The Talk. No, not *that* one.

I think I screwed up on “The Spider Talk.”

Recently, Braden and I were sitting at the table eating dinner when he started talking about a spider while staring the Big Eye Stare at the floor to his right.  I looked, and yes, there was a wolf spider near the baseboard a few feet away from him.

I had actually seen the spider run in the door when I was letting the dog out to pee, minutes before we sat down to eat.

“That’s a spider, Mommy, a spider. That’s right, Mommy, THAT’S A SPIDER!”

“Yes, that’s a spider, Braden. It’s okay. The spider came inside because it is very cold outside and he wanted to warm up.”

“Spider came inside because it’s cooooooooold, Mommy.”

“Yes, he did. But if you leave him alone you will be fine.”

“Leave the spider alone!”

“That’s right, leave the spider alone, because if you bother the spider he will bite you.”

His head whipped around so fast it almost flew right off his neck and he stared at me. He took a very serious tone.

“He will bite you?”

“Yes, spiders can bite and it hurts very much.  If you bother the spider, he will bite you and that hurts. So just leave the spider alone, okay?”

He paused, staring at me with a great deal of concern.  Then, he got a bit excited.

“The spider will bite you and it hurts. It weally WEALLY WEALLY HURTS!”

I was starting to worry that maybe I should have just left the whole biting issue alone.

“Uh… um, yes. It might bite you if you mess with it.  And it really hurts.  So leave the spider alone.”

“THE SPIDER WILL BITE YOU AND IT WEALLY HUUUUUURRRTS!”

“Hey, why don’t you eat some more of your fish?”

During the rest of dinner, he kept looking over at the spider, who was still just sitting in his same spot.  He was probably thinking weird stalker spider thoughts.  I have to admit, it was kind of creepy the way he was just chilling there, seeming to stare at Braden.  Maybe wolf spiders like fish.  Maybe they like cute little boys.

I forgot about it and after dinner Braden was in the living room playing and I was in the kitchen making apple cider.

Suddenly he started making a ruckus and ran up to me and started tugging my pants leg frantically, making anxious breathing sounds as he jitterbugged in place.

“Mommy, hold me. Pick me up. Up. Up. Mommy hold me! Mommy, hold me!”

While it’s not unheard of for him to want me to hold him, he is generally not frantic like this about it.

“Why? Mommy is making cider, Braden.  What’s wrong?”

“MOH.MEE.HOLD.BRA.DEN.”

“Why?”

“The spider is RUNNING!!!!” (I could almost hear the implied, “you stupid bitch!” at the end.)

AWESOME. I did NOT instill Spider Awareness and Caution.  Instead I planted SPIDER FEAR ZOMG!

I really don’t want him to be afraid of spiders, just careful.  Then again, I know some parents who can tell you spider fear is probably better than the opposite side of the spectrum.  My parents would likely tell you it’s way better than having a kid who tried to keep a black widow spider as a pet and then let it loose in the house.

And a grade school teacher of mine will probably let you know that it’s totally uncool when a little girl brings said black widow spider to school for show and tell.

But as for Braden’s possible burgeoning spider fear?  If he does decide to go the route of Those Who Fear Arachnids, I may be unable to relate to him, but you need not worry about him feeling alone.  You see, there’s a club around here for Spider Scaredy-Cats.

Previously, there has only been one member.  I might be the only one around here with a real, working vagina, but sometimes you’d wonder.

Maybe they can perfect their girlish shrieks together as a bonding exercise.

They’re Out to Get Me.

I swear they are. I’m only nervous around maybe 3 things and they probably rank 2 on that list. I don’t believe in fear, unless it’s of completely irrational things like bridges. I believe that they are plotting to attack me by the tens of thousands, when I least expect it, and carry me off to their underground lair to be tortured and lampooned for the rest of my days. Their kind has mastered the scientific method of prolonging life as well, so I may be subjected to their belligerence forever.

They run from most people. They are afraid and attempt to flee, hiding high and low to prevent being seen. But me? They run straight at me. It’s as if they know that my heart leaps into my throat at the sight of them. They enjoy it. They enjoy my terror. Maybe they mistake my fear for respect. Or maybe they are so excited by my blatant discomposure that they want to see just how bad it can get. How far they can push me before I literally pass out and die from it.

I’m afraid to get out of bed @ night. I always have been, no matter where I’ve lived because the bastards always find me. They follow me. Or they search me out. Or they keep track of me through complicated methods of pygmy correspondence and thus are able to alert their brethren of my imminent arrival. As soon as I turn the light on, I look around and make sure I’m alone. And as soon as I let my guard down, I realize that I’m not. That their super stealth force ninja agent was waiting just behind the threshold: unseen and silent, but deadly nonetheless.

They are outside. Inside. In doorways. In hallways. In bedrooms. In closets. In alleys. Under cars. Behind trashcans. On the back porch. Everywhere. And they are coming for me. I just know it.

Those six legged little bastards called “waterbugs.”
They will attack soon.

What’s out to get you?

(I’m Maria by the way. I’ll bet Lotus thought I was going to go all batshit crazy on her readers and make them be like “Holy hell, why the FUCK did you let this bitch guest post?” but I totally didn’t. Ha. I showed her. And you. And you don’t even know me. Heh.)

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When she’s not loosing creepy crawlies onto the internet via guest post, Maria writes over at her own website, Immoral Matriarch, in the style of someone you would expect to go batshit crazy at any given moment. Therein lies the attraction. *wink*