I recently discovered this unpublished blog post in my list of Drafts. I'm not sure why I never posted this before, but reading back through it brought back some funny memories and made me chuckle. I decided to go ahead and publish it because it describes a classic Courtright moment and probably explains a LOT about our, um, LOATHING of roaches. Ha!
Back when I was in grade school, I developed a terrible fear of cockroaches. It probably had something to do with the fact that East Texas was full of them and there was just no escaping them no matter how much bug spray you used. I remember waking up in the middle of the night in my bedroom, listening to the tell-tale jingle of little bells -- proof that the little critters were crawling through the homecoming mums displayed proudly on the walls. I even remember one night waking up and noticing that something was crawling through my hair. Yep, a roach.
After college I moved south, and that's the first time I remember learning that those little suckers could FLY. Yes, flying cockroaches. I never considered myself afraid of bugs or insects. If I saw one, I would find the nearest magazine or flip-flop and just go after it. But the flying cockroaches, NO WAY. Because as soon as you would try to smack it, it would spread it's nasty wings and fly, usually right towards it's assailant. I'm assuming this is some kind of defense mechanism they teach in Roach School, because it's a brilliant tactic. No way do I want to go after the roach if it's gonna come right back towards my face. Not only that, but it takes a LOT to kill one of those bad boys. One smack is never enough. They have to be downright smushed to oblivion to be considered "dead" and even then, you're lucky if they don't make a last-ditch effort to survive by flailing their feelers at you and provoking yet another attack from the Us Weekly.
I realize that roaches can't hurt me. I know that. But I still hate those things with a passion. Over the years, it has become known in the Courtright house that I don't DO roaches. It doesn't matter what time of day or night it is. If I see a roach, I wake up the man of the house and make him go after it. It should be noted that he's not a fan of the flying cockroaches either. When he is trying to kill one, he'll usually emit a strange noise or two before the ordeal is eventually over and concluded with a shudder.
On the rare but sometimes necessary occasion that I have to confront one of these roaches on my own, it is not a pretty sight. What I have failed to mention thus far is my reaction to said flying cockroaches. It usually starts with an "Oh Crap!" and concludes with a series of shudders. In between, it involves lots of shrieking, ample screaming, arms flailing, feet hopping, heart palpitating, and perhaps a "No! No! Arggh!!" or two. I'm not proud of this. In fact, I have often tried my BEST to control my reaction to roaches on account of my impressionable 6-year-old son. You see, when Jeff isn't around, Connor is my best chance for escape from the nasty roaches. If I can teach him how to kill the little buggers on his own, then I have a good chance of never having to do it myself while he's with me. Right? Except that when he sees his mother doing the "roach dance" and screaming like there's no tomorrow, well, he doesn't seem to be buying into the plan like I had hoped.
So eventually, Connor and I made a deal. If Dad's not around and we see a flying cockroach, I have to kill the thing. THEN, and only then, will Connor step in and dispose of it. (See, that's the other thing. I hate them even when they're dead. The crunch, UGH!) There's been a time or two that I've labored to kill a roach, asked Connor to throw it away, and then the darn thing comes back to life and scrambles away. I remember one specific time that happened and Connor sprinted away saying, "I am NOT going back in there!" Poor kid.
We live in the South, around water, and in a warm climate. There is just no escaping the flying roaches. We rarely deal with pests but in the event I see one of those roaches in the house, you can bet I'm on the phone with an exterminator within minutes. Lately we've been doing a lot of work in our backyard and disturbing the roach inhabitants on our property. Therefore, they've decided to wander into our residence on occasion.
Last month, one such incident occurred. It was around 7 am and we were in our usual before school routine. As I was fixing breakfast for the kids, something flew past my head in the kitchen and landed on the kitchen cabinets. I thought it was a huge butterfly at first because of its massive wingspan. But no, it was a flying cockroach. Cue the "Oh crap!" and heart palpitations. I immediately began my "roach dance" accompanied by the screaming and shrieking, albeit in a toned-down manner. Because, you know, the kids were watching.
"Connor, get me a flip-flop!" I yelled, as the giant roach scrambled inside the kitchen cabinet. "Scratch that!" I amended. "Get me the bug spray!" I proceeded to try to open the kitchen cabinets where the roach was hiding, but I couldn't even pull the door open without a shriek escaping my lips and some sort of tribal dance taking over my body. I just knew that sucker was going to fly directly at me as soon as the cabinet doors were open. Finally I managed to pry the doors open and catch sight of the nasty bug in the corner, right underneath my entire collection of pots and pans. I didn't think twice, I pointed the can of Raid in the roach's direction and practically emptied the canister into the cabinet, all the while screaming and hopping. I didn't release the trigger until the disoriented creature came flying out of the cabinet and landed onto the kitchen floor. This commenced another round of shreiking and hopping, as well as an additional 3-5 seconds of nonstop Raid action toward the offending insect.
At this point, it appeared the roach was dead. I was breathing heavily as if I had just completed a strenuous workout. In my attempt to kill the flying cockroach, I had apparently forgotten the presence of my 2 small children. I looked up from my fresh kill to find Connor wide-eyed and Kaitlynn terrified and crying. Oops. The aftermath was interesting: my house smelled like a fumigation room, my pots and pans were hazardous to our health, and my children were traumatized for life. But, the roach was dead. And that's all that mattered!!
The event must have made an impression on Connor. When he brought home his writing folder from the last 9 weeks of school, I found this story and picture he had written/drawn about the roach. To say that his Mom "freeckt" out is, perhaps, an understatement.
Connor's story (he wrote this last spring in Kindergarten), in case you can't read it from the picture, goes like this: "This morning, in the kichen there was a flying roach. it was NASTY! My mom freeckt out a little bit. I freeckt out and Kaitlynn was crying."
Gotta love a kid's perspective! And his picture of the roach cracked me up -- I love how it dwarfs me in size and has a menacing look on its face. Roaches may be tiny, harmless creatures in real life but in our minds, they are huge, killer beasts, ha!
