A Good Chuckle

A Good Chuckle

Thursday, July 31, 2014

Dealing With Spiders

My oldest daughter (5) and my son (4) are each in their respective bedrooms having some solo time before dinner. Late in the day, solo time is a great way to break up kids who are otherwise getting pretty cranky and agitating or fighting with each other and give them some alone time to relax. I'm making dinner in the kitchen. Not unusual for summers living in the woods, the occasional spider makes his way onto the scene.

"Dad! Dad! There's a spider in my room!" My daughter hollers across the house. I put down what I am doing and make my way to her bedroom. Upon my arrival, I see my daughter standing on her bed pointing at this borderline microscopic spider scooting across her floor. This spider is so small, if I took a picture of him he would probably only total like 3 pixels. I literally thought it was just a piece of dust on the floor at first.

"Seriously honey?" I ask. A bit vexed to be drawn away from cooking dinner for such a tiny spider. "What is that tiny little spider going to do to you?"

She opens her arms up wide, "He could build a big spider web! AHHH!" The image of a giant spiderweb entangling her must have followed her words closely because she let out another series of yells complete with an erratic jumping episode, all the while pointing at the spider as it tries desperately to get out of the room. But the spider is so small, it is not covering very much ground. 

"Okay, okay, calm down!" I grab the closest piece of paper, scoop up the spider and remove him from the room. 

Back out through the kitchen and over to the front door where I release this little spider into the wild (however wild my front deck is anyway). Wash my hands and back into cooking dinner.

Not even 5 minutes pass by when I hear my son start up, "Dad! Dad! There's a spider!"  

I literally sigh aloud and start back down the hallway, this time toward my son's room. This is something that comes up from time to time - my son hears his sister doing something and then he has to get in on the act. I get to his room and he is sitting on the floor playing with his cars, totally undisturbed. 

"Alright buddy, where is this spider?" I ask him.  

He stops what he is doing, looks up at me and smiles. Then he shows me the tire of one of his bigger trucks. On the tire is the remains of the trespasser - a spider that was big enough to go toe-to-toe with me in a bare knuckle boxing match. I muttered a few obscenity-laced half-prayers. My son says, "He's dead, I runned him over."  

I am waiting to hear from this spider's attorney.

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