Raising a Stink....er....

There are nights when bedtime is like playing Whack-a-Mole and there are nights when people go to sleep willingly.  This week, we've been pushing hard so bedtime was almost...almost a relief for most of them. 

Then I heard the scream.   The Don't-stop-run-up-the-stairs-something-is-wrong-take-the-steps-two-at-a-time scream.  I'm thinking Mouse...snake...blood...as I shout "I'm coming!" My oldest son and daughter are hot on my heels to provide assistance.  Then we hear, "STOP IT!"  and know that this just requires me.  My oldest two roll their eyes and march back down to their computers. 

In the boy's all lights on bedroom, I find my middle son holding the railing normally used for his brother's bed.  He is positioning it to hit something underneath his brother's bed.  There is a voice under the bed.  "STOP IT." and more screams.

A thousand questions explode in my head but all I can get out is "Why?"  

A timorous shaking hand points from under the bed at a toy barn that the other brother has been hitting with the edge of the railing.   I don't get it.

"Mom!" my older son says with a bit of impatience, "There's a stink bug."  He then angles the railing and tries again to squish the insect against the plastic toy barn. That he doesn't hit the fan with the other end is a minor miracle. He only succeeds in pushing the barn with the bug further under the bed where his brother is hiding, resulting in still more ear splitting screams. 

"There's a bug so I'm under the bed." is the breathless reply.

First I disarmed the exterminator, then I grabbed the barn.  "Get out from under the bed." I ordered.  He crawled out, his eyes are wide and fearful.  "What are you going to do?"   "Get rid of it."  I answered.  My son frowned.  "My cars are in that barn."  he said with the air of being both sad and resigned to losing the barn and the cars as the price for the destruction of the bug.  

"I'm just....going to get rid....of the insect."  I explain as I march out to the bathroom to send the creature to it's untimely demise.  He asks as I'm trying to tuck him back in bed if he needs to change the sheets.   I promise there are no bugs or bug parts on his bed.  He accepts this although the other child is puzzling it over and I can see his brain starting to ask questions about whether or not I've thoroughly inspected the room sufficienty to make such a promise.  Quickly suggesting that maybe he can come downstairs and get both of them some water, I turn off the lights and bid a hasty retreat.  The prospect of getting to leave the room is sufficent distraction.   

Going back downstairs, I find my son who was getting the water armed with the shop vac.  He's angling the tube to suck up a few stray stink bugs in the kitchen.  "It's after 9.  Bed.  I'll get the bugs." and he gives me a "But you might miss one look." I smush one with my bare hands.  "See. I'll handle it."  and grab a napkin.   "Be sure to wash your hands." my son warns, and takes the two drinks off to bed. 

Tossing the body of the bug, I wonder how I get these guys not to be paralyzed by anything with six legs.  I've seen this happen before. As silent war between two of my daughters who favor the front seat was put off by one of these critters.  One always tries to beat the other to the chair, but with a little stink bug crawling on the window on the outside, both opted to sit in the back peacefully.   One of the other creatures successfully kept my four year old from deciding to get out of her room after I put her to bed the other night.  And it wasn't even in the house, it was the shadow of a bug on the outside of her window reflecting on the wall from the moon.

....I caught myself considering whether or not to catch one of these bugs and just keep it for emergency purposes; then I heard millions are headed this way next week from Pennsylvania.  I think I'm going to remove all the railings and bats and blunt objects from the house.