The Standoff

Dear Son,

Ok . . . so you can't think bad of me or that i am not cleanly. Sometimes, stuff just happens.

Well . . .

Your mom is DEATHLY afraid of bugs. I mean, they drive me to nausea immediately. Not any ole bug mind you, (well, not so much anyway) but specifically the hard shell variety. They just . . . creep me out. [read: make me sick, want to throw up, shiver with convulsions, and there will be screaming.]

So - I'm washing dishes this morning. And, from the corner of my eye, I spy you, my little lovey with a large stainless steel spoon. You are amusing yourself greatly, using the spoon much like one would use a hockey stick . . . and you are swatting something across the kitchen floor.

I regard you, but dont really take note of what is actually happening. Then, (from my keen peripheral vision,) I see the "puck" come whizzing back my way.

Intrinsically, I just know.

We dont have "bugs" . . . if not for the reason that we are clean, then absolutely for previous stated reasons. I am just not taking any chances. Our house, is an arsenal.

But as I crept in for a closer inspection - my fears were confirmed. One had infiltrated the fortress . . .

There, staring up at me . . .
lying on his back . . .
legs wiggling . ..

was a CREATURE!!!

CREATURE CREATURE CREATURE ALERT!!

And, to make matters worse -there you were, headed full speed ahead toward me . . . and HIM - hockey stick in hand!

This seems like a good time to add the fact that, though utterly disturbed by such a disgusting form of life . . .

I am unable to kill them.

I just CANT.

And, its not as a result of my love for all things living [yeah, picture that] - its because i cant BARE the sound of them crunching beneath my feet.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

So, at times when I have been unfortunate to come to a stand off with one, I either
A) run
or
B) use the thickest heeled shoe I have as to pad against my foot feeling the crunch (the horror!)

Needless to say, now that I am almighty Mother, running isnt an option.

There I was . . . the battle of a lifetime. I see a ballerina slipper from across the room. It was going to have to do the job . . . I couldnt very well leave the room, for fear that little general would muster the strength to flip himself over and go for backup. - Or worse, that you'd go over and try to make nice.

The clock was ticking . . .

He was looking at me.
I was looking at him.
Ohhh . . . the drama.

And of course - there you are, looking at both of us - contemplating the right moment to make your move. The time was now.

I dont think my feet even hit the ground . . . it was simply one felt swoop of moving from one side of the room to the other, grabbing my shoe, back to the other side . . . [battle cry and all]

and . . .

annndddddddd . . .

CRUNCH!!!

But that isnt the end. Oh no. I should tell you now that in the few and far between instances I've been unfortunate enough to have to kill a creature - I have a little thing I like to do.

I just leave the shoe on top of it . . . until someone else comes along to pick the dearly departed up and move him to the trash.

Well - I proceeded to do just that. My shoe rested comfortably atop the carcass . . . and la la la la la - I went back to
my dish washing.

But oh no - of course you had another plan, and quickly moved in to assess the damage [i.e. you picked up the shoe - and was your way to picking up the remains . . . when I knew what I had to do]

So, with much dread - I grabbed 74 paper towels and scooped him up.

ARGHHH!!!!!! ICK!!! YUCKIEEEEEEEE!!!

And into the trash he went.

Immediately followed by my slipper might I add . . . which you oh so helpfully tossed in for me.

Cant blame you though . . .

It's not like I'll be wearing it again any time soon anyway.


Whew. The things we do when we are moms!!

I love you.