We’ve been busy. Renovating, moving, traveling, having a baby, no big. Anyway, that’s not why I’m here right now.
I’m here because I just had an utterly terrifying experience after which my husband saved the day, and he deserves to be bragged about.
So it’s been a pretty normal night…Nolan went to bed easily (yay!), we ate dinner and I cleaned up the kitchen (sorta) before organizing something and writing letters while Kyle watched something on his computer. Probably It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia. I hate that show, so he watches it while I’m otherwise occupied, but I can always tell because he has these little unexpected bursts of laughter that just kinda bubble out of him and for a split-second I can imagine what he was like at eight years old, then I remember that he’s viewing one of the crassest things I’ve ever wasted ten minutes on and the image of eight-year-old Kyle immediately flees my mind. But that’s neither here nor there.
He got done with an episode and came over to check on me, just see what I was up to. It was a lovely little moment, very sweet.
Then I saw it.
It scurried across the floor, onto the rug, and under the ottoman.
My bum was immediately on the back of the sofa and I was stammering and pointing at the ottoman trying to tell Kyle why the heck I was freaking out. I got my point across, but just barely. He promptly rolled his eyes and decided that I was overreacting, but like the dutiful husband he is, he calmly got up, walked around the ottoman that was being held hostage by the intruder, and got a flashlight from the kitchen.
With the help of the flashlight, he determined that the ottoman wasn’t the only thing the crawly was out to occupy. This creature was like Hitler. Couldn’t be satisfied with a little win like Poland, oh no (no offense to the Polish). The spider just *had* to claim the couch.
I WAS SITTING ON THE DAMN COUCH.
My bum was promptly off the back of the sofa and my feet found a new home on the arm. All the while, my husband was crawling around on the floor with a flashlight. Once he saw it, the most validating words I’ve ever heard uttered escaped from his lips: “Oh wow…yeah…he’s a big one.”
YES. I KNOW. THAT’S WHAT I SAID.
He determined that the best thing to do would be to vacuum him up. At 10:45pm. With a sleeping infant in the next room. The next room which, by the way, has yet to be adorned with a door. Curtains don’t do a whole lot for noise reduction.
Quick prayer for a sleeping baby and a dead spider.
My hubby vacuumed that sucker right up. I suggested that it was probably an appropriate time and occasion to burn the vacuum. He compromised and took the vacuum bag out to the backyard to toss it out.
Upon his return: “Kill confirmed. The threat is neutralized.”
“That’s my man! Great job, babe!” I congratulated him.
And proceeded to remain standing on the arm of the couch texting my mother for about five more minutes. Just to be safe.
It’s currently forty five minutes after the fact. I have to pee. But that would require walking on the floor. Sofas are good for sleeping, right?