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Not long after I met Dave I learned something that was (and still is) more than a little disturbing. He LOVES spiders. If he spots a spider crawling along the floor or wall he says, “Hello friend,” then goes and gets a glass to rescue the spider by scooping it ever so gently up and releasing it back “into the wild” as he likes to say. I guess what he failed to understand was that part of the allure of having a boyfriend- then fiancee -then husband is that they are here to smash bugs and, yes, spiders, into oblivion so I do not have to reside with them….ever.
The only time he ever deviated from his rescue plan was when we found the largest, crunchiest, gnarliest looking spider crawling along our kitchen floor. I mean, this thing was TROPICAL it was so nasty. At the time we had this wonderful cat, Bree, who likened herself a huntress (and proved it on more than one occaision). As I stood atop the kitchen table, Dave — as usual — ever so gently put our largest drinking glass over the top of the spider, but then he said, “Here Kitty Kitty.” As Bree approached the caged spider, Dave lifted the glass and Bree had herself a nice tasty spider morsel for dinner that night. I can still hear the crunching. When I asked him why this type of death for his friend the spider was okay (as opposed to being squished by a shoe or waded up paper towel) he came back to his old standard. “Well, the spider died in the wild, eaten by its natural predator.” I guess he failed to consider that large jelly jar styled drinking glasses to not randomly descend on spiders in the wild.
Last Friday, however, the world was made right — tilted back into balance, if you will.
The temperature had reached 65 degrees here in the Seattle area and so we decided to dine al fresco for dinner. As we were wrapping up our meal Jade – age 14 – noticed the smallest little spider on the table, crawling right along the edge. She pushed back her chair and started to do that high pitch talking that only dogs can hear, “OOOH, a spider… ooh….ooh…” Well, I said, why don’t you smash it? “Nooooo….!!!” she screeches. Okay, I say, you have two choices. You can smash it or you can pull “a Dave” and rescue it and release it into the wild. “EEEEWWWW,” she says. “EWWWW!!!” She then curled herself into a ball and started to shiver.
“Oh” says Ty — age FIVE — ” I know the choice!!!! DESTROY IT!” He then leans over with his napkin, smashes it into bits and smiles at me.
Problem solved.
I can now rest easy at night.
But we all had to vow not to tell Dave.
So, as Dave and I are climbing into bed last night, I take the opportunity to tell him about a couple of back-to-back nightmares I had the night before. I am not prone to nightmares but these two were especially vivid as they both dealt with Ty being in mortal danger and me, the mommy, being fingertips away from saving him but not being able to. I normally don’t talk about stuff like that as I don’t believe in putting stuff like that out there. But last night I needed to shake the dreams by telling my husband. He listens and does the much needed nodding and cooing. Then he says, “Ugh, sometimes I have waking nightmares where I imagine something happening right before my eyes.” I nod… oh, we are being so supportive to each other right now. “Oh yeah, like when you’re walking down the stairs carrying Emme and you have this flash of yourself tumbling down while you’re holding her?!?!” We sorta sit there and nod. Sigh. I feel satisfied in our mutual comiseration of morbid thoughts. And then Dave says THIS:
“Well, we all know about the double slit experiment.”
What-huh-huh-huh-eh?
Well, no actually, I don’t, I inform him. Oh, he says, you are just baiting me, aren’t you? Correction, husband, you baited me with your weird science-teacher talk and now, I fear, I am in for some rudimentary lesson in physics that I know… know I can live without.
Well, the double slit experiment is pretty well-known, he says. Great. Now I am being insulted as well. Perhaps I am the only person in all of the world who has never heard of this COMMON, well-known, probably on Sesame Street experiment, but, please, continue. So, he tells me that if you take a piece of common cardboard and put two slits in it and shine a light through the two slits, one gets a pattern on the opposing wall that looks like stripes because (and this is where I have to take his word for it) two electrons are interacting with each other to create the pattern. But, oh and here it gets really really crazy, if one turns down the intensity of the light so that only ONE electron goes through the slit, you will still see the same pattern on the opposing wall. Even though, he says with a gleam in his eye, there is only one electron passing throught he slits. You can imagine my chagrin at never having heard of this amazing experiment.
But it gets better.
But if only one electron is passing through the slit, he ponders, where is the other electron? The one needed to interact with the original electron and therefore create the striped pattern? I hold my breath. Well, says Dave, we can’t prove it yet, but the most PLAUSIBLE (this word is very important so remember it… plausible) explanation is that the other electron is in an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE. Are you saying that in some alternate universe I actually fell down the steps with Emme???? NO, but there are zillions and billions of alternate universes. And guess who came up with this whole thing, he asks? I shout out perhaps the only famous scientist I know, certain of success: EINSTEIN!! No, Dave says….. it was GOD. And this is all coming from a man who refuses to watch LOST because it doesn’t make sense.
A moment of silence passes and then I say: Go get my computer! Oh good, he says, you’re going to Google this, aren’t you.
Nope. I am going to blog.
Tomorrow we are going to analyze a Shakespearean sonnet before bedtime and then discuss Dante’s 9 circles of hell… one of which I was on during the discussion of the double slit experiment. Stay tuned.
When my Ty was born, Dave would actually try and compete with me on over who was the “most tired.” I would say, “I am sooooooooooooooooooooo tired!” and he would say, “Me, too.” And I would say, “But not as tired as I am.” And he would sorta squint and look at me and say, “I think I might be” and then I would say,”No, Dave. That is not possible. I am nourishing another human being from my (said in a whisper) breast every two hours.” I would say, “Dave, I am tired at my ROOT. I am tired at my CORE.”
In an effort to streamline things, we have now abbreviated the whole mess to I am “tired at my root-core.” And the phrase lives on. Oh, we can really throw down on this one. Dave has two jobs working with teenagers that require him to commute to two different cities and he usually works 2 weekends a month as well. Plus, when he walks through the door, he is expected to be daddy and uncle Dave and be smiling and happy and give me a foot rub. Me? Well, I am in charge of five kids ranging in age from 1-14. Enough said.
We’re tired.
Can I get a witness?
Most days I tackle our life with grace and aplomb. Not really. Most days I tackle our life with a gritty determination to do my best and not send anyone into therapy. To get all the hugs in. To make sure they are all fed. To listen to my gut. To pray. To breathe. To get a shower in, if not make-up on. To kiss my husband when he walks through the door. To call my mom. To parent with intention.
But April nearly killed me.
And it bled a bit over into May.
These last few weeks included a very sick one year old, three trips to the ER –two trips for head lacerations on two different kids and one of those trips was for me because I broke my toe. And if anyone thinks I am being a wimp about a broken toe, come on over and ram your toe into the mega vacuum cleaner we own. No? Okay, let me continue with my list. These last few weeks included sports for three of the kids — that’s Track, Soccer, and Martial Arts — a 1/2 dozen birthday parties to ATTEND and two to HOST, Dave starting a new job, and a huge project that I cannot even begin to tell you all about because it is just that top secret. I am also the room mom for preschool and for some reason I just signed a permission slip last night for Izzy to attend and help out at the school carnival. Whah? I know it is all just LIFE and I am not complaining. But last night I decided to up the ante on our “tired competition.” As I was coming home from a preschool board meeting after spending a total of four hours and 7 phone calls trying to restore our internet and a Costco run that had my broken toe throbbing, I looked over as Dave was pulling in the driveway from swim practice. I said to him. “Hey Dave, my root-core just BROKE!”
He stopped. Looked at me. “Well, okay… you win!”
A-ha!
I win!
I am the most tiredest of us all! I win!
I wonder what my prize is?
One time, a long time ago, I found a giant strawberry that I swear looked like Jesus. I suppose if I was more devout I could have made the news or have been invited to the Vatican.
Last night, Jade did me one better.
At dinner I noticed that she appeared to be blowing her nose into her glass of milk. “Jade,” I say with as much disgust that I can muster, “What are you doing?”
“There are bubbles in my milk,” she replies with perfect candor and seriousness. ”And I had to blow on them because there were really freaking me out cuz they looked like SKULLS!”
You be the judge:
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