The Unwanted Visitor

It was a normal Tuesday morning. Kids were dressed, fed, and playing barbies. Mom was dressed, fed, and checking her emails. She had a surprisingly heavy email load to respond to before getting out the door to meet a lady about starting a walk team for JDRF. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, it was pleasant. Of course this morning's description was a bit of an exaggeration. But looking back, before the visitor arrived, the morning was great. It's kind of like how people who are killed are suddenly seen as great martyrs even if their life was less than exemplary (cough cough JFK cough cough). But I don't want to get into a political debate on that issue so I will continue with my story. Just know that my morning was martyred.

Sydney and Morgan had taken their barbies into my bedroom to play. Apparently there is an ocean in there where Ariel lives. She was going on an underwater date with Prince Eric. But don't be alarmed, Sydney informed me that Eric will hold his breath the whole time and won't drown in the Pacific Bedroom Ocean.

A short time later I heard a yelp followed by the pitter-patter of running feet and it broke me out of my email trance. I thought maybe Prince Eric did not hold his breath during his date with Ariel (must have been due to the purple bikini top) and he proceeded to drown and was now on his way to the local hospital. Located west of the washer and dryer. I. Was. Wrong.

Sydney came running up to me and said, in her most dramatic voice ever, (I was surprised she didn't cry actually) "Mom there is a REALLY big spider in your room." (insert big dramatic hand gestures from Syd.) The child in me tensed up, crawled into a corner and proceeded to thumb-suck while rocking back and forth humming children's songs. The mom in me cleared my throat, stood tall, and in a shaky-trying-to-be-tough voice said, "Show me" as I picked up my weapon of choice, a size 9 1/2 white sneaker.

Sydney led me into the bedroom. Past the bed. To the dresser. She pointed at a black thing on the carpet. It wasn't moving. I proceeded to look closer and realized that this spider was a balled up piece of black string. I told Sydney this. She didn't believe me and said, "Mom it was a spider. A real spider. A black one."

I got down on my hands and knees to examine the string. In somewhat of a mocking tone I proclaim, "It's just a black string. Seriously, Sydney, I promise it is nothing to be afraid of." From my kneeling position I glance at her face and notice the blank, frightened expression staring just past my hand as she starts backing toward the door. She pointed and said, "There it is."

Not 3 inches from my hand and crawling toward it at a stalker-ish pace was a huge black spider with a white spot that looked exactly like this.

I immediately jump from my position, rattling off some "4 letter word." I don't often use profane language but there are some situations that require and curse or two or maybe three. This was one of them. I have always had a profound fear of spiders. This is beyond normal fear. I have a phobia. Being a mother has helped cure me of some of my fear. I don't burst into tears, scream, run away, and/or pass out anymore. The sight of even tiny spiders used to provoke those reactions. But I still get the shakes and may or may not puke, depending on the situation. I can handle small spiders. Not ones like in the picture above. This would prove to be a sickly, dizzy situation for me.

After the cursing (and scaring my girls) I knew I had to do something about this 8 legged monster. Last year I saw a similar spider on my wall. It wasn't moving. My girls were napping. I crawled into the lazy boy and sat there shaking while I called my husband. He was working 20 minutes away and I begged him to come home and kill it. He did. He knows my phobia of arachnids and decided it was better to have a conscious wife than an unconscious one when the kids woke up. I didn't have time to call him today because this spider was on the move. If I didn't kill it I WOULD be getting a hotel for the night until the spider was found and properly mutilated. Sorry if any of you are PETA members/supporters. **(I'm not really sorry, I was just being polite.)

I picked up the shoe (which I had thrown across the room during my profanity escapade) and walked, and prayed, toward the uninvited guest. Then I squished him. If spiders were into horror movies, my execution of this spider would have been top notch. I hit him over and over and over with all the force and fury my arm could muster. Morgan brought me a tissue and I scooped up what was left of the carcass and flushed it. Then I got sick. (No I am NOT pregnant, spiders just elicit this reaction out of me.)

I know the spider is dead but I feel it crawling on me. I feel webs. I see movements out of the corners of my eyes. I feel borderline panic attacky. (what, that's a word. :-) So here is hoping I see no more unwanted visitors. My sanity hangs on that hope. I don't know if my heart can take it.

**I did do some research last year when a similar looking spider invaded my home. It is a jumping spider and is not supposed to be poisonous. Just ugly.)

So what about you? Do you have any phobias?