An Unexpected Visitor

Barely awake and without the aid of coffee, I trudge through my living room on my way to the kitchen. I barely noticed my three oldest children were all huddled together in a single chair. The girls, ages 5, 4, and 2, were being unusually quiet and Maxine, the two-year-old, wasn't demanding breakfast. I should have known something was wrong.

I had just woken up, however, and not functioning completely. As I began to prepare breakfast in the kitchen, this conversation floated to me from the living room.

"We can get down now."

"No, don't go! It'll get you."

"Mom will save us."

That did it. I'm awake now and no coffee was necessary. Just what am I supposed to be saving them from? I had the answer in seconds as the three girls leaped from the chair and made a mad dash to me in the kitchen where they promptly climbed up on chairs.

"There was a snake in the house Mom! A real big one and it was right in the middle of the living room! Spike chased it down the hall!"

A snake? In my house? Surely they were joking. Overactive imaginations at work here. Spike, a beagle, was sleeping on the couch. He didn't look like he'd been snake hunting this morning. Besides the barking and screaming would have woken me.

My children, however, insist there is a snake in the house. My first reaction was to leave the house. All of us in our pajamas, but Justin was still sleeping in his room, which was down the hall where the snake was last seen.

I called my husband, Steve, hoping he'd be willing to come home from work and find the snake. While I'm on the phone, the two youngest girls grab hands and head for the hallway in search of the snake. Well, so much for Steve protecting us. He got a good laugh out of my phone call, but had no inclination to come home and save us. Next call, the neighbor boys, but they weren't home.

In the meantime, Amanda, my four-year-old has become brave. This is the same girl that hides behind my legs in public or at parties. The only one of my kids I would describe as shy has suddenly decided to be our hero.

She boldly strides over to her toy container and picks out a plastic blue frying pan. She raises it high in the air and starts to cautiously walk down the hall. I burst out laughing and ask what she thinks she is doing. I should have quit laughing long enough to grab the camera, but I didn't.

"I'm going to find the snake and kill it Mom," she answers matter of factly. And she finds two more toy kitchen items to arm her sisters. I am biting my lips to keep from laughing at them.

OK, if she can do it, I can do it. The snake was described as big and long. Yuck. I hate snakes. Absolutely hate them. I avoid them at all costs, but now I had to search for it.  I'm the mommy.

I put on my coat and mittens and go off in search of the snake. I find it quickly. It's in my bedroom on top of a dresser. I admit it, I jumped when I saw it and left my room shutting the door behind me. A quick peak out my windows showed that my neighbors still weren't home. It's up to me. I'm the mommy.

Back in my room, my mittens are on, and the sliding door is wide open so I can throw the snake out. Where'd it go? Oh, there it is. Still on top of the dresser, but as I approach, it slithers off the dresser onto my night stand. The night stand next to my bed. It doesn't stop and it slithers off the night stand onto my bed.

It starts to crawl under my covers (Steve's side thankfully) and I grab its tail. I pull it from the bed and hold it way out from me as I move to the door and fling it outside into the snow. The girls are screaming and jumping, as they watch (from a long ways away) me carry the snake to the door. Whew. Mom's a hero.

I know, I know...never grab a snake by its tail because it can come back and bite you. Thanks for the tip. I hope I never have to use it. Where were you when I needed you? I'm still getting the creepy crawlies, and my husband is still laughing at me, but the snake was vanquished and all possible entries have been filled. I hope.

Copyright © 1999 Linda Sherwood

I'm the Mommy is a weekly column by Linda Sherwood. It may not be reproduced, published or sent by e-mail without the expressed written permission of the author. If you like it, share the link.