When we last left our flexibility-challenged hero, he had just undergone successful leg-reattachment surgery. Aside from a bit of a limp, a slight case of tunnel vision and the creeping realization that his entrance into the twilight years was becoming imminent, Spidey seemed to be recovering nicely. As the days passed, however, he began talking more and more of the sweet Fiat Spider convertible he’d always wanted and how that barely legal hot barrista at Second Cup totally wanted him. He traded in his BenGay for Old Spice and complained of how he was tired of always sitting at home watching The Price is Right and waiting to die. I began to worry that Spidey had developed a brain injury following his head replacement. The Boy, thinking that Spidey simply needed some fresh air, decided to take him along on an outing to the car dealership as we signed the deal on a new SUV.

Once at the dealership, Spidey seemed content to observe the action from the miniature fist of his pint-sized guardian. Encouraged by Spidey’s change in attitude, we began to let down our guard. Little did we know that it was all just an act, a guise put forth to put us at ease while he planned his final act of stupidity superheroism. Spidey, knowing that he was on his last leg and hating it, decided to go out in a blaze of middle-aged glory. And so, he waited until The Boy was momentarily distracted by the fish tank on one side of the room to make his move. He hobbled to the unlocked door of the fire-engine red Tiburon in the showroom, threw his cane on the floor of the passenger side and gunned it through the window and out into the crime-filled streets. We watched in silent horror as Spidey disappeared around the corner, never to be seen or heard from again.

Shocked and heartbroken that his beloved friend would cast him aside like yesterday’s news, The Boy blindly searched the house for something, anything, that could replace him. The first day, he carried around Chip Clip.

He then tried Froggy.

No matter what he tried, though, The Boy could not get the memory of Spidey out of his head. Many a bedtime tear was shed because he simply Could! Not! Sleep! Without! Spidey!

All the while, I was spending hours staring blearily at my computer screen, scrolling through page after page of eBay listings. No luck. I shared our tale of woe with a friend of mine who has an odd little personality quirk causing her to refer to herself as PunchNut. (I have yet to ask her why she chose this nickname. I have visions of her punching random creeps in the sac which is not at all in keeping with her personality. I really need to set aside a moment to ask her what on earth could have motivated her to move away from her happy little nickname of Cheerios to this other, more aggressive nickname.)

But I digress…

PunchNut offered up a similar Spider-Man to help ease The Boy’s pain at being dropped like a hot potato by his old Spidey. I was immediately grateful and thrilled that a suitable replacement had been gifted to him and tried to figure out an appropriate time to travel to the other end of the world drive to the other side of town to pick him up.

It was at about this time that an eBay auction caught my eye. A woman from Great Britain had set up a listing with a lot of Spider-Man toys. (A “lot,” in this case, meaning ”several objects grouped together” as opposed to “many” although, really, I guess that’s how the term “lot” came to be. You know, since several objects grouped together in a lot is a lot.)

(Wait. What was I saying again?)

The only downside to this amazing discovery was that the “lot” of items would set me back a “lot” of money. So, I did what any mother would do and I emailed the seller in order to ask her whether or not she would consider selling just the one item on its own. Empathetic to my plight, she agreed! $12 later, NuSpidey was safely packed in a lovely little bubble wrapped envelope, en route to our humble abode.

He arrived less than two weeks later and, after a quick inspection and spit-shine, Spidey was presented to The Boy. I think to say that he was thrilled would be an understatement, so let me just say this: Operation Replacement Spidey was a success.

NuSpidey brings a few things to the table that OldSpidey was no longer capable of, like moving his head. Also, he has full mobility in both of his legs.

I am so lithe and flexible. Watch me do some man-splits. Do not cringe! I am a superhero! These things come naturally to me.

Wait. My Spider Sense is tingling. Who is this lovely lady? Why, The Boy’s Mom. How can I ever thank you for rescuing me from the trappings of that cardboard box filled with useless crap?

Take my hand, The Boy’s Mom. I am on bended knee for you. You have made my life worth living once again. I will now be able to fulfill my duty of fighting crime through the imaginative eyes of a child. You have done the world a great service. May you be forever rewarded with all of life’s wonders.

With the arrival of replacement Spidey came the warm, glowing warmth of happiness to the Land of Scissors. The children began, once again, to dance merrily around the May pole, flinging flower petals in the air and dancing with abandon in spring meadows filled with rainbows and unicorns. The End.

Filed under: Happy Happy, Offspring, The Spidey Chronicles by WWS (Lynn) - 5 Comments →

Hey, you’re not sick of hearing about Spidey, are you? No? Excellent! Without further ado, here is part three (of only three parts):

(Oh, and if you haven’t been caught up on the previous adventures of Spider-Man, check it out here and here).

As you’ve probably gathered by now, Spidey ain’t no spring chicken anymore. He’s getting older. His arthritis is acting up. He’s got a really stiff neck. But, like all super heroes, he plugs along, taking the maximum daily dose of ibuprofen and smiling through the pain. And, for the most part, it works. He won’t let his age defeat him.

Until, as if out of nowhere, a younger, stronger adversary attacks.

She uses her well-honed ninja skills to sweep in and land a mighty blow to Spidey’s left femur. She calls it the flying rocket ship.

And, against his will, Spidey collapses, gravely injured.

Oh, that’s gonna leave a mark.

Why, leg, why? Why must you forsake me?

Spidey’s closest friend and confidante “The Boy” brings him to the one person he knows will be able to help. She is the keeper of the Krazy Glue and a superhero in her own mind right. Deftly, she goes to work, creating a bionic leg for Spidey so that he may continue his work. Granted, the leg doesn’t bend or otherwise move, but it is now attached to his body with what can only be described as superheroic strength. That leg is going nowhere.

On land, Spidey now needs a cane to get around, what with the rheumatism having taken a firm grip on his bad leg, but in the air, he is a teenager again, web spinning with ease. And, if he has to fight bad guys, the Krazy Glued-On Leg of Death is now his signature move. Nobody messes with Spider-Man and the woman behind his success. (Ahem. That would be me.)

I love you, The Boy’s mom. You are my reason for being. You make me whole. I can’t live without you. Or my cane. I think I need a massage…

And what of the stealthy and merciless young ninja? Well, preschool and Tiny Tots ballet are keeping her pretty busy these days. She’s hanging up her ninja mask for now. Or is she???

Filed under: Offspring, Random, The Spidey Chronicles by WWS (Lynn) - 3 Comments →

Ah, vacation. A whispered promise of relaxation, harmony and free-spirited good times. Of course, when you add kids into the equation, expect to also add in the screaming element of surprise. Tantrums from travel-weary children (and parents), map (and stupid-ass broken GPS) related frustration and frequent stops at icky public bathrooms are the norm. Fortunately, we’ve travelled with children before and have learned a few tips for our own self-preservation. We have learned to keep the stretches of driving short, the snacks plentiful and the backseat entertainment flowing like wine. Also, we don’t leave home without our portable fold-up Dora potty seat. That thing is pure genius.

Living in flat prairie land like we do, the first few hours of any road trip are positively coma-inducing. We live relatively close to the mountains, though, so once we get past the first couple of mind-numbing hours, the views are spectacular. If you’ve never driven through the Roger’s Pass in British Columbia, I strongly suggest that you make a point of doing so in your RV-driving retirement years. You won’t regret it. It’s the kind of view that will make you believe in God, if you don’t already. My son is goggle-eyed over mountains so large that they’re capped with snow even in the summer.

Last night, we made a rookie mistake. We drove until 6pm before stopping to eat supper. Anyone who has ever had to deal with exhausted, hungry kids will appreciate the special kind of hell we were forced to endure that night. Multiple admonishments (“sit up!” “shh!” “don’t kick your brother/sister!” “leave the salt/pepper/ketchup/cream/sugar alone!”) were followed with multiple threats (“do you want to go sit in the car? Is that what you want?” “I’m going to count to three and then you’re not having any supper!”) before our meals mercifully arrived. Ordinarily, we are then blessed with several consecutive minutes of happy, well-behaved children. In this case, though, my son took one bite of his supper, declared “Eww!! This is just horrible!” and promptly melted down into a spastic puddle on the floor. My husband was forced to take him outside to the parking lot until he calmed down. After about 15 minutes of unsuccessfully trying to cajole The Boy into eating his dinner, my husband gave up and promised him a Baby Cheese from A&W if he would sit quietly at the table while the rest of us finished up. Instead, my son’s cries became increasingly louder because “OHHHH, my tummy hurts so much I need to eat RIGHT NOW!!” While simultaneously flaming a deep, embarrassed red and managing to keep my head held high, I coralled both my hysterical son and my surprisingly calm daughter out of the restaurant and into the car so my husband could finish his now-cold dinner. He wolfed the rest of his food down, paid his bill and bolted like a bat out of hell.

We drove to A&W and waited for about a gagillion hours for our one tiny cheeseburger, which my son promptly dropped on the floor of the car. More wailing. (Mostly from me.) I’ll admit that I dropped the “s” word in front of my kids two or three times in the span of about 1.5 seconds. I wrestled myself from my seatbelt, threw my purse at my husband and crazily flung myself out of the vehicle. I opened my son’s door, promptly causing half of the burger to then fall on the ground outside. As my son’s wails rose to a deafening (and heartbreaking) pitch, I cried, “three second rule!” snatched the bun off the ground, gave it a quick dust and slapped the burger back together. A little gravel never hurt anyone, right? Just a little roughage…

It wasn’t until we pulled into the parking lot at our hotel that we realized The Boy’s beloved Spidey was missing. Fuck! Fuckity fuckity fuck.

I got the kids into their pajamas and we settled into a near-catatonic state in front of Tom & Jerry. Hubby drove back to the restaurant to retrieve Spidey. He returned some 20 minutes later, empty-handed.

“Where’s Spidey?”

“Gone. They said some kid took him.”

(Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck!)

“Oh, great.”

From the bed, the small, sad voice of my son piped up, “He’s gone? Spidey’s gone?”

I swear that I’ve never before wanted to kick a kid’s ass but at that moment I was ready to beat on some kleptomaniacal behind.

“Apparently, the kid lives in town somewhere. I gave them our hotel number and home address. They’ll call us if they track him down.”

(Right).

Reconciling ourselves to the loss of a beloved family member, we piled into bed in an exhausted heap. Just as we were falling asleep, the phone rang. All four of us bolted upright and hubby dove for the phone.

“Hello? Oh, sure. Thank you! I’ll be right there.” Then, “They found Spidey! I’ll be back soon.”

Not five minutes later, The Boy was clutching his beloved Spider-Man to him like a life preserver and I was busy praising the kindness of strangers. Somehow, a couple of the restaurant staff had managed to track down the last name and phone number of the family who had taken off with Spidey, retrieved him and driven to our hotel to hand-deliver him back to us. Either it was a slow night for business or some very kind, selfless people are employed there. I prefer to think of it as the latter. After a long, hard day, I had been pushed to my very limit and was ready to write people off as a selfish, morally corrupt bunch of bastards. Thankfully, all it takes is one kind act to instantly restore your faith in humanity. What’s that line from Streetcar? “I’ve always depended upon the kindness of strangers.” Well, I doubted that we’d ever see Spidey again, doubted that anyone would want to take the time to get him back for the family who caused such a total scene in their establishment, but I was wrong. I happily stand corrected. Though I won’t ever come to depend upon it, my heart is warmed by the kindness of strangers. So, to the wonderful staff at the Legendz Diner in Golden, British Columbia, thank you from the bottom of our hearts. You have made one little boy very, very happy.

(I’m thinking that drilling a hole into Spider-Man and hanging him from a string around the boy’s neck might be my next project. He’s far too valuable a commodity to just leave lying around on random restaurant tables.)

Filed under: Happy Happy, Just My Luck, Offspring, The Spidey Chronicles by WWS (Lynn) - 5 Comments →

Since toddlerhood, my son has had a compulsive need to always have something in his hand. The first item he obsessively carried around with him was a bottle of eyedrops. He took it everywhere with him and slept with it in his chubby little fist. Before long, the label on the bottle had been rubbed completely clean and still he carried it around with him. On the rare occasion that he misplaced it, my husband and I would be met with the sad cry of, “My eyedrops! My eyedrops!”

After several months of carrying around the beloved eyedrops, my son found a new objet d’adoration – a vintage Little People construction worker.

To be honest, I’m not sure where he even managed to find a toy that so clearly belonged in the 80s, but he did, and held on to it long enough to rub the paint right off its little hard hat.

The Boy moved on to a Mr Incredible McDonalds toy and, later, a little plastic catapult from a medieval playset which he continually manipulated back and forth because he claims it helps him think.

For the last year or so, though, the toy-in-hand is a Spider-Man figurine. His head swivels as do his arms and legs. My son loves him because he can move Spidey’s arms and legs when he needs to think.

You can imagine the scene that went down last week when we saw this:

(Notice the multiple spots where the paint has rubbed off? It’s a running theme around here.)

My son was understandably distressed by the sight, but is so utterly devoted to Spidey that he carried him around headless for the rest of the day.

(We got a few strange looks at Save-On.)

After tearing the house apart trying to find poor Spidey’s head, my daughter finally spotted it underneath a chair in the living room.

Victory!

“Don’t ever wander off like that again! I’ve been out of my head with worry!”

“Hush, now. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

I glued Spidey’s head back on, taped him up and left him overnight to cure. The Boy was not thrilled about having to go to sleep without his precious and was consoled only by my promise that we’d go to Toys R Us the next day to search for a replacement, just in case the head transplant didn’t take.

The next day, I crossed my fingers that Spidey wouldn’t lose his head and do anything crazy and handed him back over to my boy. The head lasted about 30 seconds before I saw it rolling across the kitchen floor. I packed up the kids (managing to convince The Boy that carrying around a decapitated superhero might be looked at as a little odd) and headed to the toy store for a backup Spidey. After much deliberation, we chose what appeared to be a decent substitute and brought it home.

Apparently, the arms and legs didn’t move in just the right way on this new, substandard Spidey and Spectacular Spider-Man was left hanging.

“Hey, wait! Where are you guys going?”

“You can’t leave me! I have my own updated cartoon on TV! SPEC-tac-u-LAR, SPEC-tac-u-LAR!”

“Guys? GUYS?”

After another failed glue attempt, I pulled out the big guns and asked the husband to stop at Canadian Tire on the way home for some Krazy Glue. He delivered and I set about performing my latest head transplant surgery.

So far, so good:

“Thank you. You are a superhero in your own right. I will be indebted to you forever.”

“With great power comes great responsibility. I must keep a strong head on my shoulders so I can save the world, one child at a time.”

Now, as long as my boy doesn’t huck his beloved Spider-Man at anything hard, we should be good to go until his next obsession makes itself known. I can’t wait to see what he’ll come up with next.

Filed under: Offspring, The Spidey Chronicles by WWS (Lynn) - 8 Comments →