How many snakes must a Mama find in her garage to (1) induce a heart attack and (2) convince her it’s time to put the house up for sale?
One would have been enough, but, of course, I found two.
How many foxes must pass through a Mama’s backyard to convince her that the front yard, or better yet her closet, is a much nicer place to play?
One.
How many times must two young and impressionable children witness the freak show their Mama performs when she gets caught in a spider web before deciding they, too, are irrationally afraid of those pesky silky threads?
One. It’s shockingly easy for me to project fears and anxieties on my children.
How many termites must swarm in a Mama’s kitchen before she (1) calls Terminix, (2) pours herself a glass of wine, and (3) looks at real estate listings online?
One would have been plenty, but by definition, swarm means to move about in great numbers. The scene in my kitchen was horrific. In fact, I can’t write about it anymore or else I’ll cry.
How many pee and poop accidents does a potty trained toddler* need to have before a Mama realizes she has a problem on her hands?
Seven. But a smarter Mama would’ve been suspicious by number 4.
*A toddler is an animal.
Postscript:
Dear whoever unleashed the dregs of the animal kingdom on my home,
Cut it out. You’re not being nice, and I really don’t think we can be friends anymore. You’re unpredictable, mean spirited (snakes in my garage? really?), and I just don’t trust that you have my best interests at heart. You could have at least sent a giraffe. I like giraffes. Or a Chihuahua. The boys would quite enjoy a Chihuahua.
Sincerely,
The Runaway Mama
The Runaway Mama by Jen Gregory 