Telling Flies.

John and Emily are in Puerto Vallarta for the week, enjoying some much deserved alone time. O. and I are taking care of the girls, and Elaine watches them during the day while we're working. O. is also handling anything that comes up with John's property management business.

Yesterday, the owner of one of the properties John manages called to say that his house was full of flies, and asked if we could get rid of them. O. agreed to check it out and get some insect bombs, if necessary.

So this morning, we loaded the girls in the car and drove out to Nampa (about 20 minutes away). I entertained Luciya in the car while O. went in to see what was what. Luciya was very disappointed that she couldn't go in and see the flies. "I like flies," she told me earnestly.

P: You do?

L: But I don't like to eat them.

P: Good. Did you know that birds eat flies?

L: They do?

P: And chickens eat flies.

L: And Santa Claus.

P: Santa Claus eats flies?

L: Yes, he does.

P: How does he eat them?

L: He catches them with his big claws (hence the name, I suppose. P.) and eats them.

P: But how does he eat them? Does he make a big fly sandwich?

L: No. With dipping sauce. White dipping sauce.