First off, let me type that I'm not afraid of some manual labor. Also, the fact that my yard needed to be mowed in February is actually fairly fantastic, all things considered. It being past the point of needing to be mowed? Well, that's just crazy. CRAZY. But it's still sort of awesome.
It was such a gorgeous day. We've had several days like these, so I went outside to make use of such a day and tore apart the last section of wood paneling from last month. Mister Man hadn't gotten to the piece I left for him, and it was time for it to depart. With the noise I was making while ripping it apart, it had to have had neighbors wondering what on earth was going on, but it was worth the noise and splinters, because now it's in the trash, ready for next Thursday. And I was ready to conquer another task. To take over the world.
Then The Redhead was playing outside and requested to go to the front yard to play and I was thinking, "you know, I'll join you." A couple reasons, actually. What's a better excuse to mow? And most importantly, with recent events in The Midwest, a ten year old child abducted right from her front yard, there was no way I could allow my nine year old to play alone so soon after that tragic event. In all honesty, it's not like she gets to anyway. So to the front yard we went, The Redhead playing with her stuffed pals, and me pushing our manual lawnmower through what felt like a thick jungle. The grass wasn't as tall, but it was thick. And it was rough mowing, especially with a simple mower, but all the more reason to be outside. I needed the exercise.
Except, we weren't alone. And we had other obstacles in our way, aside from thick grasses. It started off with one lone ladybug, playing in The Redhead's palm. And then maybe a couple more. Next thing we knew, we had more trespassers. Ladybugs. So many ladybugs. They kept playing chicken with my mower blades. And The Redhead and I kept rescuing them. I'm not sure I've ever seen so many ladybugs in my life...
Except one other time. There was that time.
So now I'm taking you back in time, the year was 2000, the spring, and I was the most excited preschool teacher in the world. I finally bought the bag of ladybugs from a local nursery, the very ladybugs I had my heart set on. A plant nursery, full of the most awesome plants and merchandise ever, was selling these blessed little beasts. And there they were, my bag of a thousand ladybugs. I was the most enthusiastic person ever as I stepped out onto our apartment balcony, armed with former spice containers and an arsenal of ladybugs, ready to put them in their tiny little humble abodes. Poked with holes, of course. I opened the mesh bag to usher the little fiends into the containers and next thing I knew, there was an explosion of ladybugs all over my deck; so much red. If I hadn't known any better, I would have thought it was a sea of scarabs, eating through our third floor balcony, taking over the two below. So many escapees. They were so clever, those tiny little fugitives. I bid them adieu, as they had put so much effort into their plan, it wasn't worth trapping them, killing their joy. I had enough in my little containers anyway, enough to execute my plan.
The events that followed were even more laughable than the girl on her deck practically screaming and grabbing and giggling about little spotted bugs. I'm serious; even funnier. My class was unsure of the ladybugs. Most of them were excited to have their very own container of spotted friends. But then there was this blonde little heathen, a child I didn't know could be afraid of anything. And he was so concerned about these spotted pests that he couldn't even consider taking his eyes off of them during nap time. Not that he liked nap time to start with, but now he was even more alert and restless, fearful the ladybugs would attack. And if that wasn't comical enough, one of the other teachers came by my classroom and told him if he didn't nap the ladybugs would get him. That kid was already scared, wide-eyed, and wiggling, and now he was living a nightmare. The ladybugs could come after him?! It's funny now, but at the time, I was fairly appalled that she told him such a thing. This was something nightmares were made of, and I wondered how far the trauma would go. I wonder to this day if he's still afraid of spotted insects, the red and black kind, crawling across the floor.
I wonder where the ladybugs in my yard had escaped from. If some other young, naive soul had also purchased a mesh bag of ladybugs from some obscure place, with some ridiculous plan, and if those little red dots had found themselves in our yard, free from their prisons? Or maybe February in California just brings a lot of ladybugs. Either way. I'm glad The Redhead and I had a chance to be part of their adventure.
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