The Itsy Bitsy Spider

I’ve trained Elijah well. The other day, he spotted a spider on my bedroom ceiling from all the way across the room. And he knows what we do with spiders. We kill them. Yes. We kill them. Or more accurately, Mommy or Daddy kill them.

I make no excuses for my no-tolerance policy of arachnid extermination. We live in the domain of brown recluses, black widows and tarantulas. I prefer to squash first and ask questions later. And even if it isn’t a poisonous spider underneath my rolled up newspaper, I feel little remorse. Okay, I feel none. But back to the other day…

Because of the aforementioned poison-toting insects that creep and crawl around our part of the country, we’ve taught Elijah (and are teaching Dylan) to alert Mommy or Daddy when a spider is spotted and then not to go near. So, consistent with his instructions, Lij pointed at the ceiling, shouted something that I recognized as “Spider!” and stood where he was. Then it was up to me.

In my teenage years, I was fearless (when it came to spiders). I was the one who would kill spiders for the other screaming girls at camp. (It should probably be noted that Daddy Long Legs are slightly less scary looking than Jumping Spiders, but I still had no fear). However, since getting married, I’ve succumbed to the very sexist practice of forcing my husband to be the spider slayer. Where has my courage gone? I don’t know. But I can tell you that I am now gripped with an instantaneous surge of fear upon encountering a spider that I was never before gripped with. But I digress…

I was the only one home that day and so it was up to me to kill the beast. I grabbed the only thing within reach (an old copy of Parenting magazine, to be exact) and, making an impressive vertical leap for a woman 38 weeks pregnant, squashed the spider. Or not so much. Apparently, I didn’t apply enough pressure. The spider fell from the ceiling to the floor. So it was there that the spider met its end. Under my magazine.

But that spider got me thinking. Shouldn’t the fall alone have done it in? I mean, falling from an eight foot ceiling to the ground is a pretty hefty drop for a quarter inch spider. And, because I couldn’t resist, I did some math. That spider fell 384 times its own height. That would be the same as a person of average height (5’ 7”) falling 2144 feet – roughly the height of 1 ¼ Sears Towers (including the spire-thingy) or 1 ½ Empire State Buildings stacked on top of each other.

So I was right to be amazed. A fall like that didn’t even phase the spider. It was off and running the second its legs touched the floor. It was my magazine that killed it. About 8 ½” wide by 11” long by ½” deep. Bonus points to anyone who figures out what the human equivalent to those dimensions would be. As for me, I’m all mathed out.