Guess what happens when you talk about some kind of annoying thing that your kid does in the middle of the night? She changes it to something significantly more annoying, of course. Last night was not so much about the "Good night!" at 3:30 as it was about the "Woe is me, however shall I survive?" It took hugs, kisses, and a pacifier to convince Alexis that I needed to be asleep, not standing in her room holding conversations that I only partially understand. (Yes, I admit it. There was still one lonely pacifier in this house. In a moment of absolute desperation I seemed to incredibly gain the ability to find it. In the dark. Despite the fact that I could have sworn that I threw it away the last time I encountered it. This time I KNOW I threw it away. Promise.)

I finally returned to bed at 4:00. Strangely, I was really glad when the alarm went off at 5:00 because it interrupted a bad dream. The kind of bad dream where there is a really large spider crawling on your neck and you're not freaking out because it's a dream and in your dreams you're not altogether sane. During waking hours I would have been shrieking, screaming, and running for dear life if there was a large spider on me. So the interruption was welcome because it kept me from having to dream about being a crazy lady that stands still while spiders crawl on her. *Shudder*

So I went from spider dreams to the shower, where I was delighted to see that I had been joined by a REAL LIFE large spider. He (she?) was between the shower curtain and transparent liner, taunting me by walking around just inches from my real life neck. In plain sight. At a time of day when I couldn't scream like a sissy-girl. Which is probably just as well because my husband? Not a spider kind of guy. He'll do every load of laundry in the house but he will not rid my bathroom of some itty- bitty spider. While this particular spider was of the large variety, it's all the same. He's useless when it comes to spider-busting.

I was reminded of that when I was cooking dinner and a spider dropped down from the vent, right onto the stove. That particular itty-bitty spider met an ugly sort of death because, well, the means were right there in front of me. And the husband? He disappeared the second I said "Darn it! There's another spider!" (Let's pretend I said "Darn" and not that other word that is far more likely, mmkay?) Good thing it was his egg sandwich I was frying at that moment, now isn't it?