"Everyone in the neighborhood has them, we can't keep this stuff on the shelf, you're lucky to get a bottle".
Lucky? Not exactly the word I would chose. Mary woke up with red nibbles all over one side of her face, and here we were, receiving a diagnosis from our friendly ACE hardware man. I stocked up on all varieties of horrid looking things to squirt around my children's currently pesticide free, but apparently bug welcoming, bedroom.
The day before, two days after returning from a wonderful 10 day beach vacation, Jack was gone again, back to Michigan for his annual golf trip. They go every year, 8 of them, for four days of non stop golf with little time for frivolous late night activities, I am assured. We didn't do so well on the timing, there were still piles of sand in the kitchen. A large bag of beach toys remained in the back of the car, freshly laundered clothes were piled high on the dining room table, heaps of dirty clothes scattered on the laundry room floor, canvas bags of every size and color stood from one end of the hallway to the other and two thoroughly exhausted children, ones who have never returned well rested and fresh, were left to appear every morning intent on destroying any patience I had left to share. And now, bedbugs.
Beds were stripped, linens washed, scary killer bug stuff squirted in every corner of the room. While away, my daughter's charming bedroom was magically transformed into a creepy fleabag motel, I was determined to get it back. Mary and Kate slept for two nights in sleeping bags, a camping getaway when you are five, not an escape from the $20 per hour motel room of my mind.
The night before he left one, of two, bathrooms decided to take a holiday as well. Not a terrible problem, until the remaining bath, feeling the pressure, called it quits the next day.
Eleanor Roosevelt, sensing my growing frustration with the situation, and missing Jack terribly, decided to relieve her sense of abandonment by relieving herself on the runner in the living room. One of the children, clearly not wanting to leave Eleanor alone in this embarrassing situation, decided to go with the flow and, for the first time ever, announce "Mom! I went in my pants".
The lights in the exterior hallway went out, leaving us in complete darkness at night, and me terrified to take the dog out. The lock on the front door broke. The children, trying to help, sprinkled pet cleaning powder on every exposed surface, effectively removing any odor left behind by Eleanor, and allowing me to imagine, for three days, what it would be like to live in the laundry supply aisle at Target.
Our Internet connection flickered on and off the entire weekend, because, when left alone for four days with two young children, it's best to have intermittent communication options available. I found the window to email Jack, "bedbugs".
Golf lessons are on my to do list for 2011.