I really did.

Ya see I have this thing with bugs. I hate em. Yes, I know – Gods creatures….blar, be-blar, blar, blar. Don’t care.

Hate bugs.

Anyways, today was beautiful out. So I plum forgot (I am really hating this new southern talk now) I have OCD and agreed to take the kids out and blow bubbles.

The taking kids out is not the triggering part – for those who don’t have OCD. It’s the sticky, gooey, goopey solution that slops and slurps everywhere. If a fly comes by – boom – it’s stuck in the slop. I can’t even tell you how many little flies are in the bottom of that bottle.

Blech. Ew. Blarg.

What the crap was I talking about again?

Oh, we went out. I persevered! I let the goopy slop drip everywhere, not caring. Okay maybe I did care at first; I was like the only knucklehead trying to keep all the drips in the bottle – while my kids were breathing down my face geez ma, we’re just gonna pop em anyways. Ay, my poor kids.

Anyways, as we were outside – I obviously couldn’t sit on the grass (hello have you been paying attention?), so I put a lawn chair in the shade of small tree.

It felt like I was in the jungle. Cicadas were singing…along with the trucks from the highway birds and dogs other various animals I couldn’t identify.

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See? Such a jungle.

Then – fear struck – the tree I was sitting next too. That little one right there? Started to yell sing the song of the cicada.

As my children were right there and in danger of being eaten alive by a cicada – I found my strength.

Oh you shut up! Go away! Don’t ruin our time together!

Nothing wrong with me randomly yelling at a tree right?

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