My children suffer from a debilitating condition rendering them completely incapable of flushing a toilet. Ever. As far as I know, no research is currently being done to find a cure. It’s a very shitty situation for all involved.
In other toilet news, today as I was frantically running around trying to pack school lunches and herd children I heard Jesse ask, “Is this a brown widow?”
I went into the bathroom to find him pointing at a spider hanging out juuust behind the top of the water tank.
“Yes. That is a brown widow.” I answered.
“Are you sure?” He asked in disbelief.
“Yes. 100 percent sure. That is definitely a brown widow.”
(in horror) “IN OUR HOUSE?!” He seemed offended that a brown widow would have the nerve to come inside.
I continued to rush around getting children ready for school. “Yes. In our house. It’s not the first one. It wont be the last. Now please kill it before it wanders away.”
Jesse doesn’t like to kill spiders. He claims it’s out of an appreciation for all living creatures. That’s complete bull shit. It’s actually because he’s creeped out by spiders. (Note that I was sensitive to his masculinity just now and didn’t say he was SCARED of them.) I still laugh out loud at an incident that happened several years ago. Karis was under two years old at the time. It was bathtime and we were doing our nightly bath routine where we’d sing and dance as we filled the tub. (Hey, we only had one kid – we had all the time in the world to spend on dancing and singing…) I can’t remember our exact positions in the room just now – it’s starting to get fuzzy. I *think* Jesse was in the bathroom, Karis was just outside the bathroom door in her bedroom, and I was next to her. Suddenly I hear Jesse shriek, “Is that thing real? IS THAT THING REAL?!” as he pointed at a big spider on the ground on the bathroom threshold.
I glanced at the spider and said, “Yeah. It’s real.”
Jesse continued to shriek at me to “DO SOMETHING!” He must have been barefoot because he is usually much braver when he has shoes on. I went down the hall to our room to get a shoe. That’s what really got him shrieking. He was horrified that I left Karis alone with a GIANT spider. Apparently he couldn’t step over said spider to rescue her. (She didn’t need rescuing by the way – she was just staring at it for the three seconds it took me to go get a shoe.) I quickly dispatched the poor spider while laughing hysterically at Jesse’s angry scolding of how horrible I was for leaving our baby alone with a spider. To this day we still argue about who was the bigger asshole that night; me for leaving Karis WITH HER FATHER while I went to get the shoe, or Jesse for screaming in terror while his little girl got close to a giant spider. I’m even laughing right now as I type this. The echo of him saying, “IS THAT THING REAL?” is etched into my memory banks. If I ever suffer the misfortune of getting Alzheimer’s that will be the last memory to go.
Okay. Back to this morning. The clock is ticking, the kids are lollygagging, and there’s a big brown widow in the bathroom behind the toilet. I go into the garage and pull a small piece of cardboard off a box lid. (Even I am squeamish about squishing big, juicy spiders with nothing more than a tissue. I do it – but I prefer to have a thicker barrier when they’re poisonous.) I hand him the cardboard and say, “Here. Use this.” He takes the cardboard scrap, but makes no move toward the spider. Instead he follows me into the kitchen. “What are you doing?” I say in exasperation. “Go kill the damn spider!”
“I need to get my game plan figured out. One does not simply ‘go kill the spider’. I want a broom handle or something so I don’t have to get too close to it.” He says.
“That’s ridiculous. If you use a broom handle you are more likely to miss and she’ll run away and haunt our house, effectively making this a two bathroom house because none of you will ever want to use that bathroom ever again.” I snatched the cardboard from him and stormed toward the bathroom. He called after me, (and this worry over my welfare melted my heart and made me love him even more) “Wait! Princess! You can’t go in there without shoes!”
I marched over to the toilet, took careful aim, wedging my cardboard behind the tank, and quickly squished the brown widow. I double checked that there was no goo left on the wall, then I tossed the cardboard into the trashcan. “Did you get it?” He asked. “Are you sure it’s dead?”
I will note that whenever we find non-poisonous spiders in the house, if Jesse is home, he will trap them (in a multi-step process that makes the haz-mat suit clad scientists handling Ebola virus look like a bunch of slackers) in a jar, and let the kids name them. Eventually the spiders are either released, or forgotten about and die a lonely, sad death, to be discovered weeks later in a toy bin or on a shelf. I’d rather be squished.