Saturday + Mr Toad

It is raining here for the first time in I don't even know how long.  Other than the few minutes that it rained while we were camping several weeks ago and the two seconds that it sprinkled on Tuesday afternoon.

I am a firm believer in Rain + Saturday = Lazy.

My children do not subscribe to Rain + Saturday = Lazy.

This morning my children awoke at 6:30 am.  Smiley Girl asked for breakfast because, as usual, she is STARVING!  Miss E asked to play a game.  And read a book.  And.  And.  And.  At that point I was still trying to prop my eyes open after a night of sleep that equaled a very tiny amount of actual sleep.

The morning progressed with me trying to read a book, move some laundry around and field questions such as "Where is the other dolly stroller?", "Can I keep my toad?", "Can we play a game?", "Can I have a Pop Tart?", "How do you spell Tea Party?" until Miss E arrived with a toad in a small container to ask what toads eat.  "Can we look online Mama?"

She hasn't discovered yet that the proper way to refer to online is "The Google."  Parent fail.

I finish what I am doing and check "The Google" for toad diet trends.  Fascinating stuff.  Toads eat...bugs.  I tell her what she needs to find if she wants to keep the toad.  She turns up her nose.

So I tell her that she will have to let the toad go if she isn't willing to feed it the food it needs to live.

She makes several faces, accompanied by several hand flicks that indicate the level of grossness this project has reached.  And then she recruits her sister to go hunt for bugs with her.

Off they go into the rain drenched yard to find bugs.  Miss E is dressed in a Tinkerbell nightgown and flip flops.  Smiley Girl has popsicle pajamas on with a pair of pink cowboy books.  They are ready to hunt.

Like any good mom I look out occasionally to make sure they aren't having any luck.  But then I hear it.  The squeal of disgusting success.

It sends shivers down my spine.  They have found something gross.  And alive.  I wait patiently thinking that they may be too afraid to pick it up.  Hearing the squeals move closer I begin to panic.  I hear them just outside the garage and begin to pray.  This is a critical time.  If they can't manipulate the bug and the door I may be home free.  More squeals.  They are coming closer.  A really bad squeal and then "MOOOOOOM!!!!!"

I open the door from the house to the garage to see two soaking wet children.  Smiley Girl - clearly nominated the 'digger' - has mud up to her elbows.  Miss E is carrying a shovel.  "Is this a slug?" she asks, pointing to the thing desperately trying to escape death by seven year old.

{I HAVE NO IDEA!  I don't do bugs.  I stay inside with a book.  And laundry!}

"Close enough" I tell them.

And with a floosh and a twirl I grab a container that will become the toads new home and manage to plop the sluggish looking thing into the dish.  Whew!

I direct Miss E to drill holes in the lid of the new container.  A fight breaks out over who gets to do the drilling.  Eventually the drill battery dies.  I watch as the creature tries to find his footing.  The poor thing.  His death is forthcoming.

I put the lid on the container, the battery on the charger and head back to my book.

Pretty soon they are back to finish the job.  Anxious to have this over with I drill the holes in the lid.  And we have a small scream ceremony where Mr Toad is moved from his small container to his new digs.

I give this toad a day, two at the most.  Pray for him please.

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