When Sophie and I were upstairs cleaning, we heard Brock come into the house hollering something about us coming downstairs. I think his exact words were, "Hey, Mom! I wanna show you something!" Being wrapped up in cleaning the hallway, I called for him to come upstairs.
Trudging up the stairs with gooey nasties all over his hands and shirt, he wore a proud smirk on his face. He told me that he caught a 5-incher, and I was immediately worried about the placement of this carefree critter. When I asked Brock where he put his frog, he informed me that it was in a safe place -- in the laundry room, by the dogs, underneath a small wicker basket, and on top of the chest freezer.
My words were, "It's in the house? You put it in the laundry room? It's in the laundry room right now?" It seemed as though it took ages to scoot down the stairs on my bottom. All the while, I was envisioning the frog escaping it's temporary habitat and becoming comfortable on my living room rug. I began to panic. Move. Faster. Scoot. Faster!
Much to my relief, the frog was still underneath the wicker basket where he was told to remain. Stay, Frog. Good, Frog.
He's so proud!
Lesson of the Day: No more frogs in the house.
