I recently bought an adorable outfit for Goblin. It’s a cute little Halloween onesie with an orange, purple, and black tutu. It’s freaking ADORABLE.
The problem? It says “My First Halloween” on it.
This will not be her first Halloween. I don’t know what I was thinking when I bought it. My friend Beth says I should add the words ‘awake’ or ‘walking’ to the shirt so that it displays “My First Walking Halloween” or "My First Awake Halloween." I’d consider it if it wasn’t a black shirt. Dangit.
So… I’ll have to give the onesie away to someone and find a new halloween shirt. I found one with a spider on it that I think I’m going to buy. Turns out that it will be the perfect shirt for her.
Goblin likes spiders. No joke. She really, really likes them.
Sunday evening I was making dinner and The Husband had Goblin downstairs in the man cave with him. Our basement can be a scary place. I don’t like to go downstairs very often – and it’s not just because my treadmill always gives me the stink eye when I’m down there. “You never use me!” it taunts, “Have fun with those wobbly thighs of yours, you lazy butt.” The basement is a place where the kids hang out. As a result, it's full of things like legos, X-Box controllers, socks, and those stupid frozen ice pops wrappers. (GAAAH, I hate those things. Why do I continue to buy them? Oh - because when I'm at Wal-Mart and I see 100 of them for $2.00, I think - wow. What a deal. And then I curse myself for it every time I find those stinking wrappers everywhere.)
Anyway, I was happily enjoying a moment of peace (how sad is it that my version of "peace" involves scraping together a meal out of five meager pantry items while everyone else is downstairs?) when I heard Goblin start screaming. It wasn’t her typical fussy cry – this was a full blown “I’m mad at the world!” cry.
Goblin is a pretty happy kid usually, so I went downstairs to investigate. The Husband was holding her and she was hollering to beat the band. He was all calm, though, so I instantly relaxed realizing that she wasn’t hurt. “What happened?” I asked.
“She put a spider in her mouth.” He answered casually.
Yeah. She chased down a freaking spider and popped it into her mouth like it was a skittle or something.
I’ll pause a bit while that sinks in and your skin begins to crawl. Are you done shuddering yet?
HE HAD TO TAKE IT OUT OF HER MOUTH!! And here’s the kicker. THAT’S what pissed her off. Well, that and the fact that her beloved Daddy screamed “NO! NOOO!!” at her when he saw what she’d done.
The Husband is a pretty manly guy. Sometimes TOO manly, actually. But he doesn’t like spiders at all, so I’m amazed that he kept his cool in this situation. He asked me if I wanted to see how big it was and then walked me over to his home office to show me. It was curled into a postmortem ball and was still the size of a dinner plate. (Ok, ok, that might be a slight exaggeration. It was more like a salad plate.) Later on, I asked him why he’d saved it in the first place and he said he kept it in case it was a poisonous spider and he’d need to show it to a doctor.
Gack. I wouldn’t have even thought about that. I'd have flushed that mother effer down the toilet or smashed it into a pulp and asked the dog to lick it up. (What?? Protein is good for dogs!) Which proves that The Husband is much calmer under pressure than I am. He spent the rest of the evening using the shop vac to evict the spiders from the basement.
Goblin is fine. Still a little ticked off that her dad confiscated her wriggly snack, but completely unharmed.