Now one might think that all three of these things were related too each other in some way, but alas no, the only commonality they have is that they were all part of "the trauma week" I had a couple of weeks ago.
Story #1: Monday night I decided to let Christopher sleep w/me because we hadn't had much time together due to some weekend swapping w/his daddy. It was about 9:30 and we had just turned cartoons off and I was trying to get him to go to sleep when lo and behold my phone rang. It was a very hysterical Krissy (sister). Here's the conversation:
Krissy: "Karen, this has never happened before, there's never been a spider IN my house but now there's a HUGE one in the kitchen/I don't know what to do/it's HUGE!"
Me: "just get a big shoe and squish it"
Krissy: "I can't, it's legs will come up around it" (now this may not have been her exact words but I swear she said something to that effect about it's legs)
***Meanwhile during this conversation Christopher is getting the gist of what's going on and is getting worried. He starts to tear up a tiny bit. "Mommy, " he says, "you're scaring me!" "Christopher, " I say, "don't worry it's just a spider, Krissy is just over exaggerating"***
Me: "Well how big is it? Is it as big as a tennis ball?"
Krissy: "No, not that big- ***hysterical screaming*** RUCKUS (her cat)!!! Ruckus, NO! OMG Ruckus is playing with it!!!!" ***CLICK***
At this point she has hung up on me and I'm really pretty concerned. Thank God she lives right down the road because I hauled Christopher up out of bed and he, in only his undies, and I in pj pants, t-shirt, and barefoot grab the can of Raid from under the sink, hop in the car, and speed the two blocks to Krissy's house. We pull up in the drive way and Christopher is pretty freaked out by this time. I ask him if he wants to wait in the car but then I think better of that and say "Sweetie why don't you just come in and you can wait right by the front door." This is his response...wait for it.......: "No, I don't want to get killed!"
Ok, that's the funniest thing I've heard in a long time. Bless his precious little five year old heart. So I let him stay in the car, lock the doors, and proceed into the house, praying that God protects him for the what I hope is going to be short time I'm in the house. Of course the door is locked and I knock. Krissy asks "Who is it?" through the door. Really? Did it really matter who I was at that point? Ha! Anyway, she opens the door and presents herself as a character right out of KISS with tons of mascara running down her face from crying (seriously folks, she had a bit of a nervous breakdown here). "Ok where is it?" I ask. "There by the leg of the table" she directs me in a wobbly voice. Guys....the spider was MAYBE an inch long. Seriously. I mean I hate spiders too but she totally could have killed this one with a shoe. I spray the stupid thing w/my can of Raid and it shrivels up and dies there on the kitchen floor. In a pitiful voice my sister then asks "Are you going to clean it up too?" And so, because I (obviously) love her so much, I got a paper towel, picked the spider up, threw it in the trash and proceeded back to my car to get my poor child home and back in bed.
Story #2: So with the trauma at Krissy's house the night before over, it was my turn for good old fashioned ordeal. I get home from work the next night, Tuesday, with Christopher in tow. I proceed to sweep the laundry room floor, which I have to do every day because the cat's litter box and the guinea pigs' cage is in there and it gets messy. I'm sweeping and thinking everything is fine when I look down at the guinea pig cage to see Theodore, the black and white guinea, lying on the floor of the cage. And I'm pretty sure he's dead because #1 he's lying on his side, #2 he's looking pretty dull and stiff, and #3 his eyes are really dull and kind of half shut. Ewww. Awful. I gasp when I realize all this in the span of about 5 seconds and when I do, Christopher, who is in the kitchen, says "Mommy what is it?" I rush into the kitchen and start to turn him around from coming into the laundry room and to tell him to go play, but then I realize "Karen, (me talking to myself) he's going to have to deal with things like this someday and he's going to have to know that Theodore has died." So I sucked in my breath, prepared for the worst, and took him into the laundry room. "Sweetie," I say, "Theodore is gone."
"No, Mom, he's right there."
Now, if you're done laughing I'll tell you, I realized right away that I used the wrong choice of words. I then say "No, sweetie, he passed away...he's dead."
"Oh"
And that was it. The only other thing he said about it was that he thought we must have left the cage door open and the cat killed him. He seemed kind of mad at her too, until I told him that no, that's not what happened. Truth is, although I know the cat didn't kill him, we really don't know what did. The vet said sometimes it just happens. Lucky us. So then it was my turn to call upon my beloved sister, on the verge of tears (I took it much harder than Christopher) to tell her what happened and ask what I should do (I really had no idea how to go about remedying the situation and how to even attempt to get the poor thing out of the cage, I mean I wasn't going to have to touch it, was I?). So she came over with a shoebox and with one ziplock sandwich bag on each hand I reached down and quickly scooped dear Theodore up and placed him in the box, on tissue paper I might add. Krissy says "Move is little leg out from under him, it looks uncomfortable." Well, for one thing he's dead anyway, but I actually tried to move the leg. Yeah. Wouldn't budge. "Um, no Krissy, it's not moving." So the three of us went in the backyard, dug a hole, and buried our guinea. Christopher has never mentioned it to me again, who knows if he's said anything to anyone else. He does seem to have a renewed interest in the remaining guinea pig, Alvin. I felt so bad for little Alvin the next morning. He was just chattering up a storm and I felt like he was saying "where's my buddy?" But he has seemed fine since.
Story #3: It's the following morning, Wednesday. I'm getting Christopher ready for school and myself ready for work and we are running late. I put food and water in the cat's bowl, make sure Alvin is set and rush us both out the door. After the guinea pig incident of the night before, I was a little anxious all day about whether or not it died from something that could be passed on to the other guinea pig or to the cat. I talked to the vet who assured me everything was most likely fine and to just keep and eye on Alvin for awhile. I was appeased for the moment but still a little anxious to get home. I arrive home, alone this time since Christopher is with his daddy this night. Usually, Fiona (the cat) greets me with mews before I even open the door from the garage to the house. This time, however, I hear nothing. I go inside and call to her and she doesn't appear. I look around the house and she is nowhere to be found. At this point I'm freaking a bit. Alvin is fine, but I can't find my cat! Is she lying dead somewhere in the house? I then hear desperate mews coming from somewhere. I follow the sound and discover that I HAD SHUT HER UP IN THE FREAKIN PANTRY ALL DAY!!! OMG! The small, dark pantry. Apparently when I had gone to put her food back in the pantry that morning, she ran into the pantry, which she often does. However, whereas I usually notice and remove her before shutting the door, this day as we were running late, I must not have realized she was in there before shutting the door and rushing out to the car. Yeah. You're a great pet mom, Karen. Please no one call the humane society on me. She's fine now, as if it never happened. I gave her some extra attention and lovin that night. I think she's forgiven me. You never know with cats though.
Even though all this happened in the span of 3 days, it was enough to make the whole week feel traumatic. I hope I don't have that kind of "excitement" again for a looong time.
