1 Mother 2 Another

When I was around five years old I was
living in New Orleans, happily playing outside one day. Suddenly I
noticed a ticklish feeling on my ankle and leg, and looked down and
saw a swarm of red fire ants enrobing my lower limb. I stared in
fascination, until the pain registered. And then I started
screaming.


I remember that day vividly.


When we moved back to Texas four years ago, I celebrated a return
to many of my favorite things in the South – excellent
margaritas, even better Tex-Mex food, and winters without shoveling
the sidewalk. What I did not look forward to, though, was the
return to southern bugs, especially chiggers and fire ants.

I tried to teach the girls early on to
look for the tell-tale mounds after a fresh rainfall and steer
clear of them; one particularly memorable day, just after morning
showers had passed on and we were playing in puddles in front of
our house, Cora saw a big ant pile and, curious, picked up a
fistful of the fluffy dirt to look at. As red ants began swarming
out through her clenched fingers, I flashed back to my childhood
and began hitting and shaking her hand, even before she started
crying.


Since then the girls have become experts on ant piles and will
happily head outside after a rain to find them in our back yard and
neutralize them with dry molasses – Cora, in particular has
become quite the expert – and we’ve avoided major
run-ins.


Until this week.


A couple mornings ago we were scootering to school and stopped at a
crossing to wait for cars to pass. Maddie and Cora rested their
scooters in the grass, chatting and waiting patiently. When the
coast was clear they picked up their scooters and began walking
across.


“Mommy,” Cora suddenly cried, “I have ants on my
scooter!”


I looked and sure enough, there were red ants crawling all over her
handles, quickly scurrying to her hands and arms. Cora speedily
dropped her scooter and we began efficiently cleaning her off
before they even started biting. She noticed one crawling on her
leg and bent down to brush it off.


Which is when she saw Maddie’s feet.


“Maddie,” she yelled, “You have ants all over
your shoes and feet!”


If Maddie and Cora’s scooters had been set upon the fringes
of the ant pile, Maddie had stood right in it. Her white socks and
sneakers were crawling with the ants, and her scooter was rapidly
being coated with the buggers.


We quickly got across and did the only thing I could think
–take her shoes and socks off. I turned her socks inside out,
trapping the ants inside, while my mom began beating the shoes and
getting the critters off. I dug Maddie’s extra pair of socks
out of her backpack and quickly got them on. It took several
minutes of careful cleaning to get all the ants off both girls and
their scooters, and when it was all over they had about a half
dozen bites.


Which is way better than the three dozen bites they would have had
if Cora hadn’t had such a good eye.


For the rest of the morning I imagined ants were crawling under my
sleeves or across my neck – I couldn’t shake the
feeling. When I got back home I cautiously turned the socks back
right side in and a good dozen ants were still happily crawling
– I threw them as-is straight into the washing machine. And
while both girls handled themselves quite well, staying calm and
acting quickly, I kept thinking back to my own childhood morning
and don’t think I handled it nearly as well.


From now on, we avoid the grass entirely on wet mornings. My heart
can’t take it.