I am not what anyone would consider a spontaneous person. As a matter of fact, just the word “spontaneous” makes me a little bit nervous – like how you would feel if a clown casually sat next to you on the train. He’s not doing anything wrong, but it just feels bad deep down into your soul.
Spontaneity has terrible consequences. Spontaneity leaves you alone at the beach with a toddler who just dirtied a diaper and no diaper bag. Next thing you know, you’re rinsing off said child in the Long Island Sound and driving home a little too fast because that child is now bare-bottomed. Spontaneity gets you flipped out of your kayak onto the beach with a broken fishing rod and your bathing suit around your ankles. Spontaneity gives you half a cow in your freezer when you share your home with a vegetarian.
Spontaneity is my husband’s middle name. And I’m not always ok with that.
So when he texted me on a Thursday afternoon about packing up the family and heading away for the weekend, giving me a mere 31 hours to prepare, I was taken aback. Immediately I began thinking of reasons to say no. We had several appointments scheduled for Saturday that would need to be canceled or postponed. I would have to find someone to watch our far-too-many-to-be-considered-normal pets. Then there was the packing. So much packing.
But, if there’s one thing that this summer has taught me is that life is short and tomorrow is not guaranteed. You should take any opportunity you have to enjoy the people around you.
Plus, with spontaneity, there are some epic stories. My obsessive planning and A-type personality rarely bring that to the table. I have yet to hear anyone regale a crowd with stories of my three days of cooking, cleaning, and preparing, accompanied by three pages of notes and a handmade recipe booklet for Thanksgiving. That’s not humorous. Actually, when I write it down like that, it sounds a little sad. With all of that in mind, I took a deep, cleansing breath and said, “maybe.” It was a huge step.
With all of that in mind, I took a deep, cleansing breath and said, “maybe.” It was a huge step.
There were too many moving parts to make decisions about without at least a little planning. Remember the naked baby thing? Or the naked husband thing? I was not looking to relive either of those. After I sent a few (hundred) texts, did a little ($213) food shopping and sent the husband out for one or two (or four) bottles of wine, I was ready to say yes. Yes, we could go away for 48 hours of spontaneous fun.
It wasn’t until the second day that we found the leeches.
Years ago, whilst under his father’s care, my small child contracted a leech. Perhaps contracted isn’t the right term. Was attacked? Mauled? Violated? And, though I will get a text if my husband notices a new hair growing out of his eyebrow, I was not notified about the defilement until I came back and saw all of the blood-soaked band-aids. Plural. Did you know that leeches release an anti-coagulant when they attach themselves?
As you may have ascertained, I’m not a fan of leeches. Discovering them in a body of water which had, only hours earlier, held my offspring, was a less than positive experience. However, one must handle these things delicately when one’s children are watching one’s every move, waiting to see one’s reaction. The last thing I needed was double hysteria. So I hid my wild-eyed-crazy-woman self, as any good mom can.
“Oh! A leech. How interesting! Did you know that modern science has reintroduced them into the medical field? They can be very effective in treating blah blah blah.”
I just started making shite up. It was ok because we didn’t have any wifi, cell service or even a television. They were completely unable to verify any of the numerous lies I was spewing. As an added bonus, my wildly inaccurate statements distracted all of us from the fact that they had a FREAKING LEECH in their carefully collected bucket of childhood happiness.
And yet, we managed to have fun. I had even given in to the spontaneity of the situation and let my husband pack for himself. As we found out when he was preparing to shower after the first day, that may not have been the best decision.
“Hey, Laur, where are my shorts?”
“What shorts?”
“The ones I packed.”
(Rifling through his suitcase) “I only see three bathing suits. Are you sure you packed actual shorts? Or did you just wear that one pair here?”
(Looks down at his legs) “Oh. (pause) You know, I once spent four days at my aunt’s house with nothing but one bathing suit.”
“Yes, that’s definitely something you should brag about.”
Luckily, I did not let my son pack his own suitcase. He had five pairs of shorts and, though his father is loathe to admit it, the boy is the same size (and soon to be bigger,) so he could share. Meaning his father did not have to sleep in his bathing suit. Because I planned the proper amount of clothing for a weekend in the mountains. Because planning is a beautiful thing. Because planning means never having to sleep in mesh bathing suit underwear.
We did make it home without leeches, fully clothed – in actual clothing – and with a new batch of memories. I guess it’s all about balance; disorganized fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants insanity, disguised as spontaneity as counterweights to those of us who color inside the lines, always return our shopping carts and have an unhealthy love of lists.
I never really asked how they rid my child of his leech, because ewww. But I looked it up for you and WildMadagascar.com has this suggestion (which is so gross I gagged reading it):
“Removing a leech: If you are bitten by a leech and are compelled to remove it before it has had its fill (leeches drop off on their own when they are done feeding), you can do so by following these steps: Identify the anterior (oral) sucker which will be found at the small end of the leech. Put your finger on your skin adjacent to the oral sucker Gently but firmly slide your finger toward the wound where the leech is feeding. Using your fingernail, push the sucker sideways away from your skin. Once you have dislodged the oral sucker, quickly detach the posterior (rear) sucker (the fat end of the leech). Try flicking the leech or prodding with your fingernail. As you work to remove the leech, it will attempt to reattach itself. Keep the wound clean — minor cuts in tropical climates can quickly become infected. The leech itself is not poisonous. The wound will itch as it heals. NOTE: Is it generally not advised to attempt removing a leech by burning with a cigarette; applying mosquito repellent, shampoo, or salt; or pulling at the leech. This can result in the leech regurgitating into the wound and causing infection much worse than the leech bite itself.
In the case that a leech invades an orifice like your nose, ear, or mouth you have a slightly more serious problem, since the leech will expand as it fills with blood. If you have access to strong (drinkable) alcohol or hydrogen peroxide, you can try gargling (if the leech is in your mouth). Worst case scenario you may have to puncture the leech with a sharp object.
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Laurie Nigro, is the mother of two biological children and one husband. She also takes care of a menagerie of animals that leave throw-up around for her to step in in the middle of the night. Laurie’s passionate about frugal, natural living, which is a nice way of saying she’s a kombucha-brewing, incense-burning, foodie freak who tries really hard not to spend money on crap made by child laborers. You can hear her rant about her muse (aka husband) and other things that have no bearing on your life, in this space each Sunday.
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