I’ve been distracted this week by frogs. Lots and lots of frogs.
This past Monday I discovered a frog on the top rim of our mailbox. Reluctantly, I informed Mary Mac about the creepy little creature defiantly staking claim to his perch, and squealing with delight, my fearless four year old scooped him into the palm of her hand. Off she ran, with hands cupped together, to introduce her amphibian prisoner of war to her family of baby dolls.
With a sigh of relief, I safely opened our mailbox to retrieve very important mail that included thousands of flyer's advertising free estimates for roofs, toilets, and the washing of windows. It’s either another testimony to our poor economy or a not so subtle hint to the obvious disrepair of our home. Denial and allegiance to our almost 100 year old home convinces me that it HAS to be the disruption and chaos of all things financial.
The next day, I again pulled up to our mailbox, only to find an identical looking frog squatting on the rim of our mailbox. It couldn’t be the same frog from yesterday, I reasoned, as that frog was currently living in a “bug house”, surrounded by pink tiaras, boas and hair bows, overcome by the little girl land in which he was now held captive.
Clearly, the positioning of the frog was going to cause distress if I opened the lid towards me. Bladder control remains a concern after previous wildlife experiences, and a frog catapulting towards me, with slimy legs squirming frantically for stability, would not help my cause. There weren’t any children around to save me this time so I found myself in an unfortunate quandary.
Animal control was a momentary option, but my self-esteem would not allow further ridicule that would most certainly come my way from those I like to call family and friends. I have already exhausted the emergency services provided by our county, and feel as though I should allow the other residents in our small town to have a fair turn.
I tried yelling at the frog, thinking that I could scare it back from whence it came, but it wouldn’t budge. I guess frogs must not have ears (?) but then how did Kermit converse with Miss Piggy?
So I left it. I decided John could get the mail when he came home from work seeing how he’s all big and strong and brave like that.
EVERY DAY THIS WEEK, I have travelled to the mailbox only to find a frog waiting on me. The exercise is always the same; I yell at it and once or twice even gesture wildly, all to no avail. The frog, or its many cousins living behind my mailbox, are not frightened of me. Concerned for me, but not frightened.
But the little girl with the pigtails, dressed head to toe in pink? She makes them quiver in their froggy boots.
Frog That Doesn't Bring me Joy:
Frog that brings me Joy:
Continuing the frog theme in our home this week, Chandler dressed as a frog for his book report on Frog and Toad are Friends. (The child was so dadgum cute I could have licked his face.)
According to my son, the report was a huge success. Those in his classroom, both teacher and students, found it to be RIBBETING.