Welcome to the KingZoo and Funny Farm, where we learn to live, laugh, and love together. Here you'll find snippets of life in our zoo, parenting tips we've learned along the way, reflections on shining God's light in this world, passions in the realm of orphan care, and our journey as parents of a visually impaired child with sensory processing disorder. Have fun!

Thursday, May 19, 2011

My hero

I am about to do something that I don't do very often. But it's a momentous day and my life has just been saved so I must give credit where credit is due, no matter how much it pains me. That is why I sit down to write this just moments after my heart has returned to its God-given place in my chest (where it definitely fits much better than in my throat). If I do not write this now, I will lose my nerve and once again pass up the opportunity to do the right thing.

My husband is my hero.

You can tell me that I need to say it more often, but I chaf at being told what to do. You can tell me that I need to go to a marriage retreat, but I know that I have plans that day. In fact, I'm fairly certain that if you look at my calendar, it definitely says "wash the cat" on that day.

Don't worry. He's well-aware that I am verbally-challenged and no longer expects much. He also knows that I'm challenged in many other areas as well. He loves me anyway. I guess it's because we have such a clean cat. Or we would, if we happened to own a cat.

But for today, he is definitely my hero. Just as my family was being held hostage by an intruder. Just as my brave-but-not-so-brave 10-year olds alternated between running for safety and standing at my side holding hammers. Just as I was about to breathe my last,

My phone rang. And it was my hero. And just as he's been made to do, upon hearing that his wife was about to be ambushed by a huge predator of wives, he offered to come home from work to save me. Not only did he offer, but he drove all the way home from a conference to rescue his wife from a danger so intense she would have been standing on a table if there had been one in the laundry room where she was held hostage.

Now, all you feminists, let me just say that I did my best to rid our house of this menace on my own. I talked sweetly to him. I showed him the bottom of my shoe. I even opened the door and suggested nicely that he'd be better off out in the rain than in my laundry room. But he didn't listen to me. In fact, he had the gall to turn around and run back toward the middle of the room, putting us all in grave danger.

So, my wonderful, brave, and loving husband did the right thing. He came in the house, grabbed the first tissue he could find (Puffs, of course) and caught that spider in one fell swoop. Knowing that that attack would not be good enough, he squished and squashed til there was nothing left of that tormenting, trouble-making, thorn-in-my side spider.


Then he asked for his reward. I told him he could have the $5 reward I had offered to the child who would dare to save me from that terrorizing creature. I guess that's not the kind of reward he was looking for because he refused to accept it.

The two 10-year old boys are still trying to convince me that they deserve to split the reward since they were ready and willing to rid the house of that invador of our privacy. Silly wimps with hammers. You might look good with those hammers on your shoulders but you did nothing to save me. Wait til I tell your future wife!

But it was a big spider!

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