Sarah and a Cockroach

We went camping over the weekend, and we all had a great time. (Pictures showing all the joy are coming soon!) However, this lovely experience ended abruptly each time we had to use the facilities. The first time we went in, I noted the dying cockroach, belly up, in the corner (and chose not to share this with the kids). I noted the lack of soap, just in case we might like to wash our hands, which is something I like to do, especially after seeing cockroaches nearby, not to mention after using the bathroom.

Some background, just to be clear about how much these insects gross me out. (I feel nauseated every time I see one.) Growing up in South Florida, roaches were part of life. There, they were two inches long and we called them palmetto bugs. Did I mention they fly? Spending two years at summer camp and getting hit by them frequently, when they weren't watching where they were going, didn't help.

So, back to the camp bathroom . . .

Eric's using the toilet and I'm helping him. Sarah says to me, "Mommy, there's a cricket over here." Note to self - she's looking at the cockroach. "Uh-huh," I say, unable and unwilling to give her my full attention. "I'm carrying it by its ears," comes next. "WHAT!? No, put it DOWN!!"

I turn around and see Sarah drop the cockroach in the middle of the bathroom floor. "That's a cockroach, not a cricket. We don't EVER touch those." Sarah replies, "I tried to pick it up by its feet, but it squirmed too much."

Oh, stomach, stop lurching!

"Sarah, cockroaches carry germs. I think it's great that you tried to take it outside and I'm proud of you for being thoughtful. But that's a COCKROACH. We DO NOT PICK THOSE UP. Do you understand?" Sarah says, "Yes." I look around and am reminded that there's no soap. GROSS. "Okay, don't touch anything. Let's go wash your hands at the campsite."

I take a breath. I rub her head. "I'm proud of you for trying to help." Sarah says, "Yeah. I thought it was a cricket." She found several more during the trip and pointed them out to me. "There's one. Oh, there's another." But she didn't pick any up. Good girl.

And - if you're wondering - this is one phobia that I'm okay passing down to the next generation.