“The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout.
Down came momma’s foot and squashed the spider flat.
Up came the sun, and dried the spider out.
Now the itsy bitsy spider will never climb again.”
This is the way the song is sung in my house.
I know, I am probably sending the wrong message to my kids. It’s not humane. If I were a better person, I would suck it up, collect the little bugger in a cup, and send it on its merry way outside.
But that would put me just too far outside of my comfort zone. Truthfully, I cannot even count the hapless Daddy Long Legs that have met their doom underneath my foot.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve had an unrealistic, illogical fear of spiders. And I’m not just referring to things like Black Widows or Hobo Spiders. Pretty much any creature that walks on eight legs sends shivers up my spine.
My daughter, apparently, has not inherited this fear from me. She is completely comfortable being around, or disposing, of anything creepy crawly.
Case in point: a few weeks ago, we were driving home from preschool, and I asked her about the most interesting thing in her day.
I was a bit surprised by her answer. Evidently, she was playing with a couple of the boys in her class on the playground. Along came a spider, and sat down beside them… and frightened those poor boys into a tizzy. As Bobo tells it, she went and grabbed a stick, and “poked the spider until it didn’t move anymore.” And then she patted the boys on the back and told them it was okay.
I loved this for two reasons.
First, I think it’s pretty funny that Bobo played both the protector and the nurturer role here. She gallantly saved her little friends from that nasty, icky spider, then looped back to make sure they were emotionally okay as well.
Secondly, it gave me an idea. I’ve decided that the next time a spider dares to make an appearance in my home, I shall do what any arachnophobe would do.
I shall send Bobo to go fetch a shoe. And I will ask very nicely if she will whap the spider for me.
Because I need me some protecting. And who better to do it than my four year-old daughter?
My daughter… my little superhero. It makes perfect sense. Because, when it comes down to it, there’s only one kind of spider – the little superhero spider named Bobo – that could wriggle her way into the confines of my comfort zone, or my house.
This post was written for Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop prompt. “Your Comfort Zone.” However, credit for the real inspiration behind this post needs to go to Bethany. Because she said it first. Plus, she wields a mean can of aerosol.