Christmas in July

The Dead Frog: Nobody F-ING Listens to Me. 🐸 That was the original name for this post, typed out at 9:35 PM, but read on to understand why the need for a change. Picture it, 4:15 Monday afternoon. My dynamic duo found a mini frog- and I mean MINI- so cute if you're cool with slimy, squishy, hopping things. Vincey chased it until he caught it, played with it for 10 mins, handling it with the utmost care. Tiny, delicate fingers carefully picked him up, examining and falling in love with this little creature. He begged to keep him asked for a jar and dirt. In mean mom fashion, "Absolutely not!" rang out immediately. I asked him put Mr. Frog back, explaining that the frog, like all wild animals, belonged in nature. He put it down. It jumped more, Vincey chased it more, caught it dropped it. Well it jumped. Then the oh so sensitive and sweet Alessandra, startled at the frog entering her personal space, accidentally stepped backwards and squashed the flipping frog. Dead. Then came the tears, she cried and cried hysterically, and then he cried that she killed his frog. I look at my neighbor, who's witnessing this madness that is our norm. Shell shocked, I lean over Vincey's beloved pet and say “This is what happens... nobody listens and now the damn frog is dead." Colorful language is often helpful in these situations. (Thought cloud....And now I have to go bury the dead frog while they sleep. FML) That probably did not help the situation, so I regrouped as any mother would and said "Lets pick him up and put him in the mulch to regenerate and heal. Just like when you are sick, sleep will help him." Alessandra, huge brown eyes filling up with tears "How will he regenerate? I smashed his hip with my toe. I killed him!" I assure both kids that he just needs a good night's rest and will be fine. We go inside, and since it is the last thing I want to do at 9:00 PM most dinner, bath and bed, I turn off the alarm, and venture outside to the amphibian murder scene. Shovel in hand, I bend down and look for him, dig in the mulch, and Mr. Frog is GONE. Nowhere to be found. I was fully prepared to head to confession for the frog lie that would unfold in the morning. That was no longer necessary. Regenerated, healed-the frog was off on a new adventure.... a true Christmas Miracle.... in July. Praise the LORD. Alessandra would have needed therapy for that one. And the moral of the post- Mama knows what she's talking about... people should listen the first time or the frog may need a mulch nap to regenerate.