Since I’m still neck-deep in the book stuff and haven’t had time for a normal blog post over the past week, I thought I’d share a doodle I’m including in the book.
(The other doodles have stories or anecdotes. This is just a doodle I used to close out the chapter that has stories about me.)
For a couple of housekeeping type things–
I am creating a mailing list. (That’s on the list of things you’re supposed to do when you write a book, so I’m checking that off.) I’ll use it to send out a weekly blog recap and book updates and promotions. This is mostly to avoid cluttering up the blog with that sort of stuff later. You can click this link to subscribe to the mailing list.
If you want to help me promote the book once I have a release date, email me at dorkymomdoodles (at) gmail.com.
And that’s that. The awkward self-promotion crap is over for now.
I’m afraid of spiders. Like, deathly afraid. Ever since I watched the movie Arachnophobia as a kid, I’ve been terrified. I spent a year constantly searching for spider bites on my body after watching that movie. Usually the “bites” ended up being some of my smaller freckles. Unfortunately for me, I’m covered with freckles, so the whole “oh-my-god-I’m-dying” terror thing happened a lot. Not fun.
As far as I’m concerned, all spiders are either brown recluses or black widows (or something else that is equally deadly). Doesn’t matter what color or size they are; as long as they have eight legs, they should die. Sometimes my son brings up how great Charlotte from Charlotte’s Web is when I’m hating on spiders — he thinks he can bring me to the other side because of a fictional character. Newsflash, son — she doesn’t get a pass just because she saved Wilbur. And by “saving Wilbur,” what we really mean is she deprived the people of their bacon, and that’s much worse than lurking in a corner.
My husband is usually the one who handles spider business around the house. The first few times I screamed for him to come help me because I found a brown recluse, he dashed in, ready to save me and slay the beast. He was my knight in shining armor, just of the “wears boxer shorts and a wife beater” variety. And his sword was a flip flop. Otherwise, he was exactly like a knight in shining armor. Once my husband began realizing that my brown recluses were usually something less lethal, he stopped being so quick to run to my side. Now he comes when he pleases and grabs my shoes to kill with. Clearly we aren’t in the honeymoon phase any longer.
Now that you know I generally don’t care for spiders, let’s get into what this post is really about.
Thursday didn’t start out great for me. I went to bed the night before with heart palpitations and an on edge feeling, presumably from anxiety. Anxious about what, I don’t know — sometimes anxiety disorders like to keep you guessing. And then I woke up that morning with a sharp pain in my upper abdomen that went through to my back. That combined with the still present heart palpitations concerned me a bit since I had recently read an article about how women’s heart attack symptoms can be different from men’s. I took some Tums, ibuprofen, and aspirin to cover my bases and decided to wait and see if it got better or worse.
The pain eased up after a few hours, and I was able to go about my day. My husband, who works from home most of the time, had to drive in to Charlotte, so I was home alone with the toddler. We colored, we played house, and we made stuff with Play-Doh. After making 524 Play-Doh pizzas, I decided it was time to move on. I put on a Daniel Tiger in the living room for Baby Girl to watch while I started tidying up. The first thing on my list was sweeping up all of the Play-Doh bits from the floor. Well, Play-Doh bits and the Lucky Charms bits and Cheerios bits that didn’t get swept up earlier, because of laziness.
I reached under the table with the broom to slide out some of the cereal and PlayDoh bits, and as I looked down at what I was sweeping out, a big damn spider dashed out and began running at me.
Considering the heart concerns from earlier that morning, this was very clever timing on behalf of the spider, who was clearly hellbent on killing me.
I’m not going to doodle what happened next, because we have surveillance cams in our homes. The camera in the kitchen caught pretty much everything, including my blood curdling screams. Typically I wouldn’t post a video of myself in a public space in a million years, for many, many reasons, but I think the funny in this video is worth it being put up for a day or so. (Bonus: this video will verify that I look just as much like a bum in real life as I do in my doodles.)
Now that you’ve made it through the video, let’s continue, since there’s a little left to this post.
Immediately after the eight-legged creature was murdered, I started texting my husband about the ordeal.
It was definitely a wolf spider. Since my husband likes to act like wolf spiders aren’t anything to worry about, I’m gonna leave this right here —
Like wolves, they chase and leap on their prey.
Chase. Leap. That’s the stuff nightmares are made of. Maybe their bites won’t kill you or cause your skin to rot, but the next time you feel something brush against your face in the dark, just know it could be a wolf spider leaping on you.
My children are both having fun with this ordeal. Baby Girl has teased me about being afraid of the spider, showed Little Man how I screamed, and even told me that the dead spider was alive and moving towards me. What kind of three-year-old am I raising? Little Man watched the video a dozen times before bedtime last night. He went back and forth between saying I’m the [unintentionally] funniest mom ever and that I’m too dramatic. Hmph.
For further funny spider fear stories, check out Becca Barracuda’s Bug Juice post.
I know I’m not the only person to freak the hell out over a spider, so what’s your story?
The family and I are headed to Myrtle Beach tomorrow morning. Well, the plan is to head out tomorrow morning, but if I know my slow, disorganized family well at all, then we probably won’t make it out the door until after lunchtime. Drama over how many toys a child is allowed to bring will almost surely happen. If we’re lucky, though, maybe we’ll remember to bring our underwear, bras, and swimsuits. Somehow those things always get left behind and a trip to Target is necessary. Sometimes I think my husband believes I intentionally forget things just so we can stop at Target, but that isn’t the case.
Those of you who read my post about my and my husband’s anniversary trip know that we had a relaxing time at Myrtle Beach a week and a half ago. It was amazing. No “I hate the water!” or “I hate the sand!” or “Hey, I’ve got poops!” to get in the way of relaxation. (Well, no poops that I had to manage, anyway.)
This coming week will be different. Very different. I have no doubt that we’ll have an amazing time and make some wonderful memories, but y’all know how it is with little kids. They’ll try their damnedest to make sure relaxing doesn’t happen and make sure the bags under your eyes pre-vacation are twice as big post-vacation. Mama’s got an umbrella drink? Let’s get sand in it. Daddy’s trying to listen to music for a few minutes? Let’s get sand on him. We’re all nice and clean and ready to go out for a good meal? Let’s get sand coordinate meltdowns of epic proportions so Mom and Dad get to do the walk of shame and haul us out.
Things are definitely gonna change.
Bye bye, relaxation.
Bye bye, voodoo juice bucket (most likely).
Okay, maybe the shade and the beach bag won’t really disappear, but only crossing out one or two things wasn’t as dramatic.
Hello, family vacation.
And hello, judgmental strangers.
Not pictured is the fishing rod and net that Little Man wants to bring. I imagine that he’ll inspire a doodle with those.
I’ve never been any good at drawing, to the point that I think my family wants to say, “Tell me about this, Mom,” to spare my feelings when I attempt to draw more than a stick figure. Despite this, I recently got an iPad Pro and discovered that Ireally enjoy doodling on it. It’s fun and relaxing and gives me something else to do beside zoning out to Netflix after the kids go to bed.
“This is adorably bad,” my husband told me when I showed him the doodle I’m sharing below. That’s better than just “bad,” right? And clearly, when he said “adorably bad,” he meant “start a blog and share it with the world.” Or something like that.
At any rate, I’m going with it. Maybe as I keep doodling, I’ll go from “adorably bad” to “not so bad.” We’ll see.