As a parent, I've always wondered when the moment would arrive that my children would discover that I am, in fact, a mere mortal and not the myth-like figure they've propped me up to be, infallible, brave and able to leap tall ottomans in a single bound.
Unfortunately, that moment came on Tuesday night.
I was coming back into the house after feeding our cat, when a huge moth decided to follow me in and wreak havoc on my peaceful domicile. Let me stop here and type the word HUGE in BIG CAPITAL LETTERS to emphasize that this sucker was major, bigger than a breadbox and with a head the size of a cabbage. And oh the mighty wind caused by the flapping of its wings! I tried to keep it out but it wedged one of its big muscular legs in the door and pushed me aside. An appropriate analogy would be, 'I was Tokyo, and he was Mothra.'
I began my usual lunatic-like screaming and mad windmill-like flailing of the arms, which I feel is the appropriate response when ones life is being threatened by an enormous, winged creature. Rigel wasn't home to come to my aid (although even if he was home, by the time he arrived on the scene the monster would be enjoying its after-diinner cigarette, having already feasted on my limbs) so I grabbed a coat hanger to ward off the impending beast (because the coat hanger, it is an effective weapon against the flying enemy! Take that! And then hang up your parka, you nasty varmint!)
Of course, all this screaming by their mother, their protector and symbol of security, brought Kira and Kiyomi running out of their rooms to my aid. Upon seeing the object of my terror, Kiyomi, looking annoyed, grabbed a fly-swatter and began chasing the flying offender, while Kira attempted to calm me down by giving me vodka in a sippy cup. This was followed by both of them remarking how small it was, and how they couldn't believe how much I was screaming, followed by me shutting them up when I wondered out loud what it felt like if Santa skipped your house. Kiyomi finally swatted the thing dead after it landed on a cabinet to catch its breath and sharpen its fangs. Thus I was saved from a certain death by my own children, effectively flushing years of authoritative parenting down the toilet. You just try telling a couple of seven and nine-year-olds to clean their room after they've had to kill a bug for you.
At least we think she got it. We couldn't find the body and I never got a good look at where it fell - it's hard to see when you're huddled in a corner covering your eyes.
Archive File: Offspring | This Life