when he stepped on the ant? Deadant..deadant...deadantdeadantdeadantdeadantdeadant...deadant.
I've been rather hesitant in writing this for a very good reason. It is based on my completely rational fear of my yard being infiltrated by highly intelligent, IT-savvy ants. I just couldn't shake the thought that the queen ant had hooked up her geek squad of workers with little, tiny Dell notebooks and a brand, spanking new wi-fi connection. All of this in a pathetic attempt to read my blog and see what my next onslaught of attacks on their army might be. Be that as it may, I've decided to throw caution to the wind and announce that I think I saw their arms (or are they legs?), waving teensy, weensy white flags the other night. I know they thought they had us beat, but if I gave up that easily, I wouldn't be parenting six children. More than likely, given some of the younger children, I'd be off in a corner, curled up in the fetal position, rocking back and forth as I consummed mass quantities of the homemade vodka the Captain brought back from Poland 10 years ago. It didn't take spells, chants or any other hare-brained schemes to get rid of them. In the end, large quantities of