Webs

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"Whoa, Bob. Check this out."

"What is it, Mama?"

"I just found this spider on my hair. I must have walked into a spiderweb when I was outside."

"Mom, I'm just gonna say your hair is crazy."

Ready or Not

Bob and I were playing hide and seek: I count to 10 and he hides in the closet. This never gets old. For Bob.

"Where's my guy? Is he under the bed? No... Is he next to the window? No... Is he in the closet? Yes. There he is. I found him!"

"You found me. Now go count to ten again, Mama."

"...nine and ten. Where's Bob? Is he under the blanket? No... Is he behind the door? No... there he is. He's in the closet!"

"I don't want to be found right now, Mama."

"Okay. Well, I'll check back with you a little later." Five minutes passed and I returned to the closet. Bob was was laying on his stomach, head resting on his arms. "Hey, Bud. You alright?" He lifted his head and I could see he was crying. "Baby, what's wrong?"

"You never found me."

"I did. Then you told me you didn't want to be found so I came back later," I said.

"You didn't come back."

"I did. Look. I'm here right now." Bob rested his head back on the floor facing away from me. He lifted one hand into the air.

"Mom, please take this booger from me."

"Sure, Buddy."

The Opposite of Minty

"Mom? Can we have a meeting right now?

"Who?"

"You and me. I have something important for us to do talking about."

"Sure. What's up, Bob?"

"I can't like that spicy toothpaste. I need a different tasting flavor."

"Okay. We can look for a different one."

"I want cheese flavor. It's orange and tastes like a cheese."

"I don't think they have that."

"But they very should."

The Evil Eye

Image by Magnus Muhr via Acid Cow

If you weren’t one of the people driving past me as I walked to pick up Bob from pre-school last Friday, here’s what you missed: Me, an average-y looking woman in jeans, t-shirt, mom hair (pony-tail) and mom make-up (sunglasses) walking at a moderate pace, headed south. Suddenly, without warning, I ripped off my sunglasses, clutched my left eye in both hands, hopped up and down and loudly recited all of the colorful language that I know. I know a lot. I looked crazy and for a moment, I was.

There was something in my eye. Not a regular eyelash-dust-mote something but a burning-ember-branding-iron something. I jammed my finger into the corner of my eye trying to get my watering eye to water even more and release what I was sure was a smoldering Presto Log. It didn’t work.

By the time I made it to school, my eye was watering a little less but still throbbing. I kept my sunglasses on, grabbed Bob and made a quick exit. When we got back to the house, I poured a bottle of Visine into my left eye. Now my eye was throbbing, my nose was running and I could taste Visine in the back of my throat.

I held a wet washcloth over my eye as I WebMD’ed “sudden blindness“ and “eye disease symptoms.” My in-house physician, 4 year-old Dr. Bob, advised that I have a glass of water and a hug. I popped two Tylenols with the glass of water and the hugging. I then resorted to the action that has never revealed anything in the history of all things in my eye, I went into the bathroom, held up my eyelid and looked at my eye in the mirror. That’s when the screaming started.

There was a large, dead black fly in my eye. Not a little gnat, but a large housefly. After at one time experiencing an infant projectile vomiting directly into my mouth and reacting with laughter, I know that my gross-out threshold is extremely high. This meant nothing now. I was, to use a formal psychological term, freaking-the-hell-out.

Bob ran in to see what I was yelling about and when I explained through my whimpering that there was a fly in my eye, he advised that I let it loose in the yard because, “maybe the fly’s family was looking for him.” I clarified that there was a dead fly in my eye. Dead. Fly. In my eye. Because I killed it. With my eye.

Bob then suggested I calm down. He next suggested that I take the fly out of my eye. His idea seemed less invasive than my own idea, which involved removing my entire cootied out eyeball and socket. I followed Bob’s direction and after a few dozen tries, I was able to retrieve the fly corpse from my throbbing eye with a Q-tip.

I have now awarded my killer left eye the nickname, “The Exterminator.” Please call with any pest control needs. I’ll work on curbing the screams.