A detail neatly absent from a Stay At Home Mom’s Job Description: Exterminator. Orkin-Mom. Protect your beautiful baby from the creepy-crawlies that upset your lovely home in their wayward travels from the basement.

When it comes to creepy-crawlies and creatures, I discriminate. I don’t hate them all, per se, the cute ones I can live with….ladybugs, bumblebees, caterpillars. However, when it comes to the ugly utilitarian millipedes with 70,000 legs and the body the size of my pinky finger, then, yes, I hate.

I hate with the heat of 1,000 jilted lovers.

I hate with the passion of 10,000 teenagers in parked cars.

So when I see the creature hanging out at the intersection of wall and ceiling, living room, USA, I sigh. This is not how I want to start my morning.

I sigh because I know this will be an hour’s worth of planning. I will spend an hour strategizing this small battle, preparing the demise of this invader. Most of the hour is spent simply staring at it, wishing it away, ensuring it doesn’t move, gathering my strength for the task at hand. The Department of Public Works drives by, sucking up leaves, I consider for a moment waving them down to save me; I reject that plan because I am a Strong. Independent. Woman. No man needed for this job.

I collect my tools.

baseball cap. check.

long sleeve shirt. check.

gloves. check.

jeans. check.

socks & shoes. check.

broom & dustpan. check.

DirtDevil Handvac. check.

hairspray with aggressive & pointed spray pattern. check.

Gumption? Moxie? Backbone? Decidedly, disappointingly absent.

My plan of attack is simple. Disorient him with hairspray. Bat with broom. Collect in dustpan and throw outside. Contingency plan? Spray, bat, suck. I plug the vac into an outlet close to the door, so I can run with it still on and toss it outside.

I pull my socks up over my jeans – to prevent it from running up my pant leg, natch – and pull my gloves on to keep the openings of my sleeves closed, arrange the cap down over tucked up hair and step to 3 feet from the wall.

With knocking knees, I collect what strength I have and talk myself through it.

one…..two….three…..PSHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

F–k! S–t! Dammit! He’s on the run! PSHHHHHHHH some more. He drops to the floor and squirms. **shudder** He’s too fast, too fast. VROOOOOMMMMM. I have to suck, there’s a thud in the handvac. In a tizzy, I run to the door and throw the vac to the stoop. I unplug it, run it to the garage where it sits.

I realize I’m shaking like I had too much coffee. I’m shaking like I just got through a real emergency. This scene takes place in less than 30 seconds, yet I’m acting as though it’s a life-changing event.

For the rest of the day, I wear shoes. I glance suspiciously at the site where the demise went down. Is there evidence? Did I imagine my success? Is it back? Before I settle back into my loveseat, I inspect the area, to assure myself the rest of the bug family hasn’t set up camp on the armrest, behind the couch, in the blanket draped over the back.

I re-tell my tale to my husband when he comes home.

I don’t think he bought the level of bravado I tell it with. He’s seen me encounter spiders and knows I’m remarkably “girly” when it comes to the ugly pests.

This small victory is in my arsenal of successes when I’m questioning my mothering abilities. I protected and saved my son from the millipede.

I’m like the police. Only cuter.

This entry was posted on Monday, October 26th, 2009 at 3:43 pm and is filed under Random. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.