Ants in My Granola.

Kevin has this thing about ants. He hates them. There is a certain light that comes into his eye when they begin to invade our house and all out war follows (chemicals, cleaning detergent, powders, boiling water, etc.). Now don’t get me wrong… I’m not a fan either. For one thing, they bite. For another they hide in annoying and unexpected places: food, clothes, door frames, toys, the ceiling. It is pretty cool go to my parent’s house in the US and leave some random piece of food on the counter and come back 10 minutes later to still find it ant-free. Not so here. In fact, after a month long absence, the ants are winning most of the battles. The first night back home we made the silly mistake of leaving a piece of pizza on the counter while we put the kids to bed. We came back through the kitchen with that light-hearted feeling of finally having gotten to the end of a long day, with all kids tucked in. We were ready to collapse and debrief. Instead the counter was moving, almost dancing. The lone piece of pizza swarming with hundreds of tiny black ants. YIKES. Bug spray in hand (aptly named DOOM) we approached the counter and began searching for the nest. Right there on the kitchen counter stood a sealed glass container of not yet roasted cashews. In our absence, these tiny ants had squirmed their way under the seal and an ant’s farm that any five year old would be proud of was well underway.

The next morning we pulled out our freshly unpacked boxes of breakfast cereal. After the pizza incident, I had put my small bag of granola into a fresh Ziploc bag the night before. Into my nice clean white bowl went the granola. “BUGGIE!” screams Nate pointing from his chair towards my bowl. Sure enough, lot’s of buggies. Tiny red ants were quickly escaping, crawling up and over the sides of my bowl. My granola! Inwardly I groaned, my one breakfast cereal treat, and it was in a Ziploc! Is nothing safe? Seeing my despair, Kevin restrained himself from spraying the whole table with DOOM, as I quietly picked out and crushed ant after ant. 5 minutes later, I began eating a nearly ant-free breakfast. “Throw that stuff out!” My heart was screaming it, the rest of the family was pretty blatant with their opinions too, (both babies learned the word “yuckie!” in the US and were gleefully chanting it). But with 8 more weeks to go before we tackle the day long drive to the grocery store, I just couldn't do it. Call me crazy, but I spent a good hour on my front steps with the whole bag spread out in a pan. I picked out each of those little red ants, while defended the whole pile from various outside black ants who smelled a nice meal and came running. Just to make sure, I roasted the granola in the oven for 20 minutes before putting it in yet another hopefully ant-proof container. In some ways I guess this was a type of therapy. There are so many things that I can’t control, can’t fix, can’t save. But my granola, that’s another story… at least for now it is as it should be.