Dear Kid,

It’s that time of year again. The time of year when picnic ants forget that picnics are supposed to be outside and they advance in droves into the house. Into the kitchen, to be specific. Into MY kitchen to be even more specific.

And it really is that time of year. Last time I wrote about picnic ants was May 21, 2013. Funny how that works, huh? Especially since that was about ants being outside…

As we have established, I’m in favor of wild life—in the wild. When it ventures inside, that’s a whole new ballgame. When it ventures into the kitchen (into MY kitchen to be even more specific), war ensues.

Guess who spent yesterday morning (or at least a part thereof) killing picnic ants?

The thing with ants is that the more you kill, the more reinforcements are called up. Wave after freakin’ wave of them. Ew.

I tracked an entire outpost of them to the dishwasher. To inside the dishwasher to be specific. To the inside of MY dishwasher to be more specific. Heebie jeebies galore. I ran the dishwasher. I’m pretty sure all I accomplished was teaching the ants to swim.

Do you remember that pismire means “peeing ants”? Really, child, someone ought to pay attention to me since it’s a fair bet that I don’t.

Shout out to University of California at Irvine whose mascot is an anteater. Wish you lived closer.

Which makes me wonder if Thane Maynard and the Cincinnati Zoo would lend me an anteater—just for a day or two. Guaranteed he’d be well fed.

Must investigate.

Love, Mom