Fly S.W.A.T.

This summer has been amazing. I can count on my fingers the number of times I've had to turn on the air conditioning. Mostly, it's windows open, and on occasion, fans. I love it. My budget loves it.


But the kids equate the doors with the windows, and they keep leaving the doors open. Wouldn't be a problem, except there is a huge missing pane in the back screen door [from several months back when Hyrum and Gabba were rough-housing and slammed into it, breaking the glass]. So, we have insect issues. Mostly flies. I loathe flies.


Yvette likes to chase the flies with the fly swatters. One in each hand. It makes her feel useful and capable. Sometimes she will go through the house in her sweet little voice, calling, "Here, little fly! Come here, I'm going to kill you."

Yesterday, she was on the verge of the afternoon melt-down, screaming about everything, fighting with anyone. I decided to circumnavigate the crisis, and asked her to help me kill flies. She perked right up. So, each of us armed with a fly swatter, we stalked our prey through the house.


Mostly, she just did the swish-and-flick thing, while I was intent on at least removing a few vermin. I was simply glad Yvette was off the death-to-all-my-siblings warpath and focused on something less, er, violent (?). "I'm going to kill you, fly! Ha-HA!" "Good job, Mommy, you got it!" "Darn it, I missed." "Oh, there's one over there."


Then it happened. I swatted a fly that landed right on the floor next to her. She saw it fall and gasped, dropping her weapon. "Mommy! You killed my friend!" she said, in a hushed, horrified voice. Yvette gently picked up the dead fly and cradled it in her cupped hand. "My poor, poor friend." She looked up at me. "Her name is Flyie." She looked back at the hapless insect. "I love you," she told Flyie, in a sweet, plaintive voice. She began singing to the dearly departed

I had to walk out of the kitchen. It's rude to laugh at a funeral.