Wednesday, June 26, 2013When Spiders Tell You To Pay Attention
Some days I'm one of those parents. I sit at soccer practice, my nose buried in a laptop, not paying any attention. Did Alexis just do something cute? I don't know, I'm busy trying to get some work done.
Balance doesn't come easy. Sometimes it requires that you miss out on a goal. Or two.
As Alexis ran up and down the field, I dutifully scrolled through the images, editing and preening and doing all of the things that are required to prepare photographs for a client. The whistle sounded and I ignored it. Alexis kicked the ball and I missed it. All of it. I was busy.
The wind picked up and the sky darkened, but I continued to focus on my laptop. The breeze grabbed hold of my hair and whipped it all around. I thought of that super-annoying song as I reached up and swiped my much-too-long bangs out of my eyes.
It wasn't my bangs that were covering my eyes.
It was a daddy longlegs.
I didn't scream, but only because I was very focused on not throwing my laptop at the spider as it casually strolled away. OK, so I know a daddy longlegs isn't technically a spider but I DON'T CARE. IT HAS MORE LEGS THAN ME AND DOESN'T BELONG ON MY FACE OMG.
I quickly stood up, shaking as I did the full-body bug search that everyone does when they've discovered a creepy crawly where there isn't supposed to be a creepy crawly. I glanced towards the field just in time to see Alexis dribbling the ball down field, a huge grin on her face. She hadn't seen my silent freak out as she was lost in her own world, but she would have been laughing hysterically if she had.
She thinks it's funny when I'm subjected to misery.
Apples. Trees. Blah, blah, blah. I know where that comes from.
My concentration was broken, so I found my eyes wandering to the sky. Dark clouds were rolling in, tumbling and flipping and issuing a visual warning -- A storm was coming. Soon.
I looked at the soccer coach and wondered if he realized what was happening. An open field filled with little kids is the start of a news story starring a bolt of lightening, and I really didn't want to see a name I knew in the headline. "Surely he'll call off the rest of practice," I thought to myself.
Only 15 minutes remained in the practice, so no harm done. Just let the kids go. Better safe than sorry. You do realize that kid is really important to me, right? RIGHT, COACH?
The coach stood staring at the sky as he continued to usher the kids one direction and then the other. Lightning cracked in the distance.
It was then that I knew the coach probably isn't a parent. He didn't jump the way I did, nor the way all of the other parents did. It was if an army of spiders had walked across faces because every parent sprung to their feet and looked at their kid.
It's funny how you'll mess around with lightning if it's just you, but when your kid is standing in an open field? OH HELL NO.
We all inched our way towards the kids, still waiting for the coach to figure out that lightning means GAME OVER. GO HOME. BUH-BYE. But he didn't. A minute passed and he still hadn't made a decision, so finally someone had to tell him.
Send the kids home. It's the right thing to do.
Alexis grabbed my hand and we rushed to the car, just barely managing to get buckled up before the skies opened up in earnest and rain poured from the sky.
I would have missed SO much if not for that stupid spider.
When I Lose Sleep, There Will Be Hell To Pay
Nobody likes mosquitoes, except for maybe the people who make bug spray and the citronella growers, but YOU GUYS. WAR. IT IS HAPPENING.
Load me up with all of the mosquito killing machinery, because I am ready. Blowtorches are no longer considered overkill at this house because one of those bastards dared to bite Alexis and THIS MEANS WAR.
So, here's the thing. Alexis isn't exactly a tasty snack. Neither am I. For the most part, the mosquitoes recognize that we're not the tastiest thing in the house and they wander on to find other humans to torture. But one pesky little mosquito decided to take a taste out of the very top of Alexis' leg and WAR. IT IS ON. YOU WILL PAY, YOU STUPID MOSQUITO. AND SO WILL ALL OF YOUR FRIENDS.
I'm sure it started as just a little itchy bump, but by the time Alexis was done digging at the little bite, it had turned into a giant, raging red bump complete with an itty bitty teeny tiny drop of blood.
Meh bay-beee's blood.
I'm sure I'm not the only mother who automatically says, "Is there blood?" when approached by a small person complaining about some injury or another. I basically don't care if the floor attacked you unless there is blood or bones sticking out. I've said it so many times that Alexis often reports injuries by saying, "I have a boo-boo but it's not bleeding so I guess it's OK. SOB."
I reply by reminding her it's OK to toughen up a bit. Or a lot.
But this time. THIS TIME THERE WAS BLOOD. It was the exact moment Alexis has been waiting for her entire injury-prone life. 'MOM. BLOOD. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
There were tears and sobbing and a general aura of WOE IS ME. WOE. WOE. WOE. MEEEEEE. BLOOD. WOE. She went on and on and on and on.
That was three days ago. She's still going on. In fact, nobody slept this weekend because the WOE lasted all through the night and came complete with tears and moaning. MOANING. MY KID WAS MOANING BECAUSE HER MOSQUITO BITE WAS ITCHY AND SHE COULDN'T SCRATCH IT ANYMORE.
For the record, we slapped Neosporin on that angry bite and she acted like it was magically cured of all itchiness. If only we had thought of the placebo effect a few hours sooner, we'd all be much more rested.
The good news in all of this mosquito bite WOE is that I will now and forever be able to talk Alexis out of doing things by telling her there is a chance that doing it will likely result in her being as itchy and miserable as she was that time she had a mosquito bite.
