Southern musings…

Copyright © 1993 by Darlene Purcell  All rights reserved.

Having raised a huge family, seven kid, two hubbies, various in-laws 
and out-laws on the sofa, all their friends, pets and neighbors, the 
cranky old folks and of course my mother and father... 

There is not much I have not nursed, seen, heard, cleaned, cooked, 
scrimped and saved for or rescued someone else from. When I 
name long forgotten already...they will engrave on my tombstone. 
"Mommy, killer of wild boars" (I know a few other bores I'd like to 
have made bacon out of) 

If I know was long ago hidden behind my calm exterior 
quietly reassuring the rest of the clan. "Oh it’s just a Tarantula.  
Mommy will take care of that in a non-violent manner. Billy Joe Bob 
Charles John bring me the broom and a Mason jar with a piece of 

Ten minutes later the children are staring at the intriguing hairy 
creature begging to name it and asking what to feed it as I silently 
lock myself in the bathroom and flush the toilet fifteen times to 
cover screams of my own horror now that the crisis is over... 

Shudder...I hate spiders!!!! 

I must have been through about all there is...From being stalked by
a mountain lion to that rattler under the kitchen sink that chose the
moment our mama cat was having kittens to appear and gulp one as it
was born...(she of course could't birth her little darling in the 
softly padded beautiful box I made just for their new home...sigh)

Rural living is such bliss... :) 

But for all my bravery to save my babies and rescue the same stupid cat 
from a hundred foot tall pine tree out in the middle of nowhere...I 
am oddly fragile at four am when I'm alone in the throne room, (This 
appears to be my only vulnerablity)  the house is silent except for the
habitual snorers...and the wheezing of the ancient grandfather my 
grandmother insisted remain in the family as a wedding prezzie. 

I am sitting in the dark struggling not to listen to every creak and 
groan of the old house and ignoring the eerie whistling of the wind 
through the log walls...My feet are frozen on the cold wooden floor 
and now that I'm here I can't tinkle. I'm shivering too hard. 

I expell a frosty breath in frustration. Waking up a little more to 
take control of the situation and cranky because I know it will be an
hour of needed rest before I will be able to get back to sleep if I 
get too awake...I'm thinking about turning on the faucet to help 
nature along with natural sounds...when all of a sudden I feel some 
thing moving underneath my nether regions. 

It's wet and cold and appears to be tentatively patting my thighs. 

My adrenaline kicks and my pupils dialate in vain desperation to see 
in the dark. I am so petrified by terror that my scream erupts like 
a delicate moan as I envision my worst nightmare. The crocodiles in 
the New York sewer have finally swum all the way to Texas and one is 
about to bite my ass.  (or worse)  Terrified at the thought of being 
violated by sharp teeth I am nearly swooning with horror.

I'm terrified to get up. Where is that darned flash light my hubby 
gave me just for this occasion? Tomorrow...if I live through this I'm
going to install a light switch on the back of the toilet right next 
to the flush handle. 

Insane thoughts are running through my mind.  Why did you give me a 
bladder the size of a pea Lord? Don't I get enough excitement during 
the day?

My heart is pounding so fast I can't breathe and my lips are going 
numb. I need a hero but my hubby has already threatened me with bodily
harm if I wake him from his precious six hours of sleep short of dying 
for which he promises to bury me properly in the morning after he's 
had his caffeine. 

I am convinced that moment is at hand as the creature who has been 
exploring my lower extremities now apparently  has climbed up the 
back of the toilet seat and is trying to cuddle my cheeks. That's all
I can handle alone. At four a.m. Mommy is as human and fragile as the
rest of the world... 

"Hellllllllp"...I whisper hoarsely. 

No one comes running. I appear to be the only one in the family with 
supersonic ears and eyes in the back of my head in an emergency. I 
can hear one of my children get a paper cut from six miles away at 
school or know when the twins are torturing the baby. 

Hysteria is building as the frigid critter seems to be tapping out 
some kind of melodic pagan rites against my rear end. At this point the 
thought of having to have a paramedic suck the venom out of my most 
intimate regions for all the world to see is too much for my tired 
and feminine mind to register.

"Helllllp." I cry a little louder. "Somebody!" 

The antiquated clock sputters and coughs out 4 strokes of 
father time muffling my pitiful wailing. I could die here alone and 
no one would hear me. The only thing I can think of while trying to 
figure out who is close enough to save who will save my babies
if something happens to me. 

Near tears I try again. One of the louder snorers is awake. The house
is suddenly deafening quiet. I can feel him listening. "Uncle Joe!' I
call out hopefully. I can smell a cigarette as he lights it and tokes
in the dark. Then the thump of 350lbs of savior as he flips on the 
hall lights and hobbles down the hall. 

"What wrong girl?" 

My humiliation at my 62 year old relative seeing me with my panties 
round my ankles and my granny gown wadded up around my hips is 
outweighed by my fear of being bit in the ass by a I have now 
determined a gater could not possible fit on the back of the toilet 

(notice all my worse case scenarios always center around snakes?) 

Releived not to be alone in the dark as he turns on the overhead light...
blinded by it's bright rays...I explain my precarious position. He 
averts his eyes concentrating on looking behind me on the seat and he 
begin to guffaw so loud the rest of the house begins to stir... 

"What is it?" I whimper. 

Without warning he grabs my arm and yanks me off the toilet seat. 
Ccaught off guard with my panties down, I trip and fall flat on my 
backside on the wooden planks. But eye level to the seat which I find I 
can't take my eyes off of, are the hugest brown eyes I've ever seen 
attached to the cutest face startled and paralyzed by stark terror. Pink 
ears are the only color on the little white pet mouse that Billy Bob 
Joe Frank Jack reported missing last week.

I am so relieved I am smiling and about to tell my uncle the good 
news when a long fat finger flicks the tiny creature on the back of 
the head and the last thing I see is the look of total panic as it 
fell into the porcelain well too stunned to scream.  As I rise in 
horror to my feet morbidly looking in the bowl...Mickey struggles with 
the whirlpool that ensued from and equally swift flush that I couldn’t 
stop in time. 

I stand there crying as the delicate creature disappears in to that 
black hole it's huge dark eyes imploring plaintively for rescue and 
my Uncle pets my shoulder awkwardly. "There there girl. It was just
a ittle albino mouse. Better pull up your bloomers, I hear the troops 
marching down the hall."

They are there instantly.  I calmly step out of my drawers 
pushing them behind the sink back in mommy mode; taking charge in my 
non scared voice. "Back to bed kids. Sorry for waking you. I thought 
I saw a spider and Uncle Joe was helping me look for it." 

My youngest child is staring up at me clutching her baby doll and 
sucking her thumb, mumbling. "Did you show him how to catch it without
killing it Mommy?" 

I bow my head in shame, wishing just this once the men in the family
weren't so quick to flush, and smile feebly. "Go back to bed baby." 

Those big brown eyes still haunt me...(no I never told my hubby about 
the second mouse to attack me in the wee hours.)  How it is that I can
be so brave for my children but when it comes to my own moments of 
crisis I still need a Mommy too...I  wonder which one of the kids stole
my flashlight?  Most of all...what does that lazy good for nothing cat 
do all day long?



One comment on “Southern musings…

  1. Oh, I can only imagine how you felt, watching the poor thing going down, and with those pleading eyes! A nightmare, hard to forget. A squirrel ran in the road in front of me once and I saw it before I hit it. I drove around the block and returned to see how it was. It was dead and I fretted about it for a long time.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s