I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
January 7, 2011
>”Mommy,” 3-year-old Bruiser said as he came down from the playroom. He had a distinctly worried look on his face. “I just…” he paused for a moment, then turned and quickly shut the playroom door.
“Don’t go up dere, ‘kay?”
It was a sure sign that something was amiss.
“What did you do?” I asked him wearily. “What happened?”
“Nuffing happened,” he said, shrugging. “Just donnnnnn’t go up dere, okay?” He wagged his finger at me for emphasis.
I looked at him hard.
“Okay, Mommy?” he said sternly.
“Mommy?” my six-year-old daughter interjected. “I think you need to go up there.”
“I think you’re right,” I said. “Out of the way, Bruiser.”
He shot me a morose look and reluctantly opened the door.
“Okay, but I didn’t do it Mommy. I didn’t do it!“
I followed him up the stairs. “What didn’t you do?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant. If I let on that I was upset, there was a good chance that fear of the dreaded naughty corner would keep him from ever telling me what the problem was.
He led me over to the DVD/VHS player. “Look,” he said, pointing at a VHS wedged tightly into the slot. “It just fell-ded in dere.”
“Bruiser!” I said through clenched teeth. “It did NOT ‘just fellded in there.’ You PUT it in there.”
“I did not,” Bruiser said. “I didn’t, Mommy.”
I began trying to pry the movie from the machine. It had been jammed in backwards and upside down.
“Why are you fibbing about this?” I asked him. “This movie could not have gotten in here by itself, and it wasn’t in here when I put your DVD in five minutes ago. And how did this get here?” I asked him, holding up a VHS case, which was lying on the floor beside the VHS. It was damnable evidence, indeed.
But Bruiser merely shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybeeeeeee…. A spider putted it in dere.”
I stopped what I was doing. “A spider,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said breathlessly. “A BIG spider. Wif sharp teefs!” As he spoke, he became enraptured by his own tale. “An’ it came up here while I was playing, and it takeded the movie and it pusheded it in dere!”
“That’s not true!” I said in exasperation.
“It IS true!” he insisted. “It IS true, Mommy!” And I could see by his little eyes that, despite all evidence to the contrary…
HE BELIEVED.
“I scared!” he cried. “Save me from the big spider, Mommy! SAVE ME!!!”
I sighed, but Bruiser was so believable in his distress that I have to admit, I paused for a moment and stared into the dark recesses of our VHS machine.
Maybe a big spider was in dere… One with sharp teefs. Maybe he did put the movie in dere, knowing my poor son would get all the blame. Maybe if I kept jamming my fingers in dere, he’d bite me wif his sharp teefs and I’d swell up and turn green, and what kind of memory would that make for my children? Maybe I’d even die a slow and painful death from that big spider’s awful poison, and my kids would be pariahs at their school as a result- the ones whose mom kicked the bucket all because she wouldn’t listen to her son’s dire warnings to stay away from a big spider wif sharp teefs who liked to watch VHS movies.
Or maybe I just need to get out more.
This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.