The ants go marching

Last week I found a pile of fire ants in my laundry. Gross, I know, but also a sad fact about living in this part of the country. I called our housing office and they said they'd get the exterminator out within 72 hours. In the meantime they offered me some bait, which I promptly put in the garbage after my darling Schmooley almost had it in her mouth about a dozen times in the first 15 minutes. I'm still waiting on that exterminator. I used spray in front of the doors, inside and out, as a precaution and decided my idea must've worked since it's been a day or two since I've seen any ants in the house. WRONG.



Tonight Dathan put his pajama pants on and about 10 seconds later he stripped them off and started dancing around slapping his legs. I happened to be feeding Schmooley her nightcap (just a nice bottle of milk, in case you're thinking I'm one of those mothers) and could only hear the slapping and dancing, but I imagine it must've been quite a scene. Apparently his pajama pants, which I'm forever telling him not to leave on the floor, must've reminded the ants of their hills outside and they took up residence. He has I don't know how many bites on his legs, poor man. I guess I'm going back to get more bait tomorrow until the exterminator decides to show up. The funniest part of this ant thing is that I've found them in every single room except my kitchen. Wouldn't that be the logical place for them to head? I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight, thinking about ants crawling all over me, I just know it :-(