“Mom, we’re heading to the neighbors for a bonfire and s’mores!”
Nothing brings a wave of mixed emotions—fear, longing, and guilt—like my child’s excitement over an invitation. Don’t misunderstand me; I enjoy our neighbors and have a serious weakness for s’mores. Bonfires are delightful gatherings where friends come together to watch the flames dance as the sun sets, while kids chase fireflies.
But then there’s me. I adore sharing stories and laughs, toasting marshmallows, and mingling with neighbors. However, I have also been unfortunate enough to be an irresistible target for mosquitoes. In their world, I’m basically a VIP. So, I usually politely decline such outdoor festivities because the aftermath isn’t worth it—trust me, it’s that serious.
A few weeks back, while my husband was away for two weeks, our neighbors invited my daughter and me for a gathering. I couldn’t turn them down; her excitement was contagious, and I had previously avoided all other invitations by either sending her alone or sending my husband. My time had come.
I suited up in light-colored, long-sleeved clothes and doused myself in a cloud of DEET, some of which I accidentally inhaled. Once the burning in my throat subsided, I wondered if this was a new tactic to keep mosquitoes at bay from the inside. Because let me assure you, those pests will find any exposed skin, no matter how small, and attack with abandon.
I even sprayed bug repellent in my hair—yes, my long, thick hair—and wore my hood. Naturally, within moments, they found me.
I did my best to dodge and weave while helping to toast marshmallows and assisting my daughter in assembling her s’more. I even swatted one mosquito against my sweatshirt, which left a little red dot of blood—probably mine. Yet, this only seemed to attract more of them. They are relentless, hungry little creatures, and I’m their prime target.
“Mommy, why does this sign say ‘close the door’?”
To say my family doesn’t grasp the situation is an understatement. Even though I spend summers looking like I’ve had a rough bout of chickenpox, having mosquito bites on my face doesn’t convey the itchiness I endure or why they ought to close the door behind them.
It’s an odd quirk of my family to ask me questions while standing with the door wide open. Common inquiries include, “Can you turn on the sprinkler?” and “Do you think these chicken breasts are done?” The worst offender is when they say, “I’m just grabbing some bug spray. It’s so buggy out there,” while leaving the door wide open! Merely saying “close the door” doesn’t seem to register; they think I’m nagging.
Exhausted from repeating myself, I decided to channel my newfound interest in hand-lettering into a solution. I crafted a beautiful, double-sided sign and taped it by the sliding door handle. The outward-facing side reads “Keep door closed,” while the inward side boldly states, “Mom says close the damned door.”
I affixed it while my daughter played in the backyard. As soon as she came in, she swiftly closed the door behind her. “Mom?” she asked, “Why does it say close the damned door?”
“Because I mean CLOSE THE DAMNED DOOR. No one listens, and I’m tired of saying it a thousand times. This is the only way to get through to you.”
Indeed, she’s improved at not leaving the door ajar, but my husband has yet to catch on. I might need to make a larger sign for him; at 5’11”, I think a sign hung at 5’8” might do the trick.
Midnight Snack
This morning, rushing out the front door to catch the bus for camp, I heard my daughter exclaim, “Mom! We opened the door and a mosquito FLEW OUT OF OUR HOUSE!”
I’m fairly certain that was the little pest who feasted on me along my underwear line while I dined after returning home from the gym. Each night, the mosquitoes trapped indoors seem to collaborate on which body part to snack on. One evening, they targeted the insides of my knees, then my hairline and cheeks. Another night, I woke up with bites on my eyelid and the back of my head, all through my hair. They leave behind connects-the-dot patterns that, I swear, resemble the middle finger emoji.
Last night, I went to bed coated in a fragrant essential oil anti-bug elixir, smelling like a giant citronella torch. This morning, I only discovered a couple of new bites. Partial victory?
I apologize if I can’t make it to your cookout, campout, nature walk, or bug festival. I would love to enjoy the great outdoors, but I can barely withstand the great indoors during this itchy season. I envy those who move around without being a target for invisible mosquitoes. I hate to be a killjoy.
But we all have our quirks. Some of us are just killjoys in different ways.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to my neighbor’s house. She’s generously offering me her mosquito net from her time in the Peace Corps in Africa. Next, I need to find someone with a bug suit for the outdoors, and you might just see me again before the first frost.
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Summary: A humorous take on the struggles of parenting, particularly the author’s battle with mosquitoes during outdoor gatherings. The piece highlights the challenges of family communication regarding simple requests, like closing doors, and the author’s commitment to avoiding pesky insects while navigating summer fun.