“Mama,” Avery said as I was getting her off the potty, “can you get the itsy bitsy spider that is in the garbage?”
“Mmmm….” I replied distractedly. “We need to get your pull up on and into bed.”
“Ok, Mama. But then you’ll get the itsy bitsy spider?”
I ignored the request as I tossed her into bed and then rushed downstairs to let Josie back inside. Josie had been laying in her favorite spot on the front porch, but was now barking at someone who had the audacity to walk their dog across the street.
“MAMA,” Avery yelled from her bedroom. “ARE YOU GOING TO GET THE ITSY BITSY SPIDER?” while at the same time Owen bellowed from my bathroom, “I’M DONE MAKING A POOPY.”
I sighed and debated about what I didn’t want to do first – kill a spider or wipe a poopy tushy. The equivalent of a stay at home mother’s Sophie’s Choice. What would Meryl Streep do? Meryl would kill the spider in a perfect accent, grab her Oscar and then wipe the tush. So, I decided to go first to the full bath and flush itsy bitsy so Avery would settle down, and then tackle the poopy tushy.
“Mama,” Avery began again as I trudged back up the stairs for the 37th time today (it’s usually by nap time that I’m on realtor.com looking for ranch houses) “are you going to…”
I cut her off, “yes, yes, I’m getting it,” as I slipped off my shoe.
I walked into the bathroom with one shoe on and the other in my hand in search of the itsy bitsy spider who, according to Avery, had taken up residence in the full bath’s garbage. I peaked inside the can and then jumped two feet back accidentally dropping the shoe into the toilet.
Itsy bitsy my ass….that spider was the size of…well….my ass…and was chilling in the trash with two small dixie cups that looked like thimbles in comparison.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
As if on cue, “MAMA I’M DONE MAKING A POOPY!!!!” Owen yelled from the master bath.
Ok. Must. Think.
I began to weigh my options:
- Wait until Mike comes home and make him kill the spider. Killing bugs were his domain. I had that specifically written into the marriage vows. But, no that wouldn’t work. Mike wouldn’t be home for a good 4 hours and by that time the spider would have surely eaten one of us.
- Call Mike and tell him to come home immediately. I knew he was in the north ‘burbs doing simultaneous meetings in Arlington Heights and Prospect Heights -driving back and forth between the two. One could argue he was a little too busy to come home to kill a spider. Even a spider that was the size of a small car. Maybe if I promised a quickie that might sweeten the deal? But still he was a good 45 minutes away, and if there is one thing that I have learned about my husband is that he doesn’t drive fast unless we are missing the beginning of a Star Trek movie or someone has to pee.
- Kill the spider myself. Bahahahhahhahahaha. No.
- Move. (ranch house)
The spider moved inside of the trash can. Or rather, the spider moved thus moving the trash can. I needed to do something in order to protect myself, the dog, the two step-cats that I never wanted, and the twins from Itsy Bitsy. I grabbed an unused Dixie Cup and threw it into the can.
The spider laughed and gave me the finger.
Ugh, Owen. Poopy tushy. Ok. ok, I’m coming.
I realized that I needed to act quickly. If I left Itsy Bitsy unattended to clean off Owen, the spider would surely crawl out of the can and begin roaming around the house. Then not only would Avery never fall asleep for her nap, I’d never sleep again. The problem was that the can was small and made of ceramic, so even if I got a shoe inside, when I try hit the spider, I’d most likely end up breaking the trash can. Jeez…who the heck buys a breakable bathroom trash can? Apparently I do. Thanks a lot Bed Bath and Beyond.
And even if I managed to get the shoe inside the trash can and even if I was able to get off a shot without busting the trash can, the odds of me hitting and killing in one swoop were very, very low. Then I’d not only upset the spider causing further mockery, but it might jump up and crawl on me. This could never, ever be allowed to happen.
Why the hell do I have to be in charge, anyway? This sucks.
If Mike were here he would just reach in and pull the spider out with his thumb and index finger. I’d scream like a little child and tell him he was going to need to completely Haz Mat sanitize himself before I let him near me. And then he’d just walk away shaking his head at what a hot mess he married.
Ok, let’s be realistic. There was no f-ing way I was going to touch the spider with my bare hands. I could get a tissue…or better yet a thick paper towel and try and squish him. Oh, Gawd, spider guts….no, no. NO. That wouldn’t work.
I grabbed another Dixie cup, this time filling it with water and then poured the water into the trash can.
The spider scrambled to save himself inside of one of the three cups already in the trash.
I got more water.
“Die, beeyach…Die!” I yelled pouring more and more water into the can. The spider, obviously smarter than I am, chilled out in his Dixie cup life boat whistling the tune to Gilligan’s Island
I took a deep breath and snatched one of the Dixie cups out of the trash can. Then held my breath as I got the other one. Ok. Now all that was left was approximately 16 oz of water, one lone Dixie cup, and the monster spider inside of it.
“MAMA” Owen yelled again.
“This is for my children!!!” I yelled as I grabbed the trash can and poured the contents into the toilet. The water splashed and with it the last cup came tumbling out. That damn spider held on as I screamed “Get out of my house!” shaking the trash can violently.
The next thing I remember is peeling myself off the bathroom floor and slowly making my way into the master bath where Owen still sat on the potty. He looked at me and said “Mama” softly as I grabbed the toilet paper.
“It’s, OK, honey. We are all going to be OK, now.
The current contents of our full bath toilet bowl:
One Dixie cup. One shoe. One dead spider.
Mike, in addition to being on bug duty, is also in charge of all plumbing needs.