Saturday, February 25, 2006
The morning started well enough. A normal Saturday morning. The kids got up early to watch their preapproved shows. They were reasonably quiet, allowing Mom and Dad to sleep in, knowing the old fogeys need that extra bit of rest after rising early the past 5 days. I got up even later than usual for a Saturday morning. A quick glance at the clock revealed it was already 8:30. I proceeded to get my morning coffee together, turned on the computer and got the fire going in the wood stove while the computer woke itself up. A few minutes later Daniel joined us. The kids requested their cereal and we determined which weekend option they preferred (they're allowed a slightly sweeter cereal on weekends than during the week). Once this was all taken care of I was ready for my second cup of coffee.
I returned to the dining room, poured my coffee, removed the lid from the container I keep my creamer in (actually a sugar container, inherited from my Grandmother) and prepared to spoon the required amount in my cup. As I reached over to grab the spoon I felt something tickling my hand. A stray thread from my robe perhaps? I looked at my hand and screamed in horror as I spied a spider crawling up my arm! "AAAHHH!!"
It didn't seem like that loud of a scream, but I guess it was, as my husband, Daniel, standing a couple feet away jumped straight up in the air! He then, in a rather startled voice began inquiring as to my distress, "What? What? What?", as I proceeded to beat my arm into submission.
The offending 8 legged party had by this time disappeared and the children were both pearing over the back of the couch, their show forgotten for the moment. Although my heart was still racing it seemed safe enough to stop beating my arm and respond. As I carefully scanned every inch of the carpeted floor beneath me I spoke one word. A word I knew would explain it all, "Spider!"
Amid the knowing groans from the male members of my family my 7 yr. old Daughters voice was heard, "Mommy! Spiders are harmless!" I was quick with my retort, "Not when they about give me a heart attack they aren't!" I heard no sympathy in her sigh or in her 8 yr. old brothers response, "Oh, Mommy."
I suppose it's a good thing my children have not inherited their Mother's arachnaphobic tendencies. Wouldn't you think they could muster at least a wee bit of sympathy for their dear Mother though?