So, we are antsless, now. At least, some guy took lots of money and kicked me out of the ours for three hours this morning, and I'm not supposed to lick my floors for several days now. So I think we are antsless.

We'd only had ants for like a week, and it never got to be such an intense problem that they were swarming the keyboard or rearranging the furniture while we sat on it, but I'm squeamish about bugs in my living space. So after ant traps and sprays that I had didn't work, I called in the Big Leagues. Or, at least, someone in the yellow pages. He showed up, more or less on time, this morning, and had precisely the carriage and attitude that one would expect from an individual who has spent the past two decades dealing with powerful, deadly chemicals.

To prepare for his onslaught of insecticide, we cleared off the tops of our cabinets and underneath the kitchen sink, and had everything stacked relatively neatly in the kitchen. I was only home with Jacob for about an hour before the house became a bug slaughterhouse, but still, that was a lot more dangerous chemicals than I normally allow him to play with. (Special occasions are one thing, but this was just a random Tuesday.) So while he was imprisoned in his high chair, I pointed to the pile of stuff and said, "Jacob, DON'T TOUCH." He seemed to ignore me, but then after he got down to play he left it all alone, so I didn't pursue the point.

Fast-forward to 10 hours later, we're all in that Twilight Zone between bathtime and bedtime, just wandering around chaotically. And I noticed that Jacob kept walking up to the pile of stuff in the kitchen (now markedly smaller, just the cabinet-top stuff and not the dangerous chemicals anymore) but not pestering it. Then I actually paid attention to him: he was walking up, putting his hands within about 3 inches of the pile, and saying, "DOAN TOUCH. DOAN TOUCH." Apparently it made an impression on him.

He also told his first joke the other day. We were all goofing around and being silly, and then it was time to brush teeth. I said, "Okay, let's go! Where are your teeth?" And he giggled and said, "Floor!"

Goofball.

Emily, so far, has avoided the cold that Jacob and I are so gleefully sharing. I'm hoping that particular trend continues, no reason to subject her to this. She still hasn't missed any school days, and while I have no desire at all to push her towards a Perfect Attendance record (have those parents never heard of Mental Health Days, at the very least?!?), I would love for her to have a perfect kindergarten year. But tonight she told me, "My throat feels like it's about to explode and my nose is going to run off my face."

Drama queen.

I don't know where they get it.