I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
July 9, 2008
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I realize that some of you probably don’t want to hear the rousing conclusion to my Maggotversary story. Hardly anyone out there wants to admit, after all, that they empathize with my pain, that they too have dealt with maggots in their trashcan, and that the whole situation is, indeed, NAH-STEE.
However, I promised an update, so bear with me. There is an end to this story and I shall endeavor to make it entertaining.
So, where were we? Oh yes. Hubs went ahead and wheeled our maggot farm out to the curb Friday night. Inexplicably, he did this right before we were planning to take the kids out to the street for some Fourth-of-July smoke bomb/sparkler action. Therefore we found ourselves lighting small (harmless and surely perfectly legal?) fireworks in the street with one hand and holding our noses with the other. Every so often, I’d nervously glance over at the trashcan, half-expecting some creature that looked like it came straight from Alien to burst out of it and attempt to eat my babies, but aside from the noxious odor, the evening was uneventful.
Perhaps equating the fireworks with the stink, however, Punky ran dully through the haze created by three smoke bombs, halfheartedly held a sparkler, and watched a shrieking cardboard fire truck (ironic, no?) spew sparks out its back end before declaring that she was “tired of all this and need(ed) a rest.” It wasn’t even dark outside.
“Are you sure you don’t want to watch one more?” Hubs asked hopefully, He held in his hands an elaborate tow truck with wicks in its back end. “This one goes down the street when you light it and then explodes!” I could see the gleam of a 10-year-old boy in his eye.
“No, I just want to go get in my bed,” Punky said over her shoulder as she headed for the front door. “That fire truck scareded me.”
Hubs and I shrugged and went inside. The older girls were downtown with friends, watching the city’s elaborate fireworks display. We figured we’d save Hubs’s bag of explosives for a night when they were around and could enjoy it.
But what am I thinking? You’re here for the maggots!
Sunday morning when I heard the trash truck’s unmistakable rumble, I raced for the front window and stationed myself in prime viewing position to see what would follow. Innocent and unknowing, a garbage man wheeled our green monster to the truck, attached it to a lift, and pulled a lever. The can slowly upended and its contents tumbled down into the back of the truck. He jiggled the lever a few times so that the can bounced up and down on its lift, and considering the number of squirmy white creatures that were surely inside, that was a good thing.
But it wasn’t good enough.
As the man lifted the trash can off the lift and swung its lid shut, he apparently got a good whiff of what had been inside, because he threw his hands up in the air and jumped back as though he’d been bitten by a snake. Being a garbage man, I suppose his reaction was really saying something.
A few minutes later, Hubs went outside to see if anything remained in the can. “What did you find?” I asked, when he came back inside.
“About a hundred maggots are still down in there,” he reported. “I’m going to have to wash them out with the hose.”
“Unbelievable,” I said. “That trash can was upside down and shaking like crazy into the garbage truck for a good two minutes. There must have been a lot more in there.”
“Thousands,” Hubs mused. “Thousands.”
Resolutely, he went back outside and I thought no more about it until I left for the gym several hours later.
“Wet maggot,” I said, sniffing the air outside. “I’d know that smell anywhere.”
And before I lose every last blog reader right down to Liz and “Donemamma and “Rubberbacon” and Becky, I hereby solemnly promise to mention maggots on this blog no more. Probably.
This post originally appeared on Parents.com.
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