I’d love to tell you about the past week…about my business
trip to Denmark and subsequent culture shock, information overload, and
feelings of inadequacy over not being multilingual. I’d love to tell you about
Z’s birthday and the cake I made (from scratch) and how we celebrated.
But there is something that eclipses all of that and it’s
really urgent for me to get out there, in the open and off my chest.
We have a problem. A spider problem. And I’m really afraid
that it might actually be my fault. You see, it all started when we first moved
in to our German house. We have this big, wonderful basement that houses our
laundry room and two additional rooms that we use for storage. The basement is
a true basement in that it’s completely underground, so it’s wonderfully cool
and quiet down there. At least I use to think of it that way. ..
A few days after we had moved in and were done unpacking, I
was downstairs doing some laundry. I walked out of the laundry room and a
movement caught my eye. Hiding in the corner underneath the stairs was a small
spider, maybe only the size of a dime (or 5 Euro cent piece).
I froze. How am I supposed to live with this? What do I do?
Does he sense my fear?
Pull it together, Katie. You’re bigger than this.
I made up my mind to kill the spider. Then something stopped
me. The tiniest little twinge, this little unwelcome thought that curled into
my mind like a poisonous tendril wrapped in fragrant flowers. “What harm is he
doing there? He’s in the basement, not your bedroom. He’s tiny. He’s probably
actually doing you a favor by eating other bugs. Let him stay…” And then, the
clincher…”He’s one of God’s creatures, after all.”
I informed Z of the spider situation and he was
appropriately impressed that I let the arachnid live and he agreed that it was
probably a good decision in terms of overall pest control. So we settled in, we
and the spider, in a kind of nervous harmony. Every time I went downstairs, I
checked on him. He was always there and always appropriately backed into his
corner whenever I walked by. I felt good about this since it showed I had
established dominance and was effectively the alpha of the household. The human-spider
hierarchy was set and it was agreeable. He caused no problems. He stayed in his
corner. It was good.
A few weeks later, in a haze of hyperventilation and panic,
I sent this text to Zach.
“Umm. Something happened. Either our spider suddenly grew a
LOT or there’s a new spider downstairs and he is BIG and I’m NOT ok and I’m
going to kill him. No, scratch that. You’re going to kill him when you get
home. I don’t feel safe in my own home.”
(I just want you to know that I actually got goose bumps as
I was writing this. And I’m feeling a little bit itchy. )
Z responded with something that was not at all comforting
and not nearly on par with the level of urgency I was feeling about the
situation. I had already planned how to never go downstairs again and I was
even entertaining the idea of moving out completely. The situation obviously
escalated quickly. I knew Z didn’t understand what was happening, so I decided
to just try to hang in there until he got home a few hours later. I spent those
hours tense and jumpy, sure that I was seeing things out of the corner of my
eye and convinced that spiders were mounting an invasion on our house. I kept
thinking to myself “this is what you get, THIS IS WHAT YOU GET for being brave
and kind and generous. You get huge, terrifying, menacing spiders.”
I vowed to never make this mistake again.
Z got home and I wasted no time. “Go downstairs. You go
downstairs and kill that spider.”
And he’s all “Hi to you, too. How was your day?”
“Downstairs.”
So he goes and I wait upstairs, ears cocked to hear his reaction.
“Whoa. Holy cow. Oh my gosh, that’s a big spider. I don’t think I’ve ever seen
a spider that big. I mean, I’ve seen tarantulas, but….whoa. That is definitely
not our spider.”
I felt simultaneously triumphant and sick. Zach successfully
killed the spider and thus fulfilled one of the big reasons I got married
(right up there with heavy lifting and jar opening).
We spent the rest of our night…ok not true…Z continued with
his night as normal…I spent the rest of MY night feeling a little panicky and
saying things like “Do you think there are others? Do you think he killed our
spider? Where did he come from?” In my mind, there’s an army of spiders hiding
in the basement walls, each bigger than the last, just waiting for their
moment. Sure, it’s one thing to find them in the basement, but the minute I
find one in the bathroom or bedroom…I shudder at the thought. I kept wrestling
with feelings of guilt…if I had only done a mercy killing of our little spider,
then he would have been saved from what was surely a brutal attack by the big
one…if I had only killed the little spider upon first sight so that the house
would have been established as one of zero tolerance and the big spider would
have never been so bold to make his move here. If only…if only…if only…
Mostly I was just grateful that the scene of the crime had
so far been isolated to the basement. I hoped with the killing of the giant
spider, peace would be restored.
A few days later, as I carefully hugged the walls furthest
away from the spider corner, I glanced over and saw that our little spider had
victoriously (miraculously?) returned. I felt an odd mixture of happiness and
disgust. I was happy to have him back. Compared to the big daddy spider, he was
like having a kitten in the basement corner. But I worried about how out of
control this spider thing had become. I mean, what kind of person am I that I
willingly invited this danger into our home? I had a lot of soul searching to
do.
Weeks passed. The nervous balance returned. But then
something started to feel a little strange. I hadn’t seen the little spider in
a few days. I was ok with it…but my spider-sense went on high alert. Why is he
gone? What is amiss?
The answer came this morning. I walked down to grab some
clothes from the laundry room and nearly died. In a terrible, heart-stopping
moment, I looked into the corner and saw ANOTHER. HUGE. SPIDER.
“ZachZachZachZAAAAAAAAAACH!!!”
Z came to the rescue and killed the spider while I stood in
the laundry room with my eyes closed repeating “Is he dead? Is he dead? Is he
dead?” like some creepy mantra. I spent the next half-hour with a stomachache.
So it’s settled then. I’m buying some spider-killing insect
spray at the store. I think the lesson we can all take away from this
experience is this: If you mercifully spare the life of one spider, you will ultimately
take the life of three.
Cross-stich that on a pillow for the grandkids.