In the world of speshul ed, Spring is the proverbial season for Stuffin'the Bunny, i.e. I'm busier than a nine tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. ::Okay, there's no proverb about stuffing bunnies.::

In my world of work, deadlines are not to be trifled with and no excuse for being late, wrong, lately wrong or flat out stupid, will be accepted. Temporary declines in overall hygiene and appearance are not only acceptable, but expected. Otherwise, you're a slacker.

For me, this busy time means balancing my day between writing reports for looming deadlines and being available to my adolescent clientele. The latter trumps the former during the workday. This means I'm bringing the paperwork home. Every night.
In fact, I should be working on a report right now because it needs to be in the mail to parents by Monday.

But I'm not.

I've said it before that I kind of like it when it gets a little crazy at work, for a while anyway. Usually this giggin' on the wiggin' occurs when I'm able to just barely stay on top of it. It's a feeling of crazed competency. But I only get that special feeling when it's a fair fight. Right now it doesn't feel like a fair fight. I'm overwhelmed. And I'm not giggin' so much. I'm probably not even making much sense.

I'm way behind on my Blog Reading and emails and last night knit for the first time in a week. So, if I've missed reading about something real important, I'm sorry.

With the lack of anything else of interest to talk about, I have no choice but to bring you another Cakers story. ::To those of you who commented on The Cakers "old soul" two posts ago, I have kind of an interesting esoteric tale, but am not real comfortable posting it here. I hope to answer youse guys individually in email. Soon. ::

::No Really::

Arachna Kid
From a very young age, I have been afraid of spiders. Not phobic or anything, but if I'm caught by one, unaware, I experience the involuntary Oh-My-God-Oh-My-God-Oh-My-God-I-Almost-Touched-A-Spider dance. Once I became a parent, I did learn to kill, but only to save my child's life. While I never became totally comfortable with it, if I could get the kill without having to look at it much, or feel any crunching beneath the paper towel, I could easily move on, with minimal shudders. .

Earlier in the week, The Cakers is in the bathroom screaming. "Spider! Spider! "

My husband was not home, so I'm the reluctant hero. When I get to the bathroom, I see my girl on the toilet, and a spider on the wall, about two feet from her now curled toes. Not that I consider any spider attractive, but there are some spiders whose appearance strongly suggests "Stay the fuck away. Bitch." This was one such spider. It was not only huge, but it's legs were weird. The ones in the front were much shorter than the ones in the back, and they all bowed forward, like crab legs. I'm pretty sure it was the kind that flies into your face if you make eye contact.

Using my well-honed Spider-Face-Death-Differential-Math skills, I decide I could get the girl off the can with nobody losing they mind getting hurt. And then we would just report it to daddy when he gets home.

The Cakers was not thrilled with this plan. She wanted the bastard dead. After a tearful discussion, she relented and allowed me to scoop her up and out of the room.

Fast forward to bedtime. As I'm walking toward her room to tuck her in, she comes out of the bathroom. That's when I remembered.

"Did you tell daddy about the spider?"
"No. I killed it." She said. Way too casual.
"You did?!? How?"
"Well," she says, in her best, My-Mom-Is-A-Lameass-Chicken-Shit-And-Left-Me-No-Choice-But-To-Become-A-Spider-Slayer-At-The-Tender-Age-Of-Four voice, "I got a washcloth. Then I covered him up. Then I looked under the washcloth to see where he was. Then I pinched like this (she shows me pinching). Then I looked and saw his leg all crunched like this (she demonstrates by bringing a fist to her armpit) And he was dead."

Then she turned for her room and went to bed.

So, at least we know she's not an old Buddhist soul.

Now I gotta go.

May all your bunnies stuff real good.

Labels: I Work Too, My Daughter Scares Me