What Little Sisters are Good For

I am terrified of roaches. Absolutely terrified. They are gross. (Yes, I know that they are the cleanest bug running around the earth. No, I do not care.) They don’t die when you try to kill them, and when you do kill them, you can hear the crack and then see the guts afterward. In fact, I am so grossed out by them that I have the inability to pick them up off the ground and get rid of them.

I throw up in my mouth a little just thinking about it. 

The point of me giving all this information is because there has been one in my room for several days. I manned up enough to kill him. Unfortunately, I have not manned up enough to be able to get rid of him. So there he laid, day after day beneath my bed until this afternoon.

I had been gone all week so this had not been too much of a problem for me, but then life calmed down. I wanted him gone. He had been there long enough.

The only person in my house that takes care of these problems is my father. That father left for a business trip yesterday.

This left me with 3 options on how to take care of the problem:

  1. I could call my father to come home, do his family duty, and get rid of the roach. Unfortunately, I did not think this option would be super realistic, but it would have definitely been preferable.
  2. I could get rid of it myself. Although this was the most convenient option, it was the least preferable.
  3. Or, I could get my 4 year old sister to go ahead and take care of it. Now, this was not the most convenient option, it is the most realistic and preferable.

Therefore, I obviously chose option 3. I knew that as soon as she got home from her little preschool she would be knocking on my door to get a hug.

Sure enough–4:30 on the dot–the unsuspecting Ellie knocked on my door.

I rushed over and opened it, “Hey, Ellie, so I have a huge favor to ask of you. I need you to move my little friend–” I stepped over to my desk and held up a little box, “–into this box here.”

“Sure, Gracie!” She ran into the room grabbing the box, “Where is he?”

I brought her over to the spot, “He’s right under the bed here. Just be careful, his name is Fredrick.”

“Okay,” She plopped down beside me and reached over with her bare hands, squeezed the roach and picked it up only to squeal and drop it back down.  “What is that?” she grinned at me.

“It’s just a bug,” I responded.

“Oh, okay, I need a napkin,” She jumped up and raced into my bathroom only to come back out with a piece of toilet paper. With no problem, she picked it up and dropped it into the box.

“Okay, Ellie, listen carefully, I need you to take this box–” I said closing it up “–and throw it on Mom, okay?” I smiled at her trying to sell it.

I would like to say this worked, but she is smart.

“No, Mommy got a new dress today.”

I sighed.

“Okay, then will you just give this box to her.”

“For church?” She asked. (I don’t know why, but if you tell her that she’s doing something for church then she will do just about anything.)

“Sure,” I said.

So, we pulled it off. She brought it down to my mother who, looked at it, sighed, walked outside, and threw it in the garage as Ellie screamed, “Mommy, don’t get rid of him, that’s Gracie’s friend, his name is Frederick.”

I, of course, found it all quite amusing. My mother, not so much.

I learned a very valuable lesson from this: The Lord provides when we are in need. He brought a fearless young child to me. I don’t know what I would have done without her.IMG_6389

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