I was having quiet time. I was at peace. I was resting in my room while K played quietly in her room.
Anyone with kids knows how precious that time is… the brief moments where the child is actually playing nicely alone…
That’s when it happened. That’s when she cried out in need, in fear.
My whole body went rigid, my peaceful quiet time had been revoked. The restful rug had been pulled out from under me.
I dashed (slowly stood up and walked at a leisurely pace) into K’s room to see what the trouble was. She stood still as could be covering her mouth with one hand and pointing a finger on the other at her pink toy bins… “There’s something on it, a bug, a cockroach I think!!!”
OM MY GOD she’s a drama queen.
“It’s not a cockroach” I told her “I can’t even tell if it’s a bug or a piece of lint”
I grabbed a tissue and pinched the tiny little tan thing that was perched on her bin inside the kleenex between my thumb and forefinger. I quickly (not at all) rushed into the bathroom to examine it… I had smashed the tiniest moth I’ve ever seen…
From the other room I could hear my daughter chanting “Flush it! Flush it!”
And so I did.
And so she cheered…
I’m her hero… the mighty moth slayer.
Oh parenthood, how you warp my mind.