Give up the Good

The day began boring enough.

Play, breakfast, more play. Then we loaded up into the car.

Buckling the child into the seat is an ordeal. She always wants to go wherever we’re going, but she doesn’t want to be strapped down to get there. (The seatbelt struggle will be relevant later. Please bear with me.)

I eventually won the buckle battle. We back out of the driveway and head down the street. Less than one minute later, yes, one minute, while we’re still on our street, the child says, “Spider.”

No fear. No concern. Not even surprise. Just a statement.

I was less calm.

Our exchange went something like this:

“There’s a spider?”

“Yes.”

“Where is the spider, honey?”

“In the car.”

(Not good.)

“Where in the car? On the window?”

“In the car.”

“On the door?”

“In the car.”

(Not helpful.)

“Is it a small spider?”

“Big spider.”

“It’s not a small spider?”

“No, big spider.”

(Definitely not good.)

“What color is the spider?”

“Black.”

“How many legs does it have?”

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.”

(Hmm.)

(Though that’s not an unusual answer when there’s more than about five things.)

I don’t know whether to believe her, but either way, I’m a liiiiittle freaked out.

We continue driving because we’re meeting someone for lunch and I don’t want to be late. Ten minutes and one missed turn later, I’d forgotten about the spider.

She had not.

We pull up, park. I start getting out of the car. Again she says, “Spider.”

I go around to the back seat and ask, “Where’s the spider?”

“There.”

And points.

To an ENORMOUS bug (not a spider, though easily mistaken for one if you’re only 2 years old). It’s just hanging out on the ceiling. Its six legs were at least an inch long. I’m not even kidding. Had it actually been a spider, it would have been a daddy longlegs.

I swatted the varmint out of the car, screamed when it flew into my coat and danced a crazy jig in the parking lot to shake it out.

No clue where it went. (Awesome.)

Later, as I retold the story with amusement mixed with horror, I wondered something I hadn’t thought of earlier.

How did she know it was a big spider? Where’d she get that frame of reference?

I also realized that the beast was perched over my head the whole time I argued with her over whether she would ride in the carseat. That’s a good four minutes or so.

Moral of the story: Believe the child’s warning when it comes to spiders. Better safe than sorry.