they taste like chicken!

BC is completely wigged out by the cicadas. she begs me to carry her to the car; begs me to carry her everywhere. they are dead and dying; they are flying about. its really gross, to be honest, and i am grateful i don’t have to feign interest in these disgusting, wriggly things that are eating up my hostas.

so there we were, on our way to hebrew school, when BC spotted a bunch of cicadas on the walk. “mama, PLEASE pick me up, they’re there, they’re THERE!” she is frightened as hell, so i do what any other mother does – i pick her up, her long, gangly legs wrapping furiously around my waist in an effort to avoid all contact with the pavement.

then up bounds her little friend Zach – all bright-eyed in that way only three-year-old boys can muster. “Look!” he says enthusiastically as he thrusts something in BC’s face. “I brought my bug catcher FULL OF CICADAS!”

i thought my daughter was going to faint dead away.

BC is well on her way to inheriting the kind of awful luck and timing that her dear old ma possess 😉


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