It was one of those balmy spring days that leads to windows being opened for the first time in months. Unfortunately, a large frog managed to get stuck between the window and the screen on our unheated screened-in porch when I cranked the louvered windows shut at night.

The temperature dropped overnight. In the morning my sons, ages two and four, were witness to the frozen creature obstructing their view of the yard. Opening the window allowed the frogsicle to land with a thud on the top of the air conditioner outside. The boys peered out at the still form.

It was awful. The poor thing was lying on its back, arms folded neatly across its chest, knees bent and toes crimped with cold where they had been trapped around the window edge.

"It's dead? What do you mean dead?" demanded Zoltan, age four.

I made a lame attempt at explanation, saying "It was very cold and well...."

"So get it a blanket. Quick, before a bird eats it," he countered.

"Nooooo!" howled Ian, age two. "It brinked its eyes. Fick it, Mom! You fick it, preeeease!"

It did blink. But fick it? Er...um...fix it? Okay. It's frozen, so we should unfreeze it.

Being fresh from the shower and drying my hair, the solution came rather easily to mind.

Sound silly? Am I the only parent who has done things like switched live goldfish for floaters when the kids weren't looking, or told them a movie character was "just sleeping" when it was really the Big Sleep?

When it comes to rough toddler topics, death is even more difficult than where babies come from because it comes up earlier and more often.

It starts with Bambi's mother, then goes on with Simba's father in The Lion King. "When we die, our bodies become the grass and the antelope eat the grass," James Earl Jones' rich, fatherly voice intoned shortly before his character became living-impaired. This resulted in my older son sobbing, "Mommy, I don't want to be grass!!!" Thank you, Disney.

That is how my neighbor, Ray, ended up seeing me at seven o'clock in the morning, blow-drying one of Kermit's cousins through the window screen. It seemed better than the alternative, which was a dip in the bathtub and a few hours spent chasing a revived and frisky frog around the house.

Ray is the father of three girls and was completely unfazed by the sight of Frogenstein coming back to life. Slowly, and I would guess painfully, the frog unfolded. It looked like one of those Chinese paper flowers on the water.  It rolled over and shakily hopped off the air conditioner and back into the yard.

My theory is that my children will have to deal with death soon enough. These days of frog kisses are precious, and I can use all that I can get.

Lisa Suhay is a freelance writer currently living in Xxxxxxx, Xxxxxxxxx. She and her husband Robert, with their sons Zoltan (five) and Ian (four), have lived aboard a sailboat for the past five years on the Gulf coast of Florida. A year ago they moved back to land and proved the old adage "new house, new baby" with the addition of third son Avery in March 1999. They plan to spend a few more years on land before returning to the seafaring life.