This is how brave I am.
Today there was a gigantic nickle sized jumping spider in the car. Instead of dealing with it like the adult I am, I squealed like a little girl and ran from the car. Leaving my 4 year old and his two cousins to fend for themselves. After taking a few deep breaths, I headed back to the car. At this point, I am sweating like I just ran a marathon, because I know that I am the only one who can get the spider out of the car. ME. Miss Arachnophobia. (if there was a pageant for this, I would surely win first place in all categories). I stared at the children, they stared back. “Who is not afraid of spiders” I hear myself ask. Really? Really? I am asking these innocent wide eyed children to, god-forbid, touch a spider.
(Way to go super mom)
My nephew answers with “I’m not. I’m brave”. He is six. “Ok. here is a napkin” I said. And hand him a used napkin I found under the seat. He takes the napkin, and pushes it down into the cup holder the spider is now taking refuge in. “There”. Says my nephew. And then my son screams (louder than I did) and points to the other cup holder. The spider has jumped. Jumped! and is now in the other holder. All three children scream. (I think I may have screamed a little too.)
I decided that drastic measures were needed.
I ran into the house and grabbed a bottle of window cleaner and a clean, new, sturdier napkin, and rushed back to the car. I was now armed. The spider was still hunkered down, and did not see what was coming next.
I proceeded to spray half the bottle a few squirts of window cleaner, until it covered the helpless intruder. Who curled up in ball, on his back.
I said in my most victorious voice, “Yes! I got him”. And this is the point that I started to feel like the biggest jerk ever. Isaac started crying. “You hurt him”.
Uh-oh.
I had to think quick.
I told them that I did not hurt the spider, that it was just scared. (I know, pretty lame) I then, very, very bravely scooped the spider up with the napkin, and dropped it onto the grass.
Isaac stopped crying, and smiled. “Now he can go back to his mom”, he said. I smiled, and nodded.
Gulp.
Poor spider.
Moral:
The next time I see an eight legged critter, I will wait until my husband gets home. He is much braver than I am, and will gladly pick it up with his BARE HAND, and let it go, unharmed. Back to it’s mom.
spider photo found on :
the domestic epicurean 