Mom to the rescue

I am DEATHLY afraid of spiders.

It’s been this way all my life, ever since my dad INSISTED on catching the spiders in my bedroom in a plastic bag which he SHOOK IN FRONT OF MY FACE before depositing them “safely” outside.

You can imagine my youthful horror.

My mom, on the other hand, is DEATHLY afraid of snakes.

So is The Swede, for that matter.

And just like I’m sensitive to even LOOKING at a picture of a spider, they are sensitive to looking at a picture of a snake.

The other day I was with my mom and we were inspecting the backyard shed, looking for my camping equipment.

It drives me crazy that she RELOCATES all my gear all over the place, but since it’s free storage, there’s not much I can do about it.

So there I am, digging through conduit, pool covers, and tarps when I come across my tent.

Pete (as I like to call my tent) has seen better days.

He’s been to four burns, two unSCruzes, and countless other minor camping trips.

I fear this may be Pete’s last hurrah.

So I haul out Pete lickety split and that’s when I see it. . .

A snake?

A spider?

A mouse?

What was in the shed?

It was a spider.

A big, knobby black widow.


I immediately freaked out.

I told my mom to back out of the shed slowly and I followed her.

She, thinking it was a snake because who would freak out over a teeny tiny spider, backed out rather quickly and asked, “What is it?”

It’s a BLACK WIDOW! I practically screamed at her.

Oh, is that all?

She casually takes off her shoe, steps into the shed, and beats the black widow with her shoe.

There you go!

Just so you know, you can be 44 years old, have two kids of your own, a college degree, and be a relatively accomplished camper and yet MOM STILL HAS TO COME TO THE RESCUE.

Just sayin.


Many of you already know I have a GINORMOUS spider phobia.

I scream when OTHER PEOPLE squash spiders.

What you don’t know is WHY I have arachnophobia.

Way back, when I was a young little girl, I didn’t like it when spiders were in my room. So I’d ask my dad to get rid of them.

My dad, being a vegetarian/pacifist who doesn’t believe in the senseless slaughter of animals, would get a plastic baggie and try to capture the spider in a bag.

Nine times out of ten the spider would fall behind my bed and I wouldn’t be able to sleep in my room that night.

When he DID catch the spider in the bag, he’d shake the bag in front of my face (yes, I know, not very kind to the spider), scaring me witless (yes, I know, not very kind to me).

Fast forward 4 decades and here I am, still scared of spiders but SOMEWHAT able to deal with them myself (squishing, flushing, stomping, etc).

I only OCCASIONALLY scream.

Which is why I have this fear/fascination with countries with LARGE and/or deadly spiders: Australia, South Africa, etc.

More than anything I want to go to Australia.

But have you SEEN those huntsman spiders?

Or, God forbid, a funnel web spider (which I think is a man killer)?

Someday I will drag myself to Australia, and I am sure I’ll have a great time, but believe you me, it will be with the thought of deadly spiders in my head THE WHOLE TIME!


P.S. My last run in was with a spider crawling on my neck in my tent trailer and I threw it across the trailer and against the front door. It made a THUD! FREAKY!


Somehow a spider got on my head

Somehow a spider got on my head.

Yeah, I thought I’d lead with that sentence just to let you know where this all is going.

I was working on my tent trailer this weekend, ripping down old curtains and sewing new ones when I decided to sit down and admire my handiwork.

All of a sudden I felt this tickle on my throat, like a bug was there or something.

I didn’t freak out, but I immediately reached up, grabbed the “bug” and threw it against the door of my tent trailer.

It bounced and landed on the steps out of my view.

“Please don’t let it be a spider…” I chanted mentally as I worked up the courage to check out what had been on me.

I leaned forward and saw this:

A big, fat, cream colored spider.

I nearly had a heart attack.

I wanted to burn the tent trailer to the ground to get rid of it.

My dad is the one who I attribute my arachnophobia to. He refused to kill the spiders in my room when I was young. Instead he’d trap them in a little baggie and shake the baggie in front of my face while I tried to hide from it.

Yeah, nice going Dad.

Anyhow, this spider I let run off. It took me 15 minutes to recover from the fact that this spider had probably been hitching a ride in my hair for some portion of the afternoon.

I’m still working on the tent trailer, but we came across a black widow on the outside of the trailer yesterday so I’m feeling a little skittish.

Try picturing me sleeping in this thing and not jumping at every little tickle and sensation I feel in my body.