Biting My Tongue

From the time Michael and I first met there has been one constant disagreement ambling through our relationship; spiders.  Michael thinks that spiders are mostly harmless and unscary.  Michael is wrong.  Spiders are dreadful and utterly terrifying.  I will admit that his ambivalence toward the arachnid family is very useful when one of the little monsters is in our house.  He is the official Spider-Remover in our family and he does a superb job.  But that doesn't mean he’s right to not be afraid of them.  I allow his opinion only because it benefits me.

I cannot adequately summarize in words my fear of spiders.  On the rare occasions when Michael is not around to eradicate a spider and I have to brave the disposal myself, I literally get sweaty with fear.  My heart races and I brace myself for the moment when the spider will lunge towards me, attach its hairy legs to my neck and chew my face off.  My fear was intensified as a child when I made the senseless decision to watch the movie Arachnophobia at 10-years-old.  In the theater.  With surround sound and an enormous viewing screen. I can thank my older sisters for that.  My anxiety over the 8-legged beasts was also cemented around that same age when my dad made me touch a Tarantula.  His was a Bishop over students at Ricks College when I was young and we would occasionally accompany him to visit his ward members.  One girl we visited had a Tarantula.  I was instantly paralyzed with fear upon seeing it but everyone was goading me to pet it.  My dad said we would stop by his office on the way home and I could have a soda if I was brave enough to touch it.  I’m naturally a people-pleaser and I didn't want to look like a moron so I agreed.  Plus I really wanted a soda.  I touched the back of the hairy monster and blacked out for a moment.  It was one of the most terrifying moments I have ever experienced.  And I didn’t even get a soda because we were late heading home and didn’t have time to stop at the office.  The non-payment of my sugary beverage was almost as traumatizing as touching a spider with my bare hands.   

This disagreement between me and Michael has now spilled over into our child-rearing.  I tell Eva that spiders are disgusting and yucky.  Michael tells her they are good.  A few weeks ago Michael asked me to stop telling Eva spiders are bad because I'm encouraging her to develop a fear of something that she shouldn’t be afraid of.  I could see his point.  I don’t want Eva to experience the same breathless terror that I feel when I see a spider.  But I genuinely hate them and I physically cannot bring myself to tell her they are good. 

We went to the zoo last week and saw some Tarantulas.  Eva pressed her face against the glass and said, “Spiders.  Yuck!”  I beamed with pride until Michael corrected her and said they were good.  I remained silent.

The next day I was bathing Eva and she was reciting all of the animals she had seen at the zoo.  She said, “And spiders.  Yuck!”  Michael wasn’t around and I saw this as my opportunity to agree with her and deliver a speech with succinct bullet points of exactly why we hate spiders.  I could even use evidence from reliable sources like Wikipedia or Arachnophobia to support my position.  This was my moment to have somebody on my side in the battle against spiders. 

Unfortunately, guilt took over.  Instead of pontificating about the horrific nature of arachnids, I took a deep breath and corrected her.  I said, “Eva…spiders are good.  Daddy likes them.” 

And then I vomited.

I’ll let Michael have his moment for now but mark your calendars for Eva’s 10th birthday.  We’ll be watching Arachnophobia.  

Tulips, Ponies, and Sunshine

We had big plans to go to the tulip festival this Spring but somehow we never made it.  I say, “somehow” but I know exactly how: Michael’s been working long hours and I’ve been too lazy to do anything that requires effort.  Including cleaning the bathroom.  I think there’s enough hair on the floor to craft a wig.  Hmmm…I just grossed myself out with that revelation.  And now you know the extent of my laziness.  Thankfully my in-laws are coming to visit next week so I will have no choice but to clean up our pigsty.

But I digress.

Tulip festival.  I figured we had missed our chance, which was kind of a bummer since we had a card for free admission after purchasing half of their stock of tulip bulbs last year.  Then my friends invited me to go with them and I jumped at the chance to have something to occupy my time so I wouldn’t have to sit around my messy house.  And I was going to get in for free!  That is, until Michael offered my free pass to the missionaries.  They casually mentioned they were thinking about going and Michael opened his big mouth and said they could get in for free.  With my pass.  I begrudgingly handed over the card and then scolded Daddy-dear for giving away my golden ticket.  It all evened out though because I ended up riding in my friend's car and saved my gasoline for another day.  Luckily for Michael.

We had a great time at the tulips.  It’s definitely the end of the season and the flowers were looking tired but the kids didn’t care.  They weren’t there for the beauty anyway.  It was really hot outside and I lamented that I was wearing jeans.  I would have worn something more appropriate, but unfortunately my winter weight gain has made it so I can't button my Capri pants over my gut.  My penance was being stinking hot and sweaty all day.  I needed a shower by the time we were done.  However, I’m too lazy to shower twice in one day and made the prudent decision to ignore my disgustingness instead.  It was absolutely the correct decision.

There was a lot of fun to be had at the festival.

We played on the toys:

     

And rode the ponies:

 

And bumped along in the cow train:

It was a fun day with friends.

A lot of fun!

Now I just need to buy a million more tulip bulbs so I can get in for free next year.

Media Junkies

Saturday morning cartoons.

They’re riveting at any age.

Mesmerized

Well, this is one way to sit in a chair and enjoy Sesame Street.

Should I be concerned?

Easter, Yummy Easter

I love Easter.  I don’t love it for the same reasons most people do: Springtime, new birth, blah, blah, blah.  I love it for the candy.  Easter has the best candy.  Most other holidays just have regular candy with fancy wrappers -  but Easter -  Easter is unique in its offerings.  I love it all, especially if the name Cadbury is on the package.  My sweet Eva feels the same way.

She was so excited about her Easter basket.  She saw it from upstairs and screamed, “It’s a surprise!  There’s a bucket!  It’s a surprise!”  We bought her a few gifts and a pair of pajamas but she was most interested in the jelly beans.  She ate them for breakfast.  And for lunch.  When we tried to put her down for a nap, she had an impressive breakdown.  My dear friend, Klepich was over and he even commented on the severity of it.  It was a grand screaming fit. 

In addition to being Easter, it was also General Conference.  This is when we hear talks from our church leaders broadcast from Salt Lake City.  It’s a wonderful time to be uplifted and it’s especially wonderful to not have to shower until afternoon.  We had the missionaries over to watch the afternoon session with us and they fawned over Klepich like schoolgirls since he’s an attorney for Nike.  They were very impressed and wanted to get in on the employee discount.  (I did to.  Why do you think I’m still friends with the guy after 20 years?  I knew someday he’d be a successful attorney with an employee discount at Nike.) 

Our Conference tradition is to have monkey bread for the Sunday morning session.  We only have it for Conference and Conference is only every six months so it’s quite exciting when we get to rub our faces in it.  I had a stomachache in approximately 10 minutes – it was awesome. 

It didn’t, however, stop me from eating chocolate and a big Easter dinner with ham and scalloped potatoes.  I am not deterred by an aching stomach. 

In all sincerity, I love Easter for the Christian reasons too.  I do recognize the miracle of the resurrection and the grace of God. 

But, man!  I sure enjoy those Cadbury mini eggs.

Independence

I don’t know why I’m skeptical when Eva says she can go to the bathroom by herself.

Clearly she has everything under control.  You’d better believe I’m keeping track of how much money she owes me for all the wasted toilet paper.  I plan on collecting when she starts earning an allowance.  (Because that’s what all good parents do.)