Beauty and Spiders

Originally written September 2008 for a writers workshop

Fear in my head looks like the Robot from Lost in Space.

With arms waving, a sweet mechanical voice yells, "Danger, Will Robinson, Danger!" 

Instead of being a prison which confines, I consider Fear's advice. It no longer controls my decisions. When the kids were afraid, I would share the tools of overcoming. Our most remarkable victory was GirlyK’s fear of spiders.  

            It began when she was two. In Mammoth, spiders were rare. In this Central Valley town, they are everywhere. Those small sphered creatures with that bit and sucked and eight creepy crawly legs that seemed to work independent looked the creature from The War of the Worlds come to life. 

            She would be alone, in her room playing. Out of the corner of her eye that creepy crawly would dangle. Toddler legs catapulted her out of the room. With a glass shattering shriek, she would beg for someone to come kill it.We tried to explain that her shoe was bigger than the spider She could take care of it herself.

 She looked at us like we were aliens.

The final straw came when she was eight. We were working in the yard and she went inside to use the bathroom. Moments later, that blood curdling scream.

I raced toward the house thinking GirlyK had lost a limb. She sped around the corner and crashed into my stomach. Her body blurred with vibrations as she wailed,

"There was a GIANT black spider in the bathroom!"

With a deep breath to stifle the giggle, I took her quivering hand as we charged into the bathroom to face this gargantuan invader.

Nothing was there. 

I checked all corners, curtains and the trashcan.  Tears streamed from green eyes as she asserted, "There was a giant spider!  There WAS!"

I said, "I believe you. I think when you screamed you scared him as much as he scared you and ran away." 

She stood blinking, dumbfounded at my conclusion. 

The spring air warmed the chill of our winter bones a few weeks later at a craft fair.  We perused a booth filled with resin-encased insects. Necklaces, bracelets and earrings filled the space. I admired the encased butterfly wings when GirlyK approached me with a medallion necklace.

Lifting it into my eyes she plead, "Mom, will you please buy me this necklace?  I think it would help me conquer my fear of spiders." 

My eyes focused upon a yellow spider, about the size of a nickel. Its abdomen shaped into thorny points. I looked deep within those green eyes and thought,

How can I say no? 

I paid the lady. GirlyK proudly put on the necklace. Her brothers looked on dumbfounded. Holding her breath and standing a little taller, she led the way out of the booth. 

Serendipity visited a few weeks later through my friend Jeff Klingler. I looked through his online portfolio and loved his ability to capture the beauty of small, insignificant things. Casually scrolling through I caught my breath.

I called GirlyK from the other room. Her breath caught. Eyes widened and a wind of freedom blew across her face.

We saw before us iridescent beads of dew hanging delicately from a small portion of a spider's web against a liquid chartreuse background. 

"Mom!  That is what I want to do in my room!  We can paint my ceiling that color and make a giant crystal web over the whole thing!  I can sleep under the spider web. It will glitter and sparkle and be beautiful."

GirlyK spent the next weeks creating different ways the web could fill her whole entire room.  With liberation she could now walk into empty rooms without the fear of a creepy crawly lurking in the corner. She created a way to face a crippling, silly fear, and the result was a possibility to see beauty. 

2014 follow up: The reality of a whole room spider web was daunting for this Crafty Mom. She settled on a few different lighting options that hung over her bed. GirlyK collects spiders to this day. 

Of Toilets and Boys

Originally posted Feb 28, 2013


I had no idea. Raised in a house with one bathroom, five females and one male, I never realized the bliss I was in.

As chores go, cleaning the bathroom was a breeze. Heavy cleansers for the caked on hairspray and other nice smelling beauty accouterments on the counter. A quick scrub of the bathtub ring with scrubbing bubbles. Easiest of all was the toilet. A squirt of cleaner under the rim of the bowl, swish with a brush and flush. The bathroom sparkled. We spent twenty minutes tops cleaning the room.

I remember my Mom telling us about what her friends with boys said about their bathrooms. She would shake her head in disbelief and say, "You're Dad isn't that bad." The four of us would look at her and agree: how could it be so bad? A large mouthed bowl. The target is big enough. Boys like to shoot things so, how could they miss? Hitting a bulls eye is what they do best, just like Robin Hood.

Then I grew up and had boys.

When they were little, it was excusable. They were short, the lip of the bowl was taller. On tip toes they would aim and mostly make it. Little Cheerio targets would float, waiting to be sunk. M&Ms were the reward when the offending wheaty O melted to the bottom.Once in a while, the unattended seat would slam down on the tender weapon and screams of agony would shake the walls of the house. I felt sorry for them then.

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As they got older, it became a game:  How far away from the bowl can I stand and still make it? Or, my favorite;  Let's pretend there is a forest fire in the whole bathroom and put it out. The first thing in the morning cold land mines were special. I would giggle to myself, pull out the cleaner and get to work.

With pink rubber gloves on, bleach poured into the toilet itself. It is a bucket with clean water, right? Sponge dip into the cleaning concoction, the wiping and rinsing began. As the cleaning moves toward the baseboards, small yellow dots appear. Rinse sponge and re-moisten with germ busting liquid, I wipe the lip of the floor. Sitting back with satisfaction, I examine a job well done, only to notice streams of yellow on the wall. A snicker accompanies the reloading of the sponge. Scrubbing the lines turns into washing the whole toilet alcove. Perspiring, I follow the amber lines down the baseboards.  Sweating with discontented murmuring, the hidden puddles behind the toilet are scrubbed. Aching arms scour the floor joint and bolts. In full cursing surrender, the complete outside of the toilet is bathed. I am afraid to even look at the seat.

"I did this three days ago." I say to myself setting back on my haunches.

An archaeologist could find prehistoric bugs in the amber droplets encrusted at the bottom of the seat. The sponge is forced with a death grip into the bowl of bleach and wrung to within an inch of disintegration. Excavation begins and the grease in my elbow sprouts a leak. Soon all that is left is the fossil evidence. Laying the seat down, I scrape the lid, bolts and bridge that holds the bowl to the tank. Then disinfect the tank itself, including the top.

The simple task of cleaning the toilet took me 30 minutes!

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I thought, as the boys grew it would improve. I. Was. Deluded.

Discussing this over coffee with some girlfriends, comradere was thick. One girlfriend wants a urinal put into her bathroom so she can have the toilet all to herself. Another suggests a fly sticker next to the drain. This has been put into place in some public bathrooms: . Research shows that aim improves if men have something to aim at.

I need those flies. Maybe then, my daughter will understand what a clean toilet is.

Unicorn Poop Christianity

Getting to know God through a 7th grader eyes is a holiday of wonder. This year I served in our church's Jr. High. That first night, the sweet, church raised girls had their minds blown. Nothing was off topic. Farts, boobs, butts, boys and theology were on the table.

One night in talking about all things relevant to Jr. Highers we talked about Unicorn Poop cookies. I promised to bring them one night. Little did I know it would prove to be a marker of sanity for me.

The series for the year was an overview of the Biblical Narrative. Sunday morning was the formal teaching and Wednesday night we discussed. Most of the stories they knew from Sunday School. What was most amazing though was how little truth they understood. Discussion questions measured out as we sat together each Wednesday.

The discussion would begin with glib answers.  Quickly these were labeled "Sunday School" answers. The girls were allowed to share only one Sunday School answer, then they had to come up with a real one. Quickly it became a contest of who could say the cheesiest one. After great laughter, we would begin to discuss the reality. What does "A man after God's own heart" mean? What is sin? Does God hate us? Why did Jesus come? Was Bathsheba an immoral woman for that bath? Did Sampson have dreadlocks?

 This is where things became REALLY interesting. These girls, who had grown up in church, didn't understand what sin was. They just knew it was bad. The topic of temptation was a brain cramp. The concept of the Triune God, they had no clue. In our final weeks' discussion of what the Gospel/Good News really was, the faces were blank. What does eternal life mean? Why did Jesus really die? Who do we share Jesus with if we are supposed to only have Christian friends? How do I deal with a Christian girl who is really a bully? She's my friend, but...



One of my rules was: If we can't talk about it at church, we shouldn't talk about it all. We shared stories of my bizarre boys, anime and what inappropriate really was. Through the vault of truth, their faith was being formed. The flame of Holy Spirit's gift was growing. These girls began walking away from Cultural Christianity and into a budding relationship with a loving Savior. They realized that Holy Spirit lives within them and talks to them through the still small voice, scripture and situations. They stood up to bullies at school. Relationships at home took on a whole new understanding. Salvation became real. A sisterhood formed.

Last night was Leader Appreciation Night. All day my skin crawled with anxiety. I didn't understand or agree with making "leaders" accept forced accolades. With the tray full of the magical Unicorn Poop cookies in tow, I endured the games to win a prize for the leader. We giggled as the girls tried to remember "The Main Idea" from the year's sermons. They didn't win the "prize." All were dismissed for the last 30 minutes for freedom with the leader. The carefully guarded Unicorn Poop was taken to our group spot which happened to be in a popular area. All grabbed the glittery, shiny poop and began to share.


I began with my best bar voice to tell each one what I loved about them. Their spiritual intuition, teachability, humility, love for others and grace. When I was done, to my surprise, the girls wanted a turn to share what they liked about each other. The room full of vulturing 8th grade boys vying for video games and girls' attention, each one graciously loved on each other. Uniqueness was celebrated. My closing comments to them were :
I want you to walk away from this year with these truths;
Seek out scripture for yourself, don't simply accept what is taught from the front of the room.
Don't just become "Christian" friends but be friends who encourage one another in Christ.

In the middle of a game playing chaotic Jr. High room, they cheerleader shouted, "AMEN!"

I looked at what unified us throughout the year. Unicorn Poop. The magical, mysterious and mythological Sunday School stories were formed into a truth that was real and very delicious. That was all the appreciation this servant needed.