Snap it!

“Don’t step on them! They’re good bugs. They eat the bad bugs.”

My youngest son never listens the first time. He steps on a bug.

“Aa-Aw. Didn’t you hear me?” I rant. “I said not to step on lady bugs. They’re good bugs.”

“Soory Dad, I just don’ like those. I’m just a-scared of them.”

I rant on, “No, they’re not scary. They’re just little bugs. They can’t hurt you. Don’t step on any more. Just let them be.”

“k.”, with sad eyes and a pinch of ‘can I go now?’.

Insects are not appreciated at our home. My wife especially detests spiders and earnestly encourages both our sons to smash any that she or they find; in the house or otherwise.

I myself like bugs. I think I understand their purpose. I appreciate the occasion they provide to show my poise, my bravado. I try to pass this along to my sons, but I’m not successful.

A favorite in our home is ‘snapping’ flies. Jumping and shouting cascades out of proper silence when either boy scores a sighting.

“Snap it Mom! Snap it! Get the snapper!” the elder yells as the younger picks up, “It’s on the top… on the… the top of the… Daddy’s c’puter!”

Their mother retrieves the fly-swatter. She does it calmly to disguise her pleasure. I know this from the slight turn of her mouth and the factory-clean, breath-of-fresh-air mood that slaps away its dusty predecessor. She’s proud of her sons for adopting her displeasure and turning it into a sport, and of herself for having passed it on – beating out my bravado.

“Yeah! Yea!”, the boys shout as the fly is dispatched. They’re each tossed an approving look for reward – a small bit of smile still escaping her suppression.

“She got it!”

I leave that ritual alone. Flies don’t eat other bad bugs that I know of and I suppose I get a kick out of it.

Last week I looked up from dinner to see my youngest with his shirt up squeezing his chest.

“Put your shirt down.”, I say and bite back the smile.

“Look at my ouys. I’m feeding the baby!”

My wife jumps in, “Put your shirt down and eat your dinner. Only Mommies feed babies.”

Now the eldest adds a surprise considering he’s five, “Now Mom, lets not make him feel bad about this.”

This cracks me up. I laugh until my wife's glare takes effect, but she’s barely holding back herself so it goes on a while. The boys just stare.

finally composed, I shake my head and ask, “Where does he learn to say things like that?”

“I don’t know.”

My youngest is going to be a lover and a poet. His latest antic is to walk up to his mom and say, “Mommy, I love only one. Guess who.”

“Who?"

“Mommy.”, and launches a big hug.