Have I ever told you, dear reader’s, that I hate moths? I really…really hate them. They’re all spaztic and floppy and they can’t control themselves.
People say, “Oh come on, Amanda. They’re just like butterflies.”
Nay. They are not ‘just like butterflies’. There is nothing graceful about moth as it sputters and slams it’s body into a light bulb. Nothing at all like a butterfly.
What was I talking about?
Oh yes, country life.
So I knew there was a moth problem up here and I was a bit screamy and jumpy the first couple of weeks, but now I have, for the most part, learned to coexist peacefully with them.
Well, that is, until yesterday.
We were headed out for our daily trip to the post office yesterday afternoon when I innocently grabbed my purse that was sitting benignly next to my chair in the living room. I already had my sun glasses on so I couldn’t really see the purse strap as I was grabbing it, but I could certainly feel the unmistakable crunch of dead moth under my hand as I lifted it up.
In the interest of journalistic integrity I feel obligated to tell you that the instant my hand crunched that moth I dropped that purse like a hot potato and began screaming and squeeling and jumping around the room like the sissy girl that I am.
And then I began pouring Purel over my hand with such vigor that youd’ve thought it was holy water.
Kevin, being the manly man that he is, calmly scooped up the purse and tossed the offending creature in the trash. But as he walked past me I caught a glimpse of what looked like hundreds of teeny, tiny sparkly pearls in little clusters all over my purse.
Oh no she didn’t! That hussy had the audacity to lay EGGS all over my PURSE before she died on it. Oooooooh no ma’am. Not cool.
And then…AND THEN I realized that I had YARN in that purse. And not just any yarn. No. I had beautiful self stripping, baby soft wool sock yarn that was already 2/3’s of the way knit into quite a lovely sock, if I do say so myself.
I immediately dumped the contents of the purse onto the floor and started frantically picking apart my yarn as Kevin scrapped off the eggs.
Did I mention this is a fairly rare purse handmade in Uganda and was only available at Invisible Children screenings over a year ago and can’t be purchased anymore? Oh I didn’t? How silly of me.
As soon as I was certain that my yarn was in the clear, I dumped the purse in the washing machine and washed it on Hot. Twice.
Excuse me while I go douse my hand in Purel. Again.
In other news…
The kids seem to be a fan of all the insects the mountains have to offer. Especially Presley. She just loves playing with bugs of all shapes and sizes.
But I’m trying not to instill my utter disdain (read:abject terror) for bugs onto my offspring, so I encourage their blossoming interest whenever possible.
With that in mind, when I was hanging clothes on the line the other day, I happened upon a tiny little inch worm. Well, I can handle an inch worm! No problem! Nothing scary or disgusting about those little guys.
So I called the kids out to the back yard and had Presley bring the little guy in the house so we could do some good ol’ home schoolin’ and research what exactly an inch worm is.
We looked in Caedmon’s insect book and didn’t find anything. So I pulled out the Children’s Animal Dictionary, nada.
The kids really didn’t care anymore at this point, but I was bound and determined to figure out what the heck an inch worm actually is.
Google to the rescue!
I clicked on the first link that Google offered up and as I was scrolling through the page this picture jumped out at me
“Huh” I thought to myself, “that’s an odd looking butterfly…”
“Is that…? Surely not…”
And then my eyes land on this sentence
“…larvae of moths of the family Geometridae, a large, cosmopolitan group with over 1,200 species indigenous to North America.”