|You can practically see the Typhoid dripping from its fangs.|
Thanks animals.nationalgeographics.com for my nightmares.
Thursday, 10 October 2013
Facing Our Fears
So decision day has come and gone. And it appears I still have myself a daughter and not a new mini roommate.
I received emails and messages asking if the basement troll actually chooses roommate, if I could be their mom. Everyone that had a chance to speak to my wonderful daughter told her she was crazy to pick roommate. Crazy.
You all scared her off.
Life is all about choices. Good choosing my little love.
I love being right. I also love that perhaps I am not a terrible mother after all and that I have raised somewhat smartish children. Spell check is telling me smartish is not a word. Screw you spell check I am way more smartish than you.
So while I bask in the warmth and glory of my super-hero mom cape once again, I thought I would ground myself by sharing with you a not-so super hero mom moment. I can’t have you in awe of me ALL the time. That would be unrealistic.
I am afraid of bats. Like really afraid. I don’t trust anything with fluttery unpredictable movements and they can get all caught up in you hair and shit cuz they are blind and nasty that way and hair throws their sonar tracking off. And I have long hair. They have beady eyes and bloody fangs and spread diseases like typhoid. They are the vampires of the animal world. Vampires with wings. Mean wingy flappy blood sucking animal vampires.
Not much can make me run screaming for cover with a hood tied so tight around my head that all you can see are my eyes. Except bats.
One lovely spring afternoon, the snow had finally thawed after a long dark winter and I decided to set up the back patio and enjoy the sun and fresh air with the girls. I even cut up a fresh juicy watermelon for a refreshing and healthy snack.
See…good mom. Wait for it.
As I opened the large patio umbrella after its 10-month hibernation from the recent Calgary winter, Olivia pointed out a ‘bird’ that flew out from its resting place under the umbrella. Note: Not a big fan of birds either. Same idea…fluttery wings.
My anxiety kicked in a little but I continued setting up our little picnic whilst chatting with my children about facing their fears. Like mommy and birds. But the damn ‘bird’ kept coming back, trying to return to the dark safe protection of the umbrella. But it appeared confused. And fluttery. And vampiry. And not like a bird at all but a freaking bat. And it obviously had typhoid and was flying directly for my un-protected hair.
And I did what any normal mother would do when faced with the threat of death via winged predator mammal. I dropped the f-bomb, threw the plate of watermelon in the air and ran inside shreaking like a wee schoolgirl and slammed the door.
And locked it.
With the children outside. Crying. Banging on the door.
My screams received the attention of my neighbor who ran over, as clearly the entire family was being hacked to death by an axe murderer. She saved the day while I quietly and calmly threw a c-note into the therapy jar and unlocked the door. Then I neatly folded my super-hero mom cape and hid it in the back of the closet.
Understandably I poured a glass of wine. After all it was the weekend and obviously the watermelon and the family moment was unsalvageable.
Perhaps some days I would make a better roommate than momJ