Dec 01, 2021
I was making drop biscuits in my online baking class when my daughter yelled from across the house that she had found a scorpion.
Now, I have been teaching for 24 years, and I have dealt with every kind of interruption and disaster imaginable. Interruptions in the early years usually took place in the form of an announcement on the school’s PA system. Disasters involved things like forgetting my lunch or having trouble getting the technology to work.
But a scorpion? I have never even had a night before-the-first-day-of-school nightmare that could compare to a scorpion.
This would not be the first scorpion at my house, either. We once found a dead one by the back door the day after the exterminator had come. Which led me to believe that no matter how many lizards and spiders they get, they cannot be responsible for all the pests—and so, our exterminator has some job security.
I am not allowed to leave my class unattended. But there was, apparently, a scorpion in my house. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry or end the meeting or scream or ignore my daughter or run outside or grab a frying pan. (Could I squish it with a frying pan? How fast do those things move? Are they faster than cockroaches? I could not believe I was thinking about this while my hands were wrist-deep in dough. Gross.)
“Don’t worry, Mom! I will bring him and show you!” my daughter called from a bedroom. I was not sure I wanted her to do that. But I found myself explaining to my 9- and 10-year old Zoom students that there was a scorpion in my house. I tried to read their faces, but they were blank. I think they did not hear me or did not believe me or did not know what a scorpion is. Or they live in Arizona and are not afraid of scorpions.
I, however, was afraid. But I was also playing it cool with my students. I told them again, and I said it like it was the most interesting thing that had happened all week (and it was). But I was also keeping very calm. I was pretending to be a science teacher and to see this as a “learning opportunity” not to be overlooked. (In reality, I was teaching a book club with cooking activities. I am not even a real cook or baker or chef or anything. I am not even the one who does the household cooking for my own family.)
As I was trying to act like this is the sort of thing that happens all the time, my daughter did indeed enter the kitchen with the scorpion. And it was, in fact, a scorpion.
Like his cousin from the patio, this guy was dead. Or dying at any rate. He was still moving, but not enough to actually be scary. Ashley had him in a plastic dish. I held him up to the camera for my students to see. No reaction. I mean, it’s not like I was going to let the guy get into the dough. But still, there was a half-alive scorpion in my kitchen, and I was preparing food. It was the kind of thing I expected kids to go crazy about.
I shooed my daughter out of the kitchen and finished class. And I figure I will have no more nightmares about teaching because, after all, how much worse could it be than that?
But a scorpion? I have never even had a night before-the-first-day-of-school nightmare that could compare to a scorpion.
This would not be the first scorpion at my house, either. We once found a dead one by the back door the day after the exterminator had come. Which led me to believe that no matter how many lizards and spiders they get, they cannot be responsible for all the pests—and so, our exterminator has some job security.
I am not allowed to leave my class unattended. But there was, apparently, a scorpion in my house. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry or end the meeting or scream or ignore my daughter or run outside or grab a frying pan. (Could I squish it with a frying pan? How fast do those things move? Are they faster than cockroaches? I could not believe I was thinking about this while my hands were wrist-deep in dough. Gross.)
“Don’t worry, Mom! I will bring him and show you!” my daughter called from a bedroom. I was not sure I wanted her to do that. But I found myself explaining to my 9- and 10-year old Zoom students that there was a scorpion in my house. I tried to read their faces, but they were blank. I think they did not hear me or did not believe me or did not know what a scorpion is. Or they live in Arizona and are not afraid of scorpions.
I, however, was afraid. But I was also playing it cool with my students. I told them again, and I said it like it was the most interesting thing that had happened all week (and it was). But I was also keeping very calm. I was pretending to be a science teacher and to see this as a “learning opportunity” not to be overlooked. (In reality, I was teaching a book club with cooking activities. I am not even a real cook or baker or chef or anything. I am not even the one who does the household cooking for my own family.)
As I was trying to act like this is the sort of thing that happens all the time, my daughter did indeed enter the kitchen with the scorpion. And it was, in fact, a scorpion.
Like his cousin from the patio, this guy was dead. Or dying at any rate. He was still moving, but not enough to actually be scary. Ashley had him in a plastic dish. I held him up to the camera for my students to see. No reaction. I mean, it’s not like I was going to let the guy get into the dough. But still, there was a half-alive scorpion in my kitchen, and I was preparing food. It was the kind of thing I expected kids to go crazy about.
I shooed my daughter out of the kitchen and finished class. And I figure I will have no more nightmares about teaching because, after all, how much worse could it be than that?
