In Over His Head

We are having a fun time with the kiddos at the pool this summer. Our ultimate goal is to try to get them both to swim without the aid of flotation devices. I'm sure Daddy has visions of going on rafting trips with them and boating and all sorts of adventures, but Mommy's vision is more along the line of getting to take them to the pool without having to get in and out thirty times to assist them....and a nice suntan wouldn't suck either.

So ahem, where were we? Oh yes, we want them to be able to swim. Well, along the path to this ultimate destination there are several obstacles. The first of which is them having the courage to float alone, without holding onto either of us. We worked at this all summer last year and they have pretty much accomplished that feat this summer. The next hurdle we are facing however is getting their heads in the water without them throwing a fit once they resurface (it's easy if you don't count the tantrum). Our solution with our little girl was to get her "swimming princesses" that Santa brought her last Christmas and have her dive for them. Thanks Sunshyne for that idea. But her brother has been more difficult. Granted, he IS a year younger, so I'm cutting him some slack, but man, he sure can throw a fit when he wants to.

The breakthrough happened last week when Daddy came with us to the pool. We brought the camera and our little darling wanted his moment of glory captured on film. It took Daddy several takes to finally get the timing of the camera down correctly (our poor little guy got several dunkings but was patiently cooperating). But we finally got our proof...

Heebie Jeebies

My little guy and I were washing the car the other day when he reached up toward the driver's side mirror and said "Mommy, there's cobwebs." In my best "I'm not going to give my son a phobia" voice I said "Oh, those are no big deal" and took a swipe at them with my itty-bitty, might-as-well-have-not-been-there cloth. Imagine my shock to see a clump of dirt the size of a quarter fall from the mirror. On IMMEDIATE closer investigation (note to self - dirt clumps do not live in spider webs), I realized that this was not only a large spider, but it's legs were tucked in toward it's body and it was a VERY VERY large spider.

I ushered my son as quickly as I could away from the car without trampling him and lept the stairs toward the kitchen to fetch a jar in what can only be explained as super-human majesty. In the process, I called to hubby "You've GOT to come see this", which must have sounded sincere since hubby was close on my coattails by the time I reached the car.

Now, as a side note, I hate spiders. Well, I guess hate is not the right word. I can appreciate that spiders are good for the ecology of the earth and eat flies and whatnot.....that being said, I abhor, nay LOATHE spiders. Ever since growing up in Northwest Oregon we have been on bad terms. You see, in Oregon, they not only have poisonous brown recluse spiders but also the less dangerous but much more ugly and unfortunately for me, much more prevalent in my father's wood pile "Wolf Spiders" (aptly named due to their color, hair and size). Did I mention I moved AWAY from Oregon? It wasn't just the rain. As much as I also hate black widows, they travel in solitude so once you kill or, in my case, catch one, there is unlikely to be any more of them.

Side note aside, I cannot squash any spider larger than, say, the head of a pin. I cannot bring myself to feel or hear that squish/cracking noise they make underfoot. I can, however, smash, slam, stomp, flick, catch (in a jar), and attempted in high school to freeze them to death. Adrenaline does weird things to a person.

Flash back to me quickly trapping this dirt clump spider into a glass jar for further inspection. After some review online I have concluded that what we found is an Orb Weaver. Now, this may mean nothing to you, but perhaps a picture will help:See his two devilish horns sticking out of his back? Coincidence? I think not.

Now, mind you, this creature was the size of a quarter WITHOUT the legs outstretched. It is closer to the diameter of a fifty-cent piece with legs. Go ahead, ask me, "Was I happy to have almost grabbed this beast?"

No. I was not happy.

However, I am now in a conundrum. It is too late for me to stomp, smash, or slam this thing. There is still the adrenaline in my system when I see him, but that reaction window has long passed. I am certainly not going to let it GO within a 20 mile vicinity of my home either (what if it returns with it's friends for revenge?). Alternatively I am not going to put it into my vehicle to take it elsewhere to release because what if I get to said destination and the spider mysteriously is no longer in the jar? I would have to sell my car. Right there. At said destination. Because I could never get in it again.

Then again, I cannot freeze this monster because in high school I took biology. In biology I remember we collected bugs. One of the suggested method for killing our biology collection was by putting them in a jar and then putting the jar in the freezer (or putting a cotton ball soaked in alcohol in the jar) and waiting for the bug to die. However, there were strict instructions to make sure that the bug actually DIED before removing it because inevitably, as was the case with our class just like all others, someone would try to stick a pin into their bug (or succeed) only to find out the little sucker was still squirmy. Picture me 30 years from now peering into my freezer trying to decide if my dirt clump spider was dead? No. Freezing is not an option. Nor is the cotton ball method.

So here I sit. Unable to kill this Orb Weaver and even now I look over at him in the jar every 22 seconds or so to make sure he hasn't mysteriously disappeared (I might have to move). I get the heebie jeebies just seeing him in there, watching me. Just THINKING about him watching me. I do not even like the picture of him on my website. It makes me uneasy. This whole business makes me unhappy.

We are at a stalemate.

Superman

My son came walking down the stairs this evening, proud as all get-out that he had dressed himself in his pajamas. I could hear him coming (3-year-olds are not quiet walkers, especially on stairs), but had to look when he declared "Mom, I'm Superman!"...I wasn't sure how to react when I saw him dressed like this:
I'm thinking that he just FELT like Superman for having dressed himself (albeit in mismatched jammies with the shirt on backwards), so my response was "You sure ARE buddy, you sure ARE" :)