Phibia: noun. A childhood or long ago fear that you tell yourself you are over, until the ugly truth comes out.
I was never a huge fan of spiders. When I moved to my current home, I became even less of a fan. But, as I became more used to my surroundings and the "natural" wildlife, I started to get over my fears. I learned that when I could point to a spider and say, "green orchard spider," or "wolf spider," I wasn't so afraid.
Until recently.
On Christmas Eve, awestruck Monkey Son #1 pointed out a spider about the size of my palm in the house. I moved a little closer so I could get a look at its markings and be sure that it was nothing venomous. As I did, it lifted it's body up off the wall and ran like Willy Mays Hayes. I jumped back and lost track of it as it ran to hide in the dining room.
I poked at various objects with a broom, to see if I could coax it out of hiding, but it was nowhere to be found. I spent the rest of the day freaked out. However, I did find out that it is a huntsman spider and is pretty harmless. Except, of course, for the fact that it was large enough to eat one of my children.
Later that night, I spotted the thing in the corner of the ceiling. Husband decided that we would catch it and take it outside, but also told me that it was not the size of my hand (notice I used "size of my palm" in my earlier description. I think that is a little more accurate). He grabbed some plastic containers and told me to watch it so I would know where it went if it escaped him. But...well...as soon as the thing moved I screamed and ran out of the room like a little girl. A few moments later, Husband emerged with his prey in a little container. As he and the boys admired it, I was jumping up and down, shaking my hands and screaming, "Take it outside!"
In case you don't know what a huntsman spider is, here is an example. This is not my video, but very much like what I saw.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=67aL4K7EPdc
Showing posts with label fears and phobias. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fears and phobias. Show all posts
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Thursday, October 9, 2008
I-Think Existence
I-Think Existence: noun. The particular type of existence a young child gives to the inhabitants of his imagination.
A little philosophy course refresher: Philosopher Rene Descartes made the famous statement, "I think, therefore I am." Believe it or not, what he was saying with that statement is that if he is thinking, there must be someone there doing that thinking, therefore he exists.
Young children, though, seem to take this idea to levels that would shock Descartes. They go beyond "I think, therefore I am," to "I think it, therefore it exists." But what is it? Anything from polka-dotted dinosaurs to closet monsters.
When I was very young, I believed there were hands under the bed that would reach out and grab you if you stepped too close. Why? I have no idea, but to me they had this sort of twilight existence, merely because I thought of them. If my parents told me that there wasn't anything there, I wouldn't have thought they were lying, but I still would have stayed away from the edge of the bed.
As a side note, I began to get over this fear when one night I had a dream that has stayed with me all this time. In the dream, I just got sick of these hands and their nonsense, and decided I would tell my mother about them. As I stood up and began to walk past the bed, a hand reached out and grabbed my ankle. Frustrated and in no mood to deal with this sort of thing anymore, I slapped the hand and it immediately released. Take that!
A little philosophy course refresher: Philosopher Rene Descartes made the famous statement, "I think, therefore I am." Believe it or not, what he was saying with that statement is that if he is thinking, there must be someone there doing that thinking, therefore he exists.
Young children, though, seem to take this idea to levels that would shock Descartes. They go beyond "I think, therefore I am," to "I think it, therefore it exists." But what is it? Anything from polka-dotted dinosaurs to closet monsters.
When I was very young, I believed there were hands under the bed that would reach out and grab you if you stepped too close. Why? I have no idea, but to me they had this sort of twilight existence, merely because I thought of them. If my parents told me that there wasn't anything there, I wouldn't have thought they were lying, but I still would have stayed away from the edge of the bed.
As a side note, I began to get over this fear when one night I had a dream that has stayed with me all this time. In the dream, I just got sick of these hands and their nonsense, and decided I would tell my mother about them. As I stood up and began to walk past the bed, a hand reached out and grabbed my ankle. Frustrated and in no mood to deal with this sort of thing anymore, I slapped the hand and it immediately released. Take that!
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Preschool Normal
Preschool Normal: noun. Any event or thought that an adult would find strange, but a preschooler takes in stride as merely part of the world.
So, Monkey Son #1 ran up to me and said, "I saw a big head."
"You saw a big head?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Under your bed."
"Show me," I said.
He led me to my bedroom and pointed to the foot of my bed. As some very scary images went through my mind, I bent down to have a look. I saw movement and suddenly there were two very large and very real eyes looking back at me. I about jumped out of my skin.
That stupid dog! And stupid me for not figuring that it was the dog from the start! And what a silly little Monkey Boy, as I'm sure he didn't think telling me that there was a head under my bed would be cause for alarm.
So, Monkey Son #1 ran up to me and said, "I saw a big head."
"You saw a big head?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Under your bed."
"Show me," I said.
He led me to my bedroom and pointed to the foot of my bed. As some very scary images went through my mind, I bent down to have a look. I saw movement and suddenly there were two very large and very real eyes looking back at me. I about jumped out of my skin.
That stupid dog! And stupid me for not figuring that it was the dog from the start! And what a silly little Monkey Boy, as I'm sure he didn't think telling me that there was a head under my bed would be cause for alarm.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Chuckyesque
Chuckyesque: adjective. Any toy that has the power to freak out anyone who looks at it.
I get frightened easily. Seriously. I spent so much time being scared as a child that my mother would carefully monitor any books I planned on reading to see if they could be considered too scary. Surely that would fix it. However, she missed two really important aspects: my dad let us watch horror movies when she wasn't looking, and I had the amazing power to scare myself with no assistance necessary.
This overactive imagination of mine has given me great gifts, such as an interest in crafts and literature, but has also been a big burden. Let me tell you about Baby Talks-A-Lot.
If you've ever seen a horror movie with an evil doll (and I certainly wish I haven't. Thanks, Dad), then you've seen something very similar to this doll. Baby Talks-A-Lot was made in the '80s and marketed as a doll that you can teach to talk. That's creepy enough, but even worse, over the years as ours got more worn and ratty, it started to look downright evil, which is why the title to this post is called "Chuckyesque." It really looked like a female Chucky.
I've had nightmares about this doll. I kept it in my closet. Finally, I tried to give it to my older sister (it was hers anyway), and she didn't want it. I thought she understood and shared my irrational fear of this strange toy, and told her about how I felt. Well, apparently she neither understood nor shared my feelings, and proceeded to make fun of me, as older siblings are prone to do, but in the end took the doll from me.
Now that I'm a mom, how do I feel about this? Well, if someone tried to give me or my children one, I would ask them to take it back. As a child of the '80s, I have no problem with '80s toys making a comeback, like My Little Pony and Carebears, but Baby Talks-A-Lot can stay in the closet of history, thank you.
By the way, if you want to see a picture of this horrifying doll, I'm providing a link. I'm pretty sure this is the right doll with a slight name change. Someone even asked on the page if it is Baby Talks-A-Lot. Our doll was the blond one.
http://www.inthe80s.com/toys/babytalk0.shtml
I get frightened easily. Seriously. I spent so much time being scared as a child that my mother would carefully monitor any books I planned on reading to see if they could be considered too scary. Surely that would fix it. However, she missed two really important aspects: my dad let us watch horror movies when she wasn't looking, and I had the amazing power to scare myself with no assistance necessary.
This overactive imagination of mine has given me great gifts, such as an interest in crafts and literature, but has also been a big burden. Let me tell you about Baby Talks-A-Lot.
If you've ever seen a horror movie with an evil doll (and I certainly wish I haven't. Thanks, Dad), then you've seen something very similar to this doll. Baby Talks-A-Lot was made in the '80s and marketed as a doll that you can teach to talk. That's creepy enough, but even worse, over the years as ours got more worn and ratty, it started to look downright evil, which is why the title to this post is called "Chuckyesque." It really looked like a female Chucky.
I've had nightmares about this doll. I kept it in my closet. Finally, I tried to give it to my older sister (it was hers anyway), and she didn't want it. I thought she understood and shared my irrational fear of this strange toy, and told her about how I felt. Well, apparently she neither understood nor shared my feelings, and proceeded to make fun of me, as older siblings are prone to do, but in the end took the doll from me.
Now that I'm a mom, how do I feel about this? Well, if someone tried to give me or my children one, I would ask them to take it back. As a child of the '80s, I have no problem with '80s toys making a comeback, like My Little Pony and Carebears, but Baby Talks-A-Lot can stay in the closet of history, thank you.
By the way, if you want to see a picture of this horrifying doll, I'm providing a link. I'm pretty sure this is the right doll with a slight name change. Someone even asked on the page if it is Baby Talks-A-Lot. Our doll was the blond one.
http://www.inthe80s.com/toys/babytalk0.shtml
Monday, August 11, 2008
Continuation of Child Phobias
Continuation of Child Phobias: noun. Childhood fears that carryover into adulthood.
Once upon a time, I worked in a library. It was a relatively small, two story plus attic stone building, built in 1890 and originally used as a bank. It was a lovely building, but certain things about it made it a little creepy. The stacks, close together, made it hard to see much past the area you were in. The second story and the basement were even more eerie.
This place only frightened me when I was there alone, which was a few hours on Saturday mornings when I opened. On one such day, I heard footsteps on the basement stairs. This wasn't a case of just thinking that I might have heard something, but I definitely knew I heard footsteps. I remember I was standing close by the basement door, but as to whether I went towards the noise (which is very unlike me) or I just happened to be there, I don't remember. Either way, I stared at the basement door as it opened and out stepped...Vince, the elderly and kind volunteer who, unbeknownst to me, had arrived before me and been doing work in the basement. If I hadn't given in to my fears, I may have figured that out, or at least had enough sense to leave the building when I realized I was not alone.
Aren't our lives filled with such stories? My grandmother tells a story from her childhood of what sounded like a tin can rolling down the stairs that led from her bedroom to the attic, but the source of the noise was never found. Not to be outdone, my grandfather told a story from his own childhood, saying that one night they saw a white sheet moving back and forth between the trees, which turned out to be a neighbor's cow.
Once upon a time, I worked in a library. It was a relatively small, two story plus attic stone building, built in 1890 and originally used as a bank. It was a lovely building, but certain things about it made it a little creepy. The stacks, close together, made it hard to see much past the area you were in. The second story and the basement were even more eerie.
This place only frightened me when I was there alone, which was a few hours on Saturday mornings when I opened. On one such day, I heard footsteps on the basement stairs. This wasn't a case of just thinking that I might have heard something, but I definitely knew I heard footsteps. I remember I was standing close by the basement door, but as to whether I went towards the noise (which is very unlike me) or I just happened to be there, I don't remember. Either way, I stared at the basement door as it opened and out stepped...Vince, the elderly and kind volunteer who, unbeknownst to me, had arrived before me and been doing work in the basement. If I hadn't given in to my fears, I may have figured that out, or at least had enough sense to leave the building when I realized I was not alone.
Aren't our lives filled with such stories? My grandmother tells a story from her childhood of what sounded like a tin can rolling down the stairs that led from her bedroom to the attic, but the source of the noise was never found. Not to be outdone, my grandfather told a story from his own childhood, saying that one night they saw a white sheet moving back and forth between the trees, which turned out to be a neighbor's cow.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Whole House Nocturnal Panic
Whole House Nocturnal Panic: noun. An innocent situation that sends an entire household into half-asleep panic.
Last night at about 3:15am, catastrophe happened. Monkey Son #1 wakes up and has to use the bathroom, but for some reason goes into my and my husband's room. It could be that he meant to, as you can walk through our room and get to the bathroom, or he may have just been half-asleep. Anyway, our door makes a rather loud sound when opened, and that sends off the shock wave of the next 10 minutes.
Husband, dead asleep, hears the door open, and sits bolt upright in bed, yelling something that I can best describe as "Ahumna hmna hmna!" while shaking his head slightly, followed by him yelling, "He's sleep walking!" (although I don't think Husband was even awake as he said this). His yelling makes me wake up in full panic mode and I sit up, terrified and not knowing what is going on. I see Husband sitting up and yelling, and Monkey Son #1 in the doorway crying because of the yelling, and from the Monkeys' bedroom, I hear Monkey Son #2 wake up.
Brain starts working as Monkey Son #1 is screaming, "I have to go pee pee!" and crying his eyes out in the doorway. Ok, I calm everyone down, take Monkey Son #1 to the bathroom, and put him back to bed. As I'm in there, I see that Monkey Son #2 is in fact awake, peacefully sitting up in his crib and seemingly waiting for someone to just come and tell him everything is fine, go back to bed.
Who knew that a preschooler having to use the bathroom would send everyone into such a state?
Last night at about 3:15am, catastrophe happened. Monkey Son #1 wakes up and has to use the bathroom, but for some reason goes into my and my husband's room. It could be that he meant to, as you can walk through our room and get to the bathroom, or he may have just been half-asleep. Anyway, our door makes a rather loud sound when opened, and that sends off the shock wave of the next 10 minutes.
Husband, dead asleep, hears the door open, and sits bolt upright in bed, yelling something that I can best describe as "Ahumna hmna hmna!" while shaking his head slightly, followed by him yelling, "He's sleep walking!" (although I don't think Husband was even awake as he said this). His yelling makes me wake up in full panic mode and I sit up, terrified and not knowing what is going on. I see Husband sitting up and yelling, and Monkey Son #1 in the doorway crying because of the yelling, and from the Monkeys' bedroom, I hear Monkey Son #2 wake up.
Brain starts working as Monkey Son #1 is screaming, "I have to go pee pee!" and crying his eyes out in the doorway. Ok, I calm everyone down, take Monkey Son #1 to the bathroom, and put him back to bed. As I'm in there, I see that Monkey Son #2 is in fact awake, peacefully sitting up in his crib and seemingly waiting for someone to just come and tell him everything is fine, go back to bed.
Who knew that a preschooler having to use the bathroom would send everyone into such a state?
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