I wish it were a little more "Spoonful of Sugar" and a little less If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. I also wish I'd remember that no matter how clean you get your kitchen, all is for naught if you leave the rancid chicken in the trash. And I just found a grasshopper on my arm, jumped and screamed like a girl, chased it around the bathroom to kill it for a good 5 minutes, then felt horribly guilty because it was a grasshopper. Of all the terrifying bits of wildlife in Arizona to fear, the lowly grasshopper is not one. What if it had been Herbert the Arizona blonde tarantula that we found in our shed a few months ago? Or Rudolph the gopher snake, who was hanging out on our patio for a whole day in August? (Harmless but awfully long.) Or the ones undeserving of names: the 3-inch cockroach we found in that very same bathroom when we moved in, resulting in Nathan's shoeprint on the ceiling? Or my worst nightmare, a mysterious bug with way too many waving legs (no not a silverfish, much fatter) that when squished leaves a puddle of guts far, far too big for its size? In my defense, I thought the grasshopper was a huge earwig. And just to clarify, I did scream like a girl--and I killed it heartlessly like a boy.