The world is a troubled place. We are constantly barraged with bad news including war and natural disasters. And hate and ignorance surround us. It can be very easy to get sucked into the negativity and let it bring you down. I make a concerted effort, each day, to try and find good, to look for happiness, to create peace and to welcome love.
I smile at strangers. I tell myself that I have not walked in someone else’s shoes and should not judge. I focus on the positives. I pick up garbage. I acknowledge that there is no such thing as perfect and am happy with a good effort. I try to practice a “live and let live” mentality. I don’t even squish bugs. Except for earwigs. I squish the hell out of those suckers. They are creepy.
I spent my childhood playing with bugs. I clearly remember the ant farm I made out of a cereal box (because what insect doesn’t love some corn pops?) I was amazed by the impossibly skinny appendages of the daddy long-legs and probably have lots of penance to do for all the times I tried to carry them by one of those legs and ended up holding just the leg. And I’m sure the roly-poly bugs did not love that my cousin and I used to flick them back and forth to each other, but it was really hard not to do so. I mean, they look just like tiny gray basketballs. It’s not even fair to ask kids to refrain.
My husband and I have spent years teaching our kids not to fear insects and arachnids. Even when I’m faced with those big fuzzy buggers, I fake a smile, scoop it onto a piece of paper and shoo it into the yard. When it’s 27 degrees out, Brian tries to tell me that I’m essentially killing it anyway, but that’s for God to work out. I’ve done my part. It’s not that I want them to die. It’s just like closing time at the bar; it doesn’t have to go home, but it can’t stay here.
We go so far as to treat praying mantises with reverence. Sure, they’re crazy killing machines, but they’re generally killing other bugs and are super good for the garden so we foster their procreation in our yard. As a matter of fact, Brian and I saved a baby praying mantis just this week.
I’m not going to get into details because it’s just too hard to explain, but suffice it to say that when we found the little guy, we were both lacking our clothes (no, it’s not what you’re thinking. I swear.) So, there was some maneuvering required to get it out into the yard without having the neighbors call the cops on us for extreme night gardening. This may or may not have involved our oldest child wondering why dad was wearing his shorts.
We saved the baby bug but may have permanently scarred our teenage son. Hey, you can’t win them all.
But with all of my “every life matters” talk, I cannot get behind earwigs. Seriously, what is the deal?? Why do they have to have multiple body parts AND pinchers AND be crunchy when you squish them? Can you imagine if they were like rodent sized? Actually, don’t imagine that. You’ll never sleep again. Someone would definitely have to nuke them.
Maybe my biggest issue with them is their need to live exclusively in the bathroom and almost always in the shower. There is something particularly disturbing about being naked around one of those bastards.
From April through November, I have trained myself to shake out my towel for a full 10 seconds before wrapping it around my body. I still get the willies thinking about the time one fell out after the towel was already on me.
I like to think that I remained calm, realized that it was better out of the towel than in, and moved on. But what I remember actually happening was me losing my mind, cursing like a sailor, throwing the towel to the ground and stomping on it like it was on fire and/or possessed by the devil. Then, spending the rest of the day jumping up and swiping at anything that dared brush my skin. Including my own hair, the wind and, possibly, my husband.
I really don’t get why we need earwigs. I know, I could just Google it. What else is the internet good for, if not to answer useless questions? But really, I don’t want to know.
First off, if I search for them, there will definitely be pictures. I don’t want to look at earwigs even when I am forced to do so as I smash them to death. There is no way I want them up close and personal, all magnified and icky, on my computer.
Second, what if I find out they’re awesome creatures? What if it turns out that they morph into butterflies and give birth to rainbows? What if they eat hatred and cure cancer? I can’t live with that kind of guilt.
So I’m just going to keep the mystery alive. Don’t send me an email about earwigs (unless it’s to say you hate them, too.) Don’t promise me that if I got to know them, I wouldn’t mind running around my house naked, trying to get them into the backyard like the praying mantises. In this instance, I’m going with the whole “ignorance is bliss” thing. Let me have this one.
Though I am a loather of earwigs, I find my hatred for mosquitoes is even more vehement. This time of year, I often end up looking like a scabby pincushion, because biting insects think I’m delicious. But my tree-hugger tendencies leave me shying away from traditional bug sprays. Now that the CDC says that lemon eucalyptus oil is as effective as DEET, I’ve changed up my bug spray recipe. Get yourself a spray bottle and try it out before the bloodsuckers come for you.
Ingredients:
2 tablespoons water
2 teaspoons glycerin
50 drops lemon eucalyptus oil
25 drops geranium oil
Put all ingredients in the spray bottle. Shake well before every use. Keep away from your eyes, but you can spray onto your hands and wipe/pat your face with it. I used it this week to spray an outdoor table that had our food on it and it kept the flies at bay, too.
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Laurie Nigro, is the mother of two biological children and one husband. She also takes care of a menagerie of animals that leave throw-up around for her to step in in the middle of the night. Laurie’s passionate about frugal, natural living, which is a nice way of saying she’s a kombucha-brewing, incense-burning, foodie freak who tries really hard not to spend money on crap made by child laborers. You can hear her rant about her muse (aka husband) and other things that have no bearing on your life, in this space each Sunday.
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