original artwork by A. Lee, an admittedly very poor visual artist, although, in Olivia’s opinion, one who is superior to Jackson Pollock – see “Everyone’s a Critic”
I worry that I may be inadvertently instilling into Olivia an irrational fear of spiders. I think it’s perfectly acceptable, and preferable really, that she have an appreciation of the spider’s potential danger while still being able to comfortably coexist with most of its species. I do not want to raise a Little Miss Muffet who runs away shrieking at the mere sight of a tiny spider. On the other hand, I also would prefer that Olivia not require medical attention because she tried to befriend an unwilling brown recluse.
To be fair, we do have somewhat of a spider problem. It’s not so much of a problem for us because my husband and I don’t really mind spiders. That’s not to say that I will not leap ten feet in the air if one suddenly sprints across my path through our living room, or when a spider which most certainly descended from the one featured in “Annie Hall” decided to surprise me upon opening my bathroom cabinet one evening. (Neither of those spiders lived to tell their versions of what transpired on those two occasions.) However, I am quite positive that many small, unobtrusive spiders are currently housed comfortably around our home at this very moment, cozied up in the dark, underside corners of various pieces of furniture purchased from our favorite local home furnishings store, which acquires its pieces from India and Thailand, places I can only assume are teeming with these eight-legged creatures, as we can directly correlate the beginning of the infestation to our earliest acquisition from this particular store.
Regardless of how the little arachnid immigrants made it here, my point is that I don’t mind their presence. As long as they leave me alone and remain hidden, I will leave them alone as well. Well, except for every Friday when I vacuum the house and their webs get sucked up with the rest of the week’s dirt and debris. Every now and then, between Fridays, I will encounter evidence of a particularly overzealous spider, whose handiwork requires immediate attention. Of course, the kid who misses nothing sees it as soon as I do, calling for preventative measures:
“Wow! Do you see that, Olivia? That is a BIG spider web!” We examine it together, mainly so that I can discern whether there is any imminent threat, i.e., a large predatory spider crawling around the web, inviting a curious little girl to reach out and have her perfect little hand bitten. There isn’t.
“Okay. Stay right there and don’t touch it. Mommy is going to get a napkin to clean it up.” I take just a few steps away from her and into the kitchen.
While hastily dampening a paper towel, over the noise of the running water I can hear Olivia repeat my instruction, “Don’t touch!” Perhaps she is coaching herself, giving herself a pep talk to abate her growing curiosity.
I, too, offer re-encouragement. “That’s right. Don’t touch! Mommy will be right there!”
I reenter the living room to see Olivia standing in exactly the same spot as when I left her. She watches as I collect the spider web in the wet paper towel and crumple it into a ball. She then excitedly yells, “Okay, Mommy throw it away!” She follows me to the kitchen, or I follow her actually, and she watches as I dispose of the crumpled up remains of the spider web. She slams the door to the trash cabinet with resounding finality.
***
Olivia sometimes likes to sit too close to the TV. She will sit on the floor directly in front of the TV cabinet, with her legs straight out in front of her and her feet shoved underneath the 3” gap between the floor and the cabinet. I don’t want her sitting that closely to the television primarily because of the strain it puts on her head and neck but also because, as I once warned Olivia, “There could be spiders under there, Honey, and I don’t want them to bite you.”
Olivia has never been bitten by a spider, but she is no stranger to an ant bite, so this is enough of a warning for her. She removes her feet from underneath the cabinet. Initially, I thought this was harmless enough. After all, I am not lying to her. There are indeed spiders under the TV cabinet; I vacuum up the evidence every Friday. But Olivia now “sees” spiders under virtually all of the furniture. While playing in her room recently, she was rolling around on her floor and her foot brushed under the skirt of her rocking chair. She then lifted up the skirt, peeked under the chair and announced, “Oh, I see a spider under there!”
Uh-oh. What have I started?
As one who, admittedly, has an over-the-top irrational fear of a different animal that I will not even identify here, I worry that my cautioning Olivia about spiders could cause her to develop a similar phobia. I certainly don’t want that to happen.
But for now, I have to think safety first, so I’ll stick with my current game plan. Later, to counteract any possible arachnophobic implantation, I’ll just make sure she reads Charlotte’s Web a few times. That ought to do it.
Conversations with Olivia 