To be a toad

Growing up there was a fully across the street that was supposed to act as a cath basin when the rainy season came. 

Logically, I wasn't supposed to play there. 

It was full of stories of old men with guns who would shoot you if you stepped onto their property. 

Stories of boys who fell swinging from trees and died.

Wild horses and attack dogs.

Understandably, that is exactly where I went to play.

One best memory is one summer the fully was swarmed with frogs. Everywhere you looked little frogs jumped around trying to do whatever it is frogs do. It was a magical place.

This last week the toads have surfaced around here in our own little town. We live in a garden apartment, so the toads fall down our steps and are too little to hop out. At first each morning Hoe helped them out, being the Good Samaritan that he is. But they quickly learned better and stopped falling.

Still, every morning Sariah looks for toads, eagerly wanting to watch them.

Today we got home after a long day of appts, work, library time, grocery shopping, and not eating enough food. 

We believe strongly in the idea of doing anything insanely possible to avoid two trips to the car for groceries. So, Joe having his arms full of 3 gallons of milk and at least 10 other bags if groceries, and myself carrying a baby, backpacks and another gallon if milk and the keys, followed our toddler to the house.

As I try to unlock our already difficult to unlock door, I have to stop and laugh.

Sariah: toad! *stomp*

Joe:  Sariah that is not a toad. And it's inappropriate that you are trying to step on it. 

I know. Not that amusing. But it was. And she has gotten to that but stomping stage.

And I guess it's evolved to toad stomping.