We’ve had some bloody big buggers this year. Won’t even fit in a pint glass.

I hate them. They freak me out. They move too fast. I can’t help it.
My plan was to raise my children with a healthy fear of these creatures but, as you will see, I have failed miserably.

Our first SRI (Spider Related Incident) happened when the Toddler was about 14 months. We gave her some cardboard tubes to play with. You know, the big ones from the middle of wrapping paper. She would use them as trumpets, megaphones, swords or a walking stick.  She also liked to poke them behind the telly.

One day, she poked, went to put the tube to her face but noticed something.

“Mummy!” She said, hand in pincer position.

“What have you got?” I asked, stupidly holding out my hand. She drops the curled up carcass of one of those super spindly spiders with the teeny bodies into my hand and toddles of, blowing her newly cleaned trumpet. Thanks child.

The second incident, and by far the worst, happened when she was about 18 months old.  It was a Monday night so we were at mums. I think we had eaten our dinner and pudding and she was becoming idle waiting for OH to finish playing footy.  She wandered up the opposite end of the room, bent down and plucked something up off the floor.

“RAISIN!” She cried gleefully, popping it into her mouth.

It took a second before I thought “Wait…mum doesn’t have any raisins…”

I jumped to my feet and ran over to her, jamming my finger in her mouth only to fish out…

Yes, it was a big bugger. Already dead with its legs curled under it before she got to it.  She hadn’t managed to chew it, so it was pretty intact. 

You may puke now.

The third incident which proves that my fear breeding is failing happened this evening.

She was emptying out the new blocks bag I made her when her eagle eyes zoom in on something and she picks it up.

“Spider! Look!” She was excited. I was far away. Daddy was closer.

“She’s got a spider.” I prompt OH. I’m a serious wuss about them. He leans forward to have a look but can’t see.  Just to be on the safe side, and because handling them is also beyond his confort zone, he picks up a block and asks her to drop it in so he can look at it.  She does so with relish.  She wants to see it crawling around.

He looks at it.

“It’s a piece of grass.” He says, tossing out the window just in case.


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