Now that I have kids, I am keenly aware of my reaction to bugs. I don't want to pass on my penchant for freaking out about them. So, I am very careful to remain calm, no matter how large and freaky the bug is that appears. I calmly explain to my cherubs that one needn't be afraid of bugs. I tell them to look at the bugs, but not to touch them unless Mommy and Daddy say it's okay (seeing as there are quite a few poisonous bugs here in the wonderful South). I tell them that we only kill bugs that are inside because they are pesty, not because they are freakishly terrifying.
Despite my efforts, however, my girls burst into hysterics at the sight of even the smallest bug. But, right now, small bugs are not the problem. It's crane fly swarming season.
They are enormous and repulsive. They look like a cross between a prehistoric mosquito and a flying spider. They congregate in our car port so much that I can no longer park in there if I want any hope of getting my kids to actually exit the vehicle. They gather on my back porch, so we now have to go in and out of the front door. They swarm up from the grass, which makes the walk from the car to the front door a forced torture march for my princesses. I drag them screaming to the door, yelling above their shrieks, "Keep moving! Keep moving! They won't get on you if you keep moving!"
We've put up bluebird and purple martin houses in an attempt to reduce the swarms. The poor birds can't eat enough to keep up with the plethra of crane flies.
So, in spite of nearly unbearable cabin fever, we don't venture outside much. We sit wistfully in front of the window screens, waiting for the swarms to abate ...