So when Ella came to our room this morning and announced that there was a spider in her room, I knew it could really be any number of things. I amused her by listening to her remarkably long story about it (something about waking up and seeing it and being scared but not being scared and then what seemed like million additional details that I heard but didn't really hear). It was a typical Ella story - the girl can talk... about anything... A LOT.
Anyway, after the excruciating level of detail came to an end, she asked me this, "Can I use a wipe to get it?"
Apparently, one of those million details was that she wanted to "get" it, which, and I'm not sure that she realized this, meant that she wanted to kill it. In my 40+ years, I've learned that no spider survives being picked up by a tissue... or in this case, a wipe.
I, of course, told her that, yes, she could use a wipe to "get" the spider. At least she asked. Many a time I've picked up a full pile of dispensed, unused wipes left behind by my unruly kids.
With the approval to "get" the spider with a wipe, Ella darted off to her room as Dan and I continued to get ready for work. She returned a couple of minutes later and proudly showed us her victim. In her hand was a wadded-up wipe. She held it out and unraveled it to reveal the spider that she had "gotten." It was one of the small, shredded piece of bark variety of spiders.
Dan and I both praised her for her achievement -- afterall, I know there are plenty of adults who are afraid of spiders, whatever kind they may be. Dan said something to the effect of "nice job... you got one of its legs," which I found to be pretty funny -- did he not know that she technically did not "get" (any piece of) a spider?
I never did call him on it and see if he knew it wasn't really a spider -- there really was no time. That we managed to stay engaged in Ella's getting of the spider amid the mad rush to get ready and out the door this morning was almost as impressive as Ella getting the spider... or whatever it really was.
Anyway, after the excruciating level of detail came to an end, she asked me this, "Can I use a wipe to get it?"
Apparently, one of those million details was that she wanted to "get" it, which, and I'm not sure that she realized this, meant that she wanted to kill it. In my 40+ years, I've learned that no spider survives being picked up by a tissue... or in this case, a wipe.
I, of course, told her that, yes, she could use a wipe to "get" the spider. At least she asked. Many a time I've picked up a full pile of dispensed, unused wipes left behind by my unruly kids.
With the approval to "get" the spider with a wipe, Ella darted off to her room as Dan and I continued to get ready for work. She returned a couple of minutes later and proudly showed us her victim. In her hand was a wadded-up wipe. She held it out and unraveled it to reveal the spider that she had "gotten." It was one of the small, shredded piece of bark variety of spiders.
Dan and I both praised her for her achievement -- afterall, I know there are plenty of adults who are afraid of spiders, whatever kind they may be. Dan said something to the effect of "nice job... you got one of its legs," which I found to be pretty funny -- did he not know that she technically did not "get" (any piece of) a spider?
I never did call him on it and see if he knew it wasn't really a spider -- there really was no time. That we managed to stay engaged in Ella's getting of the spider amid the mad rush to get ready and out the door this morning was almost as impressive as Ella getting the spider... or whatever it really was.
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