Did y'all know that Casa Jones has been the site of a ladybug convention this winter? I'm not sure why we were chosen for this honor. But it is one heck of a convention.
Ladybugs and I go way back. We had a tree in our yard when I was 5 that had ladybugs in it at all times. If you even went near it you would find one on your clothes. It was a magical occurence. I spent a lot of time in and around the tree. Hugging it. If a ladybug landed on me, that meant it wanted to be my friend. And if an animal or bug or other creature wanted to be my friend, that was clearly evidence that I was special and had a unique ability to relate to them. They knew. I believed myself to be in the order of Princess Aurora and Cinderella, who befriended the forest animals and the mice. Up until a month ago I felt like God was sending me a little Valentine when he let a little ladybug come my way.
But the thrill is gone. Because they are everywhere. On the pump of the handsoap bottle, in my teapot, crawling across my shirt, in the sink, and on the walls. Sadly, some of them have gone to their heavenly ladybug tree, which will surely be outside my heavenly abode. I find their faded little shells in the carpet. There's no telling how many Jackson has eaten that I don't know about. Hopefully they will pack up and go home soon. Our oak trees are budding, so perhaps that will be a sign to them that it's okay to go outside again.
Here's some free info for you. I looked up the kind of ladybug it was that we had in our tree so long ago. They are called twice-stabbed lady bird beetles. Ladybugs for short. Because really, who wants "stabbed" in their name, especially twice? I actually haven't seen one of these in years and years. Aren't they pretty? (Click for a pic.)