all images © Meghan Boyer Photography

Friday, March 1, 2013

Just Kidding.


This was the first of a slew of texts I received from our babysitter last night.  jk.  Just kidding.  About what?  That the triple threat has finally pushed her to the brink?  She's run away to never return?   Leaving the Triple Threat to start gnawing on each other when they run out of pops? 

I've know Miss Rachael since she was in the fifth grade.  She's now in her twenties.  And the official Triple Threat Babysitter.  She's been our sitter since Lil was born.  I heart her.

The next text comes in. Actually the first one.  I have an old phone.  It flips open.  And the messages come in pieces.  Sometimes the last one comes first.

You all owe me.

Yikes.  This can't be good.  Is she still seething over the time the Triple Threat locked her in the bedroom and Sean and I had to return home to set her free?  Or is this just a general statement?  Since we do owe her.  More than we could ever pay her.  For agreeing to be our babysitter.  And coming back.  Or is this about my push for our eleven o'clock curfew? 

Then came the picture.

The nemesis.  Way worse than the Triple Threat.

Miss Rachael is deathly afraid of spiders.  And we have lots of them in our basement.  I don't even notice them anymore.  I kind of like them in fact.  I talk to them.  And they don't talk back.

And here is how the rest of the spider story plays out.

Me:  Have Grady flush it!  I'm sorry!
Rachael:  He won't go near it!  It's a big one!  We tried to go out the back door but the deadbolt is on.
Me:  Oh no!  Will Dempsey get it? 
Rachael:  He's in bed.  Plus this thing has big punchers.
Rachael:  Pinchers.
Rachael:  Lil and I are trying to construct a big spider whacker. 
Me:  I bet the kids are loving it.
Rachael:  Lil is about to cry.  Grady is chanting KILL KILL.
Rachael:  And Doc McStuffins, that bitch, is singing about checkups!
Rachael:  We just smashed the crap out of him and broke our spider whacker.
Rachael:  He's dead.  And smashed well.  We shoved him in the corner of the top step.  I told them he's in spider heaven.

The whacker.  We've already put in for the patent.  So don't even think about it.  And the sofa stains?  Mine.  All mine.  Patented for years now.

RIP spider. 

And Doc McStuffins, please be a little more compassionate next time.  You have your own show.  You don't have to be so cocky about it.  You heal stuffed animals.  You don't save the world.   Humans need help sometimes too.  Your bedside manner sucks.

Grady practicing spider avoidance.

Top Ten Reasons Why I Heart Spiders
1.  They don't talk.
2.  I've never seen a spider poop.  Not once.
3.  They don't count the number of beer caps scattered around me. I'm so thankful I never taught my    children to count higher than ten.
4.  They squirt venom into things that annoy them.  Then liquify the sucker who pissed them off.
5.  They have eight legs.  Not one of which has a foot that requires a shoe or sock.
6.  You can lock them out of the house and the neighbors don't call the police. 
7.  When you're tired of being around them, you can squish 'em.  And people think you're brave. 
8.  You can flush them down the toilet.  And they don't get stuck.  Sorry Dempsey. 
9.   I know exactly where to find them.
10.  If she's having a bad day, the female spider eats her mate. Because she can.

My moving out pack.  For when the spiders take over.  Because that's how I roll.  Three for them.  Three for me.


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