It's All My Fault

I finally figured it out. It's all my fault. I do hereby apologize to all the waiting parents.

Chinese adoption folklore holds the ladybug as its symbol. People claim that a ladybug sighting is good luck when you're adopting. In fact, some claim that seeing them means referrals are on their way.

I've always like ladybugs because I thought they were cute. I have one on my bracelet, and there are a few crawling on the nursery walls. I confess though that I did not buy into the "luck" aspect of them.

I was reading blogs last night and while reading one of my "must visit" blogs, I learned of how she became a Killer Ladybug. They're a group of moms who've adopted that are a little:::how do I describe them::: earthier than many adoption blog moms. They're known to be funny, sometimes snarky, lay it on the line women, and I love reading them. While reading this post, I came to the realization that while I'm not a Killer Ladybug, I am, unfortunately, a ladybug killer.

I grew up and lived most of my life in the south. Trust me when I tell you that we had our bug problems in the south. They really like that climate. One bug I never had problems with, however, was the ladybug. I remember catching them as a child and singing them the song before launching them back into the world. You know the song, "Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home. Your house is on fire, and your kids are alone." Rather a morbid song now that I think about it. Anyway, that was pretty much the extent of our history together.

Then I moved to the midwest. In August of 2000, Jim and I moved into our house. We had built it in a new subdivision. Now most new subdivisions in our area of the country are being built in old cornfields. When you pass them you see huge homes surrounded by saplings. We felt very fortunate because we found a new subdivision that was being built in a wooded area and was surrounded by homes. We weren't going to be in one of those isolated and barren areas.

Shortly after moving in, Jim's mom, brother, and niece moved in with us. T was 11 years old at the time. I don't know if it was because we were a new home or if it was a warning as to how cold and snowy that winter was going to be, but we were swarmed that Fall. Literally hundreds of ladybugs surrounded our new house. The outside walls were covered with them. They squeezed through cracks in the door or flew in when we opened them. T started collecting them in jars. We would warn her to put them outside before they died, but she didn't always listen. I found several jars of dead ladybugs stashed in the house over that winter. The worst carnage, however, didn't reveal itself until spring.

Our move into our home had been hectic. Most of my belongings had been in storage, so they were relocated to our garage. When my in-laws moved in, most of their stuff ended up in the garage as well. When spring arrived, it was finally warm enough to start digging through the garage. As we pulled out the boxes, we found hundreds, if not thousands, of dead ladybugs. They had fled to our garage to escape the cold winter, but didn't survive.

I've heard that revenge is a dish best served cold. Who knew ladybugs had so much patience?