AUTHOR: Carolyn Savage | POSTED: September 3, 2013 | COMMENTS: 8 Comments
CATEGORIES: 1015 The River, Glass City Parent,
Disclaimer: There is some strong language in this post. Allow me to apologize in advance but please understand…this post is about snakes, which in my book, conjures cursing. You’ve been warned, pearl-clutchers.
It seems we are settling into a new normal around the Savage household. Back-to-school has been replaced with schedules as usual; routines have stabilized to include early mornings and consistent bedtimes; and everyone seems to have settled into a good flow. Even the laundry is caught up and put away.
That, my friends, is a miracle.
It’s amazing to me how the absence of one child has impacted my day to day to-do list. I had no idea how much easier four kids was going to be until the fifth flew the coop for college. I miss him. I really do but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m enjoying my lighter workload. Cooking for one less has been the biggest surprise. I had no idea how much food Drew ate until I realized my fridge was overloaded with leftovers. I figure by the time I’ve adjusted my cooking portions he’ll be home. So, for now, I’ve designated Wednesdays as leftover night.
Wednesday is my new favorite day!
We had a recent incident, however, where Drew was really missed. You see, he’s not afraid of snakes and his bravery could have come in handy.
It all started when my neighbor’s dog meandered up to my sliding glass door. At the time I thought the poor mutt just wanted in and had waddled to the wrong house. He finally left but only after his best Lassie “There’s an emergency! Come hither” impression. It was an odd little happening, and at that moment I didn’t give it much consideration. In retrospect, I realize the damn dog was trying to show me something.
If only I’d looked.
About fifteen minutes later Reese, our cat, came to the door and meowed at me through the screen. I was in the middle of something so I shushed her indicating she’d have to wait. Seeing as how she’s a cat, she didn’t understand and meowed louder. That’s when I noticed she wasn’t at the door but on the ledge of the window next to the door.
Another oddity I should’ve paid attention to…but didn’t.
Annoyed by her crying and fearful she’d wake my napping twins, I stomped to the door, flung it open, stepped towards the ledge and grabbed the cat. That’s when I looked down to find a snake between my legs.
Let me repeat that.
THERE WAS A SNAKE…ON THE STEP…BETWEEN MY LEGS.
Holy F*$K!NG SH*T.
Allow me to explain something. I am deathly afraid of snakes. My fear was instilled in me at a very young age and has done nothing but snowballed throughout my life. When I have bad dreams there are snakes involved. The only thing more terrifying to me than an encounter with a snake would be snakes in a tornado (I’m scared shitless of tornados, too). Snakes in a tornado is my personal hell on Earth. After twenty years of marriage, Sean knows if I describe something as “snakes in a tornado scary” I may have just pee’d my pants out of fear.
After screaming an impressive string of expletives and hurling myself to the other side of our patio, cat-in-hand, I sized up my situation. A snake was on my step. It appeared to be dead. My screen door was open and I needed to get back inside. Oh…and I was holding a terrified cat.
Cue silent pep talk.
Just step over it, Carolyn. It’s dead and even if it’s alive it’s not a python. You live in Ohio, you wimp. It’s just a snake. A dead snake.
I took one step towards it thinking I could hurdle it when my inner wuss got the best of me… so I sprinted to the side door. The entire trip around was less than 30 seconds and while I was running all I could think was that fucking snake better be dead because if it’s not and it gets in I’m going to have to burn my house down and that would be a giant pain in the ass because I’ll probably end up in jail for arson and my children will be motherless all because of a fucking garden snake.
Yes, my mind does this occasionally.
Anyways, did you know snakes play dead? Well, they do, and this one deserves an Academy Award. I swear before I started my sprint around I watched it for at least a minute and there were no signs of life. Unfortunately, by the time I skidded into my house and back to the door that little fucker had made a full recovery and was weighing his options.
Did I mention my screen door was open?
Which pisses me off, by the way, because that stupid door has a built-in spring that never fails to slam shut on me at the most inopportune times. If I was carrying in a tray full of just grilled burgers it would snap shut. If I was balancing two pissed off, dripping wet, just out of the pool toddlers that were protesting the end of play time…it’d slam shut. But now that that stupid screen door is the only thing standing between a snake and my children’s incarcerated mother it stayed wide open practically beckoning the little fucker inside.
Of course, I froze when I realized the snake was alive but only long enough to realize it’s me or the snake. I chose me and lunged at the door and bam….it slammed shut on the snake.
Let me repeat that…
IT SLAMMED SHUT ON THE SNAKE!
In case you are wondering if there is anything worse than a snake in your house I can now attest to the fact that there is. What, pray tell, is worse than a snake in your house? Half a snake in your house …and snake blood on your hands (and on your screen door.)
I’ll spare you the rest of the story but to say that Drew would’ve come in handy right about then is an understatement. The clean up was somewhat of an out-of-body experience for me that included a shovel, a hose, clorox and vodka. Lots and lots of vodka.
After this whole episode I may have to revisit therapy this week.
Or maybe I’ll just swig back some more vodka.
I know I usually share some pics of our weekend during my early weekly post but it’s not going to happen today. I can’t show pictures of my kids in a post about snakes. I just can’t.
Here’s the step my little friend died on.