Rose Bush

So, it's been months since I've been active on this blog, and what is it that I've been dying to write about? Well, bugs, naturally. And I wonder why I don't have a social life.

Not long after we moved into our new house in July, I decided to prune the one rose bush we have growing at the side of our backyard. As I was taking my clippings to the trash can, I suddenly felt something move against my arm. Looking down, I noticed it was a small praying mantis. I then proceeding to scream like I did when I attended my first post millennium New Kids on the Block concert. But it wasn't out of disturbingly misplaced pre-pubescent joy. I just, um, tend to startle easily. Ask Brendan. He'll gladly tell you about the time he and Evan snuck up on me in the bathroom one morning. Anyway, after letting Nathan enjoy the little guy's (girl's?) company for a while, I returned him to the rose bush, figuring I owed him that much.


So, as the days and weeks went on, I noticed that this rose bush had become this guy's permanent home (OK, so I can't prove it was the same praying mantis, but still...). Just about every time we went out in the backyard, I went over to greet him. Despite my previous completely inappropriate response to finding him on my arm, I really do like praying mantises more than just about any other insects. Why? Personality. I don't know of any other animal, let alone a bug, who will cock its head in your direction, put up its dukes in a "Rocky-esque" pose, and give you a death stare that rivals the best Calvin Klein model's. I also love that, for the longest time, Nathan called them "PRY-ICK" mantises. I guess that shows you how often we go to church.

So, this tenacious little critter grew...


And before long, a friend came to live with him. A friend who probably wanted to eat him, but that's neither here nor there. A psychotic side note: whenever I see a grasshopper, I imagine myself eating him. Not because it looks tasty and I want Andrew Zimmern's job, but because I'm terrified of it jumping all cattywompus and landing in my mouth. Just a weird beef I have with grasshoppers. Sorry.


And then, there's this guy. Not sure how he got invited to this party, but you know spiders, always barging in where they don't belong.


One day, while Nathan and I were playing a spirited, and angrily competitive, round of "Red Light, Green Light" in the backyard, I looked down at the grass to see that I was millimeters away from crunching yet another praying mantis into oblivion. From his size and tan color, I could see that he was a geriatric mantis and deserved a spot on The Rose Bush. To make this story even more disturbing, notice that this poor chap is missing a front limb:


Moments after I took this picture, I caught the first praying mantis giving me this attitude:


What? You think you own this rose bush? I own you, holmes.

But time went on. The grasshopper got older, bigger, browner, and, in my opinion, less inclined to jump in my mouth. Eventually, he and the One-Armed Bandit disappeared as the sweltering dog days of autumn were upon us (if you live in SoCal, you know what I mean).

However, one sultry afternoon, I spotted this tiny baby grasshopper, and realized that the circle of life does, indeed, keep spinning.


Welcome to the neighborhood, kid. I hope you'll stay a while.