Spiders seem to be taking over, spreading their webs across every surface and corner of our yard. Every time I turn around I’m flailing to escape their thin, sticky threads.
So it isn’t a surprise when G announces, “Mommy, mommy. Yook a 'pider!" (Translation: Look! A spider... IN MY HOUSE!)
I should tell you that I’m not afraid of spiders. They’re little and we’re big and WHAT is there to be afraid of, logically? At the same time I wouldn’t say that I’m exactly a fan. Okay, truth is... I hate them in my house. They terrify me.
Efficiency is my primary objective as I pull off a piece of paper towel and advance on the unsuspecting spider.
Make a web in my house, will you?
G’s eyes widen as she watches me. She sees my diabolical plan written out in the whites of my eyes. ”Mommy? You’re going to SQUISH the spider and throw it in the garbage?”
“Well, ok.” she continues, “We can THROW it in the GARBAGE.”
I pause. This is not the message that I’ve worked so carefully to communicate.
In fact, just a few days ago I distinctly remember shouting something about DON’T SQUISH THAT BUG (ants on the sidewalk are a favorite target) BECAUSE IT HAS FEELINGS AND MAYBE EVEN A FAMILY!
And here I am, wreaking deadly violence on this small unsuspecting critter.
I need to take a different approach.
I sigh. “No, I’m not going to squish it or throw it away,” I tell G.
Carefully I hold the paper towel underneath the spider so that his legs catch on it -- all the while holding my breath for fear that it jump at me and try to infect me with a seriously dangerous disease. I carry it outside and fling the arachnid interloper into the yard. He’s airborne for a moment, before plummeting to the earth below.
I wonder if that spider will die from falling so far, I find myself wondering. Can’t it use it’s thread, spiderman-style, to catch a nearby plant and soften its landing? Or will it smash into the hard concrete and die an instant death?