A sorry tale... not for the faint hearted (or remotely hormonal).
So... a couple of weeks ago, the weather started to turn (my favourite time of the year, it has to be said), and the usual parade of spiders started to take shelter in our home. I know that in the UK our spiders are not all that impressive, and in recent years I have a kind of respectful disdain for them, as opposed to the screaming hatred I had for them in my youth. I am still, to my shame, an occasional 'spider vacumer' - and have even been known to shake the hoover afterwards, to ensure that they are properly dead in there (rather than just a bit dizzy). Anyway... I noticed that an oddly shaped spider, of the "Daddy Long Legs" variety, had taken to wandering around my en suite bathroom, in a melancholy manner. If it is indeed possible for a spider to be melancholy. For some reason, I was unwilling to dispatch said spider to the Great Dyson Rollercoaster In The Sky, and congratulated myself on my supreme maturity, making a decision to leave it for a few days longer before hoovering it up at the weekend. My magnanimity knows no limits you see.
After a couple of days of mooching, the spider, aka "Lady Charlotte", settled into a corner and built a very cosy little web. Again, for some reason, I resisted the faint urge to take her to task, and merely contemplated her moody grimaces and fat tummy (whilst brushing my teeth before bed). The next morning I was greeted with a glorious sight. Well, a sight, anyway. At first I thought that her web had been INCREDIBLY successful overnight, and she had managed to catch a trillion greenfly in her neat little web. On closer inspection (by teetering on the loo seat no less), I noticed that the 'greenfly' were in fact, a hundred or so tiny baby spiders! I had also noticed that LC looked a good deal slimmer (although still had a bit of a baggy tummy), and had that slightly shocked look that new mothers normally have. My heart melted.
So then, my mind turned to my holiday in Cornwall. I knew that in two days' time I was going to Cornwall on holiday, and that my parents were house sitting. I couldn't possibly mention to my mother *not* to dust away the spider's web, as that would be insane, right? I contemplated creating my own web with "What A Spider!" woven into it, but knew that my supplies of cotton wool and Prit Stick were limited (plus, how to disguise my handwriting?). So, I had to leave it to the Spidery Stars.
On return, I amazingly found the web still in tact! Since my Mum is to spiders, what Jamie Oliver is to Black Spot Pigs, it is nothing short of a miracle. LC had moved away a little, and the babies had grown quite a bit. (clearly her milk had 'come in'). So I decided to leave them there, until the babies were old enough to flee the nest. A couple of days ago, though, I noticed that Mummy was absent... However, I had read that after 9 days, Mummy spiders tend to abandon all hope of ever having a moment to themselves, and go on a spider retreat, leaving the kids to look after each other.
***THE SAD BIT***
At 08:32 hours this morning, I was in the shower, when I discovered the body of a female spider lodged between the shower sponge, and the pink hair conditioning comb (that I never use). To my horror, I identified said spider as LC; the melancholy look, the saggy tummy and the greasy hair were a dead giveaway.
As I gave her a moving sea burial with the aid of the shower head, I actually found myself looking up at her progeny, which seem to have scattered themselves all over my bathroom, and said out loud "you did it!"
I'm not entirely sure what the point of this story is. Is it an amazing story about fate, life, maternal sacrifice, the Universe and everything. Or is it a cry for help from a grown woman that has decided to document the fact that she is now reduced to having conversations with dead spiders? I will await the men in white coats with anticipitaion.
Anyway... at what age do you think it would be acceptable to hoover up the little buggers that have made webs all over my ceiling?
Friday, September 21, 2012
Thursday, September 06, 2012
The Trouble With Blogging...
...is that sometimes I am too busy living life to blog about it, and then it all kind of mounts up, and it feels like too much to mention in the blog. It's what I call 'bloggers block'; kind of like 'event constipation'. Anyway... I feel like I need to get this one out of the way.
Last weekend, Ewan was three. "Big Boy Three", as he refers to it.
I am hoping that "Big Boy Three" is going to be like "Fun Boy Three" (not three weird guys singing with Bananarama), but more fun than "Bloody Awful Twos", which were unspeakably dreadful - and partially responsible for my extended blogging silence. I was always taught that if you had nothing constructive or pleasant to say, then don't say anything at all. Iona's entrance into the world, combined with Ewan's apparent discovery of the word "No", and the phrase "Go away Mummy" whilst simultanously trying to pee in inappropriate places purely to cause me consternation caused a nuclear fallout in our household.
So this year, I thought I would do it different. We dropped the party. Perhaps it was that that sent him headlong into several months of toddler meltdown last year? Heh. Let's take that excuse and run with it. Or perhaps it was the fact that for the last two years I have thrown a huge party in his honour, only to find that I am doing it alone, and that I have invited far too many people. Since it is frowned upon to drink your way through a toddler party, I thought it safest to drop it. Instead, we had a lovely outing to Whipsnade Zoo... which was enjoyable, and almost entirely meltdown free. Only the elephants went on the rampage, and that turned out to be 'part of the show'. Watching Ewan's little face when the elephants pretended to ransack a 'man village' whilst Iona egged them on with excited whoops was worth it alone! Lightning McQueen barely featured this year for Ewan. Spiderman is king, despite the fact he has never seen the movies. He went to bed on his birthday with a tummy full of red and blue cake, and a pair of Spiderman socks (and a nappy and a dummy, but we won't mention those).
The highlights of the rest of the weekend were a visit to the Maize Maze at Milton with Adele, and her three children; Ella, Angus and Seb. Who says that looking after five children between two adults is difficult?! ME!!! Repeatedly! ;-) Honestly, the number of times I saw Ewan streaking past in a little blur as he ran between bouncy castles, slides and trampolines, only to find that as I turned my head for a second to look at Iona tipping into a mud pile, he had in fact gone elsewhere (out of sight) is too depressing to report (and I wold probably be reported to social services). They did however have a fantastic time, and we will definately be doing it again next year - but only if I manage to balance out the child/adult ratio a little more.
On Saturday, my parents came to visit, and we took the children to a car boot sale. Needless to say, that despite the fact that a) I could do with having my own car boot sale to get rid of the stack of plastic toys littering my house, and b) it was going to be Ewan's birthday on Sunday, I still managed to go home with a large plastic dinosaur, a plastic 'Woody' from toy story, and an all singing and dancing farm set. Not to mention a 'french' painted coal scuttle, that has received nothing but sneering looks from one of the male householders since it arrived home ;)
Today though I am feeling a little sad. Ewan is having his last day at his nursery. The nursery that have looked after him since he was 7 months old, and where he feels he fits in. We are dragging him kicking and screaming to a new nursery, which has outstanding Ofsted reports and is half the price. A no brainer really... I still can't help feeling a little bit heartbroken for him - especially as he is completely oblivious to the fact that today *is* his last day. We have told him, but he doesn't really understand it. I know that life will be full of much harder decisions than this... but still.
Last weekend, Ewan was three. "Big Boy Three", as he refers to it.
I am hoping that "Big Boy Three" is going to be like "Fun Boy Three" (not three weird guys singing with Bananarama), but more fun than "Bloody Awful Twos", which were unspeakably dreadful - and partially responsible for my extended blogging silence. I was always taught that if you had nothing constructive or pleasant to say, then don't say anything at all. Iona's entrance into the world, combined with Ewan's apparent discovery of the word "No", and the phrase "Go away Mummy" whilst simultanously trying to pee in inappropriate places purely to cause me consternation caused a nuclear fallout in our household.
So this year, I thought I would do it different. We dropped the party. Perhaps it was that that sent him headlong into several months of toddler meltdown last year? Heh. Let's take that excuse and run with it. Or perhaps it was the fact that for the last two years I have thrown a huge party in his honour, only to find that I am doing it alone, and that I have invited far too many people. Since it is frowned upon to drink your way through a toddler party, I thought it safest to drop it. Instead, we had a lovely outing to Whipsnade Zoo... which was enjoyable, and almost entirely meltdown free. Only the elephants went on the rampage, and that turned out to be 'part of the show'. Watching Ewan's little face when the elephants pretended to ransack a 'man village' whilst Iona egged them on with excited whoops was worth it alone! Lightning McQueen barely featured this year for Ewan. Spiderman is king, despite the fact he has never seen the movies. He went to bed on his birthday with a tummy full of red and blue cake, and a pair of Spiderman socks (and a nappy and a dummy, but we won't mention those).
 |
| Spiderman, Spiderman, does whatever a spider can... |
The highlights of the rest of the weekend were a visit to the Maize Maze at Milton with Adele, and her three children; Ella, Angus and Seb. Who says that looking after five children between two adults is difficult?! ME!!! Repeatedly! ;-) Honestly, the number of times I saw Ewan streaking past in a little blur as he ran between bouncy castles, slides and trampolines, only to find that as I turned my head for a second to look at Iona tipping into a mud pile, he had in fact gone elsewhere (out of sight) is too depressing to report (and I wold probably be reported to social services). They did however have a fantastic time, and we will definately be doing it again next year - but only if I manage to balance out the child/adult ratio a little more.
On Saturday, my parents came to visit, and we took the children to a car boot sale. Needless to say, that despite the fact that a) I could do with having my own car boot sale to get rid of the stack of plastic toys littering my house, and b) it was going to be Ewan's birthday on Sunday, I still managed to go home with a large plastic dinosaur, a plastic 'Woody' from toy story, and an all singing and dancing farm set. Not to mention a 'french' painted coal scuttle, that has received nothing but sneering looks from one of the male householders since it arrived home ;)
Today though I am feeling a little sad. Ewan is having his last day at his nursery. The nursery that have looked after him since he was 7 months old, and where he feels he fits in. We are dragging him kicking and screaming to a new nursery, which has outstanding Ofsted reports and is half the price. A no brainer really... I still can't help feeling a little bit heartbroken for him - especially as he is completely oblivious to the fact that today *is* his last day. We have told him, but he doesn't really understand it. I know that life will be full of much harder decisions than this... but still.
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