I hear screaming. Frantic, insistent, urgent screaming. Children shouting instructions at each other. I can also hear the baby’s name (or Sephernickel, as Simon prefers to call him) being shouted. I pop my head in to see what’s going on.
Samantha is hunkered down on a chair, clinging to the back with her feet up on the chair bottom, crying. Simon is standing in the high chair, his finger shaking, pointing at the baby. His face is white and gray. Both are screaming, “NO, SETH! NO SEPHERNICKEL! DON’T TOUCH IT!”
Seth is standing in the doorway to the dining room, rocking on his heels, chewing his fingers, drool running down his elbows as he calmly looks back and forth between his siblings.
In the center of this triangle of terror is a freakishly large grasshopper looking cricket. I’m not sure if it is the sonic death rays the children have unleashed upon it, or one of the cats that got to it first, but it is most definitely dead.
I wonder how the children would have reacted if Seth had touched it, if he’d picked it up and popped it into his mouth like he does with every other new and interesting item. I intervened too quickly to find out.