Ant you gonna blog anymore?

I still can’t write. My words don’t work. This makes blogging rather difficult. But I’m going to commit to writing at least 5 posts over the next week to help unclog my brain a bit. I need to think less and do more on a few fronts in my life, so I’m going to kickstart the momentum here.

Consider this your warning. It could get ugly over here at casa de Banana Wheels. Let the games begin.

We have ants.

Ants? Is she seriously going to write about ants?

For the past several weeks I’ve been trying to kill them on an individual basis. Every time I see one, or ten, I grab a paper towel, squish them to bits, and raise my fists in triumph.


Then I look down and see 15 more scurry across the floor.

Needless to say I am losing this battle. I am also wasting a shitload of paper towels. And you know I can’t afford to do that. I was trying to avoid going the route of spraying the house with toxic chemicals, but at this point I see no other way.

Do you want to hear more about my ant problem? No? Great, let me tell you.

Ant traps no longer work. Last night I watched multiple ants saunter right past a trap without giving it a glance. I suppose those wily bastards figured it out pretty quickly when their friends started dying at the dinner table.

They also aren’t deterred by cinnamon or vinegar. Thanks for nothing, Google.

But the nail in my ant-killing coffin is my toddler. She is a precious, but disgusting, sticky ant magnet, tracking bits of food everywhere she goes. The other morning I woke to find a cluster of ants under her high chair, knawing on the remains of who knows what. Rice? Peaches? It was like Lord of the Flies under there. I even found an ant in her hair one day. Holy shudder.

So alas I will green light my husband to take the nuclear approach (in moderation and with proper gas mask/hazmat suits/evacuation protocols) before I find these little soulsuckers in my cereal, or my child’s crib.

And because honestly, I’m worried I might be getting too comfortable with my new friends. The other night I found myself sitting on the floor of the living room, drinking a beer, watching the ants. I wasn’t even trying to kill them. I was just observing their traffic patterns.

I sat there so long, I’m pretty sure they no longer fear me. They are getting defiant – I swear I saw one of them give me the finger – and I worry they will wage an assault on the kitchen. Specifically, my secret candy stash.


Tick tock, antholes. Your number’s almost up.