Simple Horrors
I agreed to camp out with the children the other night in the playroom. With Bug's knees in my back, I clung to the edge of the trundle and lay there half asleep wondering if there'd be any complaints if I abandoned ship and returned to my own rightful sleeping quarters.

Then I felt a tickle move swiftly across my arm.

And then across my ankle.

And then back on my arm.

Finally awake, I stopped the reflexive swishing at it and looked. There in the half light spilling in from the laundry room, eight eyes stared back at me from their perch on my elbow.

OK, so that picture is from Wikipedia. I did NOT do anything like calmly get a camera to photograph the nightmarish beast on my arm. Almost as soon as I was awake enough to realize what it was, she was gone, scurrying down the edge of the mattress and disappearing into the space between it and the wooden frame.

Just for good measure, however, I went ahead and leaped three feet in the air, yelped and brushed myself off vigorously. All to the great delight of Little Bear who giggled and squealed as his mother danced around the playroom brushing off the memory of the spider she knew was already gone but couldn't help further ridding herself of.

I caught my breath, but Bear was still rolling around, giggling and saying,
That was so great, mom!
I retorted,
There was a spider on me. Spiders aren't supposed to hunt on me.
And this is where I really had to wonder about my son. Expecting some sort of sympathy, or maybe an eek, this is what I received instead:
I know, mom. I watched it crawl up the bed.

Please tell me it is just because he is a boy and I'm not raising some sort of freakish monster. 'Cause I knew this other kid once that we decided really was not headed anywhere good. At seven he greeted guests with his pet wolf spider. He held it gently between his grubby little fingers and described its various parts and habits to anyone who would listen. That wasn't so bad, but then came the bit that sent chills up my spine.
Would you like to experience a spider bite?
Like, no! What kind of an invitation is that to a guest in your home? It'''s just plain disturbing.

But watching a spider crawl on your mom and laughing as she dances around the room isn't in the same category, is it? 'Cause I know my boy may not be entirely "normal" but deranged has never crossed my mind.

EEEK! Still thinking of that thing crawling around on me while I was asleep, hunting as if I were the Great Plains and she the hungry wolf. EEK!