Not Quite Like "Lava Monster"

One of our niece and nephew's favorite games with Uncle Michael is "Lava Monster." They gather pillows, blankets, and stuffed animals, climb on the bed, and then the craziness begins. The bed becomes a lava-proof raft (of course), the pillows are sometimes "safe" spots to step, or sometimes they have to be rescued, and the stuffed animals are the helpless victims of this natural disaster. Niece and nephew reach out to save them, with Uncle Michael's help, being careful NOT TO TOUCH THE LAVA. I think the remedy for lava burns involves Uncle Michael and Aunt Anita hugs, but maybe I'm just making up the rules as I go.

Anyway, currently the only safe place in our apartment is our bed. And, unfortunately, we are not playing "Lava Monster."

We aren't playing anything. We are trying to not get eaten alive (okay, slight exaggeration) by carpet fleas.

Yeah. Gross.

Okay, so, sure, sometimes we throw our dirty socks and pjs on the floor. Sure, I don't always do the dishes every night. Sure, there have been weeks when I forgot to vacuum. But, FLEAS?! Really? We haven't even petted a dog or cat since we got here. (Michael has always been anti-cats and Argentina turned him against dogs; I like both, but I also like to wash my hands, or at the very least use hand sanitizer afterwards).

And for the record, since we got here, we have showered every day. (See previous post for past uses of Febreeze and why I really do need to declare that bit of vital information.)

I noticed these tiny black bugs crawling on me towards the end of the first week we got here, and after about the third one, I decided it was not a fruit fly after all. I looked up fleas and the description seemed to fit. It was confirmed when I saw one of the little beasty's hind legs the next time it was crawling on me.

That's when I freaked out.

My text message to Michael: We have fleas. We're moving.

Michael was on call that night, so as I was Googling home remedies around 9 pm, I called Tami and a few others, but Tami was the one on the phone with me when I found out about the powers of garlic, Comet, and salt.

One suggestion for getting fleas off your pets was to feed the pets garlic. Apparently garlic grosses fleas out. So, of course! Brilliant me! I will just sprinkle a little garlic salt around our bed so maybe the fleas won't eat us alive in our sleep (okay, still slightly exaggerating)--or at least so maybe they won't bite us in our sleep (that's better). But, just like in my cooking, I got carried away with the garlic salt. (I love garlic! Mmm, mmm.) Our room smelled like fresh "How 'bout a little bread with that garlic?" garlic bread. Kind of gross, and perhaps difficult to sleep with. So, I vacuumed it up, but not too much, so there would still be some garlic barrier between us and the fleas--"and vampires!" as Tami pointed out. (Fleas and vampires are one in the same, according to our niece. After this experience, I think I agree.)

The next home remedy I came upon involved using a powder cleanser and salt, so I sprinkled some of that on the floor. Again, brilliant me! This also produced a strong, almost intolerable odor, but this time, I just opened the window and decided to buck up. And then I spent the next hour and a half on the linoleum in the kitchen, which I thought would be the safest place, looking up other bits of information about fleas. When Michael got home around 11:00, I found two or three more on my feet. FYI: Just because you're on the linoleum does not mean the fleas can't get you.

The exterminator came to spray the apartment the next day, so we had a great excuse to escape to Toe Jam's for a couple days (THANK YOU!). When Michael got home from work (rotations), he ran in to change clothes really quickly and emerged with probably 20 fleas crawling on him. We went out to dinner and meandered through the mall, mostly to avoid coming back to our flea-infested apartment, but were forced to come back to pick up some clothes.

{making the game plan at our front door}

Before going in, we made a plan. I already had my bag packed because I did it before the exterminator got there, but I didn't have time to pack Michael's, so standing outside our doorway, our conversation went something like this.

Anita: Okay, what do you need?

Michael: My workout shoes, white coat, bathroom bag . . ., pj shorts and shirt, 3 dress shirts (in case we're gone a few days), dress pants . . ., black socks . . .

Anita (thinking, How in the world am I going to remember all that? and perhaps looking for the easy way out): Okay, how about I get your shoes, bathroom bag, and whitecoat. You get the rest.

Michael: Deal. Okay, so I've got pjs, dress clothes, black socks . . .

Anita: Okay, so I've got black shoes, workout shoes, bathroom bag . . .

Michael (with complete seriousness and total intensity): Okay, you're sure you've got it all?

Anita (equal in intensity): Yeah, I think so.

Michael: Okay. Alright. Okay. Here we go. (Anita laughs because of how ridiculous we must look to anyone who does not know we have fleas, or even someone who does know.) Ha. Hey, okay. Come on. Let's go. (Michael chuckles a little, too.) Okay, so I've got the clothes, you've got the shoes and bathroom bag?

Anita: Right.

Michael: Okay. I'm going in.

{"I'm going in!"}

Our plan went off without a hitch. We were running around "like my chicken head's cut off" (as Michael puts it), but we made it out and surprisingly there were no fleas on either of us. (Trust me. We checked and checked and checked.) So, loaded up with clothes in plastic bags, we headed to Toe Jam's (lucky them, huh?). Michael did a really great job of shaking out his clothes in the driveway and transfering them to a new plastic garbage bag to avoid contaminating Tami's house. She has not mentioned noticing any fleas.

For the past week, we have been looking for ways to avoid our apartment, either by invading Toe Jam's house, or by going home for the weekend (which we were planning to do pre-flea explosion, but were more sure about once we had these little roommates, except that we didn't want them to hitch along for the ride). We started vacuuming with a new bag every day we are home, and we put moth balls in the bag so the fleas hopefully die and don't jump out of the bag. We've put white paper on the ground and vacuumed around it to see if the fleas would flock to it to avoid the wrath of Electrolux and to get an idea of how many are left (none jumped onto it, but it was a good idea). We have foggers and spray ready for the next time (hopefully never) we get fleas. And I have at least an 8th grade knowledge of fleas, their life cycle, and how to get rid of them.

{our flea vacuuming get-ups}

For over a week, I have not gone barefoot, or even socked-foot in our apartment: I have constantly been wearing my rainboots. (Fleas can't jump as high as my boots are, supposedly, and it must be true because I didn't get any more bites, nor did I see any more fleas on my person since I started wearing them. Poor Michael--now they go after him.) Today was the first day I wore socks--white so I could see the fleas if they were on me. And today was also the first day we have not seen any fleas. Hooray!

But we are still moving.

**Update: Saw more fleas the next day. Definitely still moving.