They’re Baaack!

(Warning: Yelling Ahead. Also, Strong Language Implied and Explicit.)

A distinct disadvantage to bug bombing our house is that now we have a lot of cleaning to do — wiping down surfaces in the kitchen and bathroom, vacuuming, mopping, washing ALL of the dishes and linens. I’m not 100% sure when the de-tox will be done.

But I got started last night. And as I was cleaning the kitchen… out of the corner of my eye… no, it couldn’t be.

It was. A G-D FRUIT FLY. And then, a few minutes later — ANOTHER G-D FRUIT FLY.

Are you kidding me? We had filled our home with poison and stayed at my in-laws for three days, and the eff’ers weren’t destroyed yet? Judging from the corpses I have swept, vacuumed, and wiped up, that stuff had killed spiders, ladybugs, stink bugs, and, yes, many, many G-D FRUIT FLIES. But, apparently, not ALL of them? WTF?

I texted Dan: “I just saw a fruit fly.” I followed up with, “Please bring home bleach and apple cider vinegar.”

I immediately hung a fly strip where I saw the eff’ers. I almost immediately caught two.

Two fruit flies are not going to become 50 or 100. Not this time. Fruit and garbage cans will continue to be banished. Dishes will continue to be immediately washed and dried, and all damp towels will be laundered.

At some point in the near future, the refrigerator will have to be sanitized.

The day we were getting ready to bomb the house originally — last Friday — Dan was setting things up. He trapped a G-D FRUIT FLY under a wine glass in the dining room.

That fucker is still alive, still trapped under the wine glass. The things live on air. MY HOME IS INFESTED WITH DEMON-SPAWN, MUTANT, G-D FRUIT FLIES.


Send the men in white coats. I’ll go quietly. I’m actually looking forward to it.

Weekend Score: Girls, 2; Sleep, 0

While we had a lovely visit with my friend J in podunk Hollidaysburg, Pennsylvania, I came to Monday morning utterly exhausted.

The girls decided that 5:30 in the morning was a perfectly reasonable time to start on Saturday. Having consumed three glasses of red wine in quick succession the night before, and getting to bed around midnight, my sour stomach and I felt much differently.

I managed to survive until about 9 a.m., when J graciously brought me Tylenol and ginger ale from the convenience store, and then took the children for a walk. After about 45 minutes of utter stillness with my eyes closed, the Tylenol did its work, and I managed to shower and get dressed.

Kate decided to try for consciousness Sunday morning at 5:30, too, but I brought her into bed with me, and we managed to doze off again until the more decent hour of 7 a.m. Red wine had been wisely avoided on Saturday night, although I did have a tasty Dogfish Head IPA, so I did not have to relive that pain.

The weather was less than optimal, but we managed to keep the girls entertained over two days with new-to-them toys, walks when it wasn’t raining, a playground nearby, play-doh, and an indoor play area complete with the Germ-Laden Ball Pit of Doom (pictures to come). Mealtimes and evenings were low-key, and included crockpot mac ‘n’ cheese (need recipe, J) and a chick-flick on Oxygen (The Notebook; mraw to Ryan Gosling, but pretty hokey none-the-less), a prerequisite for girl time.

Driving with the girls was stressful, as per usual, and Flora saved her very worst behavior for the final 30 minutes of the drive home. I mean, child, we are 30 minutes away from the front door. Chillax, as they say in the ‘hood.

After fighting the fruit flies with vinegar-, wine-, and apple core-loaded traps, Dan braved Wal-Mart on Sunday night to get real fly traps. They seem to be working thus far (the organic traps worked, too, but not in nearly the same numbers as the store-bought traps). I will be undertaking a serious sanitizing of the kitchen in the coming weeks. Oh joy.

So, yeah, I’m tired. Suggestions for pick-me-ups are more than welcome. I’m staring down a daunting week, and I could use some positivity. Thanks.