Posts Tagged "spider"

Oh, the Horror | I Can Never Go Into Our House Again

Dear Kid,

I can never go into my bedroom again.

Might be I can never even go into the house again, but we’ll have to see about that.

You know I have this thing about minding my own business—unless someone else’s business is Interesting (which—truth be told—doesn’t happen all that often).

Mom's Theory of Legs 4 or less is good. Possibly even adorable. More than 4 is highly problematic and likely to cause screaming. DearKidLoveMom.comSo there I was, in our bedroom, minding my own business (and by “minding my own business” I mean quietly putting on makeup and contemplating the day ahead) when Out Of Nowhere appeared a bug. I screeched.

I think you know my theory about wildlife: It belongs in the wild. My house is most certainly not The Wild (although there are people who claim that by harboring Dust Dragons and other Chaos I do not exactly have the calmest of homes).

I think you also know my theory about legs: Four or fewer legs is just dandy. More than that is EEEEEEEEEEK! and SOMEONE DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS SITUATION!!!!!

I do not like bugs in general.

And this one had more than the usual allotment of legs.

Far more.

Far, far.

Far, far, far.

And let me tell you, that sucker knows how to use those little legs. It is one fast horrid little creature.

Oh, you noticed I didn’t use the past tense? That’s the problem.

As I reached for something (other than the mascara I was holding) to deal a death blow, that bug scooted.

Not only did it scoot, it scooted INTO MY NIGHTSTAND DRAWER!

I screeched (for the second time) but apparently multi-legged evilness is deaf, or perhaps it was running away from the screech. I don’t know much (and by “much” I mean anything) about bug audiology. What I do know is that the damn thing was spotted going into the nightstand drawer and has not been spotted coming out of said drawer.

I’ll be sleeping on the couch. Or possibly in the next county.

Love, Mom


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Santa and Spiders (the Good Kind)

Dear Kid,

Dad and I went to the crafts fair at the high school yesterday. As always, it was mobbed and various school bands and orchestras played in the background. (Stick with me, you’re going to like this one.)

We wandered around looking at various crafts, purchasing a few pieces of jewelry, sampling various homemade yummies, and basically having a good time.

My friend Ann was there selling chocolate covered treats (hi Ann!).

Near the end of our wanderings, we rounded a corner and I said, “Oh, my.”

The two ladies sitting at the table burst into laughter. “That’s the best response we’ve had all day,” one of them told me through her giggles. It must have been my tone of voice. Or possibly the reaction they’d gotten from other visitors.

The thing is, they were selling spiders.

Yep, spiders.

And you know how I feel about arachnids.

But these were glittery spiders and they came with a story (an 1800s German folk tale to be precise). A little bling and a good story go a long way in my book.

I’ve lifted the pix from their website (visit it here) because I took a great shot of their table that came out as nothing but blur. (We’ve discussed how not-good I am at photography. Where’s Beth when you need her?)

Here are the photos:

Santa Spider. Comes with a great story.

Santa Spider. Comes with a great story.

And here is the story (which makes the spiders much, much better):

Once upon a time (because all the best stories start that way), a mother was busy cleaning her home for Christmas. The spiders (not being stupid) skedaddled (not a German word) out of the way of her broom and up to the attic to hide. Apparently, the mother wasn’t too concerned about the cleanliness of the attic. Truth be told, neither am I.

When the house was quite, the spiders slowly crept downstairs to see the beautiful tree. (Ooooh, ahhh.) Being excited and being spiders, they scurried up the trunk of the tree and out each of the branches.

This suggests that there were more than the usual number of spiders but since this is a fairy tale we shall overlook the mother’s infestation and move on.

The spiders were filled with happiness at being in the tree and it leaked out in the form of spider webs. The spiders spun and danced through the night, leaving their webs everywhere.

At his appointed time, Santa showed up with gifts for the children. (Can anyone explain how he manages to scoot up and down chimneys without getting soot anywhere? Dad can’t even come in from outside without tracking mud into the house.)

When Santa saw the tree covered in spider webs, he smiled at the happiness of the spiders. Apparently, he was a fan of the eight-legged. But he knew that the mother would be upset if she saw her beautiful tree covered with dusty webs (not sure how they got dusty so quickly, but in this story, they did). So, being Santa and therefore being magic, he turned the webs into silver and gold.

The tree sparkled and shined and was even more beautiful than before (well, duh–if you had magic silver and gold all over you, you’d sparkle and shine too).

And that’s why we have tinsel on our trees and why every Christmas tree should have a Christmas spider in its branches.

I told you it was a good story.

Love, Mom 

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The Best Reason to Quit Your Job Immediately

Dear Kid,

As I have mentioned more than once, wildlife belongs in the wild.

This is Part II of my Foot Saga. Here’s Part I if you’ve forgotten.

We left off with my foot swollen and painful and with my trip to Urgent Care having been less than diagnostically successful. After I picked up the fabulous prescription cocktail the physician suggested, I went over to the high school for the soccer game.

Never mind the pain of trekking 92 miles from the parking lot to the stadium stands.

Why are they called “stands” if one sits in them?

After about 3 minutes, soccer mom conversation turned to my foot (which was by then doing its impression of Moby Dick). Soccer mom medical consensus quickly determined I had been bitten by a spider. Possibly twice.

Someone saw a spider in the office. Obviously, now I have to quit my job. DearKidLoveMom.comDid I mention the pain started in the middle of the afternoon while I was at work? Did I mention that WILDLIFE BELONGS IN THE WILD AND NOT UNDER MY DESK???? Obviously, I have to quit my job if spiders are going to be allowed on the premises.

Yesterday I was somewhat better what with my friends at Walgreens helping me live with reduced pain through the miracle of prescription chemistry. Still swollen, still painful, but better.

After several more people weighed in on the Diagnosis of Moi including a relatively long (and terrifying) discussion of the possibility of an attack of brown recluse spiders—ick—I learned that Mark-whose-desk-is-near-mine saw a wolf spider not too long ago. Why he didn’t report this, I have no idea. I haven’t completely ruled out a hungry walrus as the culprit, but no one’s seen a pinniped in the office recently, and they don’t hide nearly as well as spiders.

So the building people are bringing in an arachnid eliminator. Which is really fun to say (go ahead, try it. I’ll wait…See?).

In honor of the exterminator, I’m introducing Pick Your Own Cliché Time.

  • Locking the barn door after the horse is gone.
  • An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.
  • A stitch in time saves nine.
  • Die, spider, die.

Every cloud has a silver lining. In this case, the silver lining is a two-blog story.

Feel free to add your own appropriate cliché in the comments.

Love, Mom



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The Cricket In The Garage

Dear Kid,

There is a cricket in our garage.

It sings. Loudly. I don’t know if it’s male or female. I frequently can’t tell human gender just from voices so I have no shot whatsoever at distinguishing crickets.

Being the investigative reporter-type that I am (stop giggling), I sat down with the cricket to learn more.

Speaking on condition of anonymity (not a problem since we were never properly introduced), the garage cricket shared his/her/its perspectives on life, living, and the garage.

Me: Why the garage?
C: Opportunities for crickets are limited in our society, baby. We are an oppressed community. There is little to no policing of our neighborhoods or yards. Frogs, snakes, and large spiders are allowed to eat us without fear of recrimination.
Me: Wait, spiders?
C: Yes indeedee
Me: Ick. Ok, but why the garage?
C: How often can a cricket of my income level get a large one-bedroom in a gated community?
Me: Gated? Oh, you mean the garage door. Got it.
C: Plus it rarely rains in here and the meal plan is pretty good
Me: Meal plan?
C: You’d be amazed what wanders by…
Me: Say no more. Do you get a lot of, um, companionship in here?
C: Well, I do chirp exceptionally well
Me: TMI.
C: You asked
Me: True. Any chance we can get you to pitch in and help clean the garage?
C: Do pigs chirp?
Me: I take it you aren’t a cleaning sort of cricket. How do you plan to pay rent?
C: I’m releasing a new album later this year. Can I count on you for an order?
Me: Do dogs chirp?
C: Everyone’s a critic
Me: I prefer live concerts
C: Nice recovery. A little late, but nice
Me: Do you take requests?
C: Depends
Me: I request that you not keep us up at night
C: Sorry, baby. Nocturnal. All the best jazz musicians are
Me: You play jazz?
C: Well, more of a jazz/classical fusion
Me: At night
C: Nocturnal. Gotta follow Mother Nature
Me: How do you feel about the current use of the word “crickets” to mean silence?
C: Anyone who stops to listen to my symphonic melody is alright by me
Me: What are your thoughts about Jiminy Cricket?
C: Pretentious dude. Had a bad attack of conscious because he’s really a grasshopper
M: Grasshopper?
C: He’s green. Take a close look
Me: It’s not easy being green
C: Don’t mention frogs. Bad karma
Me: Thanks for talking with me today
C: Stop by any time
Me: You do remember this is my house, right?
C: Details, baby, details

Love, Mom


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Do You Know What An Upside Down Glass Means?

Dear Kid,

The same words can mean different things in different places. For example, “I’m stuffed” in the US means you’ve eaten too much; in the UK it means you’re pregnant.

Actions can also mean different things in different parts of the world.

For example, an upside down glass on the bar in Australia means you think you can fight anyone and everyone in the pub and win. Then again, breathing in Australia means pretty much the same thing.

In some areas, an upside down glass means you’re drinking in memory of someone who has passed away. (“Turn down a glass” therefore means stop for a moment of thought or reflection.)

In some countries, it’s rude to sip or partially drink a shot during a toast. Turning your glass upside down shows you’ve downed the entire shot.

In the US, if you turn your glass upside down, it means you don’t want any more to drink. If the bartender places an upside down glass in front of you, it means someone else has paid for your drink.

In our house, an upside down glass is a sure sign of Wildlife Encroachment.

As in, “Get a glass! Get a glass! There’s a ladybug!”

Theoretically, once a multi-legged critter has been trapped under a glass, it should be released back into the wild where it can do multi-legged critter things (like being eaten by a bird). As long as it’s not in my house, I’m pretty tolerant of multi-legged critters (and by “multi-legged”, I mean more than 4; 4 or less are welcome inside—most of them, anyway).

But to be clear, the more legs there are, the less I want to do with them.

Recently, we’ve had an invasion (and by “invasion” I mean 2) of huge, horrible, jumping, enormous spiders. These guys move lightning fast and cause all sorts of chaos. And by “all sorts of chaos” I mean me screaming, “Yark! Ack! Spider! Get a glass! Someone do something! AAAAAck!” Amazingly, Pi said exactly the same thing when she spotted one.

This is NOT the traditional place for spiders. Or the traditional use of a Wine Glass. We have got to get back to tradition.

Pi and I both buy into the family tradition of bug trapping. We also both believe that Someone Else should be in charge of bug release. Bug release really far away from the house. Like 6 or 7 miles away.

And since the Puppy doesn’t have thumbs, that chore falls to Dad. Which leds to the following conversation.

Dad: I see you trapped a bug
Me: It’s a spider and it’s enormous. Do something
Dad: Why didn’t you take it outside?
Me: Are you insane?
Dad: It’s just a spider
Me: It is an enormous spider. It is a spider bigger than Montana. It moves faster than Superman. Take. It. Out.
Dad: You’re not going to take out one little spider?
Me: It is Not little. And Get That Thing Away From ME!!!!!

At which point Dad chuckled softly and took the spider out. Thus saving a spider and a marriage in one action.

Love, Mom

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