So today was an adventure with the kids. And by adventure I mean HOLY CRAP ADVENTURE.
The day was routine until about 1:30 p.m. All was normal and (relatively) quiet until Sam, Ben and I spied a brown lump on the floor and then, oh boy--the screams, they rocked the house. The kids were pretty noisy too. Because:
"IS THAT A COCKROACH?!?!?" screamed I.
"Ummmmm yes," agreed they.
"WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT" screamed I.
See, I'm a good nanny. I can handle blood, poopy diapers, spit up, and all manner of creepy-crawlies.
Except cockroaches. Seriously. I have never been able to handle them. Like seriously. It's a problem.
I think it stems from two particular instances: 1) when I was 4, one crawled across my foot. 2) When I was around 10, I woke up in the middle of the night to find one on my pillow. ON MY PILLOW.
So yes: la cucaracha and I have never had a good relationship. And when I am the only adult (and I use that term loosely as it applies to me) in the house? THINGS DO NOT GO WELL.
(Side note: the only other time I had to deal with a cockroach while babysitting was several years back, and I was with a family that had 4 squeamish girls. And me. Just us. And there was a cockroach. For whatever reason, the girls refused to kill it, so I had to trap it with a tupperware container and then call my closest male friend for support to walk me through the process of disposing of the cockroach. It was not pretty.)
So today there was a cockroach, and while Ben wanted to go up and look at it, I was busy freaking out and Sam was alternating between curiosity toward the roach and alarm at my reaction. So, because I am nothing less than a Perfect Nanny, I calmed the heck down for the kids and trapped it, too, with a tupperware container.
(But only after Emily-the-cat tried to kill it and eat it on her own, and while some might say Why not let her? I say HOLY CRAP EW.)
So we trapped it:
And I was fully prepared to stay in that position, foot securely on top of container, for the next 1.5 hours until the kids' parents came home. But the kids had other ideas. Cause, y'know, they wanted to go play and stuff. So we secured the tupperware container with the heaviest objects we could find:
(Notice Emily the cat RIGHT behind the tupperware container. She was stalking that bad boy.)
So, after a brief but amazingly helpful (really) phone conversation with Mrs. F5, who first commiserated with me and then encouraged us to run from the room and let Emily do her business with the roach, we ran screaming from the room to let Emily do her business.
We locked ourselves in Sam's room, and I was perfectly content to stay in there for, oh, forever, but after about 10 minutes the kids wanted to go check on the damn thing. So we did, creeping out slowly, watching our every step, and discovered that though Emily had knocked our heavy objects off the tupperware container, she hadn't managed to tip the container itself over. So Mister Roach was still fully contained, and now on his back.
For the rest of the afternoon, we stayed within eyesight of the trapped roach. I didn't trust it. No matter that it was looking pretty good and dead. Because you all have heard that cockroaches can live for up to 3 weeks with their heads cut off, right? WHAT KIND OF CREATURE CAN SURVIVE THAT?
Devil creatures, that's what. Damn cockroaches.