "Champ! Get the bug!" Champ (almost completely deaf from old age) continued to stare fixedly off into space. Only a foot or so away, the giant bug had yet to register on his doggy radar. Nudging him with my foot, I tried again. "Champ! Get it! Get the bug!" Champ cocked his head, gave Cicadazilla a disinterested glance, and walked away. The same dog that once would gladly have walked through fire to eat goose poop, who used to go ballistic at the sight of his own reflection, who'd chase a Frisbee until he collapsed, had no enthusiasm left for the hunt. "Get your own bug." He seemed to be saying. "And when you finish, grab me one of those damn organic treats that taste like old carrots. What's a dog gotta do to get a piece of ham around here, huh? Would it kill you to throw me a Snausage every once in a while?" It was a standoff. I could do the cowardly thing and just leave for work, risking the possibility that Olivia would wake up first, spot the bug, and turn it into a pet. Or worse, that Caramia would wake up first, spot the bug, stomp on it, and smear it all over the rug. That's their pattern, by the way. While the elder chatters, the younger swiftly and efficiently destroys everything in her path. It's a diabolical combination. In the time it takes Olivia to explain exactly why her Barbie is covered in half a box worth of Band-Aids -- and she will explain and you will listen because she won't stop talking until you do and if you think otherwise, then ha ha you're really kidding yourself my friend, because this child will be heard, period -- Caramia can squirt the entire contents of a Juicy Juice box into your shoe. That makes your shoe a boat, and the second you take the "boat" away, Caramia will scream like a bobcat hitting an electric fence. Nothing will console her, except maybe a lollipop. And what are the odds you've got one of those handy when you need it? So what to do about the bug? In the end, I turned off the light and left it for Mark to handle. There are times when it's so good to be a working mother and wife, times when you can't help but be thrilled to leave the house. When I got home later that day, I asked Mark about Cicadazilla. "You mean you let that in?" he asked. Then he rolled his eyes. It's hard to have a bug phobia. You get no respect.

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