#59 Facing Ranidaphobia Head-On

This past year has been a year of facing fears. Badass™ has made me realize how many things I was afraid of...and how great it feels to finally be brave enough to face my fears.

I do have one serious phobia -- the kind that mades me feel queasy, pit-in-my-stomach, heart racing, want to run out the door scared. This fear has lasted for years and years and is completely irrational.

Ranidaphobia: The fear of frogs or toads.

But hold on…before you tell me how cute they are (yes…I love Kermit) or how good they are at controlling the mosquito population, there’s a reason why. Let me fill ya in.

Let's go back 20 years or so. We had just moved from New Jersey to Florida and were renting the guest house on a Coral Gables property where the main house had, as the legend goes, been blown down in Hurricane Andrew. Since the guest house was pretty darn big, I can only imagine how giant the original house was.

The yard, though. All I can say is it is the stuff of dreams AND nightmares. It was a literal jungle that took a full time gardener all his time just to keep things at a livable level. That was our yard.

There was an avocado tree (I found this out by finding a lot of avocados on the ground one morning. That was a very, very happy day). There was a treehouse and a zipline. There were patches of sweet scented Jasmine and bright green palm trees lining the driveway. There was a barn that held the washer, dryer, lawn tools, and lots of weird nooks and crannies – and I swear perhaps someone easily could have been living there and nobody would know, but as long as they didn’t bother me, it was kumbaya.

And, there was a big old gigantic empty cement fountain in the middle of the circular driveway.

I walked out of the house one morning and spotted a bit of movement out of the corner of my eye. Glancing into the fountain, I was horrified to see something moving there.

Looking closer, I realized it was a gnarly beast of an opossum who appeared to be ridiculously pissed about being trapped. It was his own dang fault for the predicament he was in – he’s the one who thought that climbing into a fountain was a good idea. Dumbass.

So I did what any New Jersey girl would do in a situation such as this.

I called Animal Control.

I figured they would come rescue this poor animal and lovingly take it somewhere more comfy…far, far away from here.

What I got, was Joan. Joan is the animal control operator, and I am assuming she came from somewhere where she has SEEN THINGS (intentional capitals there) so my particular situation didn’t seem to rock her world.

Here’s how the conversation went. (If you want to say it outloud, go for authenticity and do it right. Joan had a very thick Louisiana accent. My accent was “Not from down here” with a shaky and on the verge of hysterics voice quality)

Joan: Animal Control. Joan here. What do you need?

Me: Um. Hi. I live at _____ and there is an opossum that I need removed.

Joan: Is it dead?

Me: Ew…I hope not. But I bet he’s thirsty so he might be a little dehydrated.

Joan: Then why are you calling?

Me: Um….don’t you guys remove animals?

Joan: (Here’s where you can adopt a patronizing tone) Oh honey, bless your heart. All you gotta do is fish it out of there.

Me: Whhhhhh…….at?

Joan: Just get yourself a broom and kind of scoop it out. He’s not gonna hurt ya. He’s gonna hiss at ya like something awful but just ignore that. Most likely you’ll be fine”.

I hung up and did a deep breath to give me courage. She was right. I could do this.

I headed to the barn to go get the broom I saw there earlier in the week.

As I said before, the barn was a strange place and never game me good vibes. But I was too freaked out to worry much about the barn when there was a hissing, pissed off opossum I had to scoop out of the empty fountain of a blown away mansion in the middle of a jungle with avocados. (Sounds like a really bad movie, doesn’t it?)

When I grabbed for the broom, there was something blocking the base that needed to be shoved away. I casually glanced down as I was getting ready to kick the object away when I realized what I was about ready to kick:

The biggest, most slimy, moistest, wartiest TOAD ever invented. He was gigantic – about the size of a dinner plate. He has an extremely off-putting expression on his face.

I named him Louie.

(No! Of course this is not a real picture of him. Louie was much, much, much bigger, slimier, and moister. But this gives you an idea of what he looked like).

You know when you are oversaturated with fear and anxiety that you stop being aware that you are afraid? Moving to Florida was incredibly stressful for me, but I couldn’t let the kids see how scared I was about everything so I put on a brave face and pretended I was holding everything together. And I was able to pretend until this point.

Well, that TOAD broke me. All my fear came pouring out in a flood of hysterical shrieking after my run-in with Louie.

I went running out of the barn, screaming bloody murder, tore across the yard, passed the hissing pissed-off opossum, and flew into the house. I refused to leave for the rest of the day.

I swore to never leave the house again. And I meant it!

Thankfully, the kids thought I was playing a new fun game called “Watch Mommy Fall Apart” and didn’t know how terrified I actually was.

Obviously, I did go back outside after that day. But I never stopped having irrational fears of toads and frogs.

Now back to present time.

I was walking the beach this weekend, looking for treasures washed up from the recent storms. I love always being on the lookout for something Badass to report to you guys.

The waves were wicked and beautiful! My favorite birds were all clustered together. Those things were cool. Unfortunately, most of what I found was human trash -- Ugh. A Tommy Hilfiger hat, a flosser (do people floss at the beach??), a dry erase marker, red solo cups, and lots of bottle caps. And weirdly, a woman’s chiffon scarf.

Nature hid more than usual but I was able to see a sand dollar, a really gross large sea squirter, a big old crab hole (like the crustacean version of a beachside condo), and the remnants of what I think was a gigantic crab.

And a found a frog.

Wait….whaaaaaat?

Frogs aren’t supposed to be in the ocean!!! Nooooo…..frogs cannot get in my happy place.

And I almost stepped on this guy because, like Louie, he was just lurking underfoot.

Can you believe that I was actually shaking-- heart racing, trembling, nausea starting to rise fear coming back, just like what happened in Coral Gables. NOOOOO!

I started to walk away, but something drew me back. I think it was that part of my brain telling me to stop being such a scaredy cat, put on my big girl panties, and grow up. So I did.

It didn’t make sense. Why would a frog be there? And why would it be so completely still?

I got a big old long piece of beach wood and poked the dude.

Ok. This guy was super dead.

I flipped him onto his back. Oh my…he actually looked a little sweet, like he kicked the bucket in the middle of his frog yoga class.

And guess what?

I picked up the frog. I actually did. And I got a good look at him.

Was he ugly like Louie was? Not really.

Do I love frogs now? Well, I love them in theory.

Yes, I love Kermit, and I’m glad they control the mosquito population.

And I think I will be less scared of them in real life.

I got to have lunch with my dear friend Jill today and I was telling her the story. She started laughing because she remembered my Frog Fear from when we lived in Weston.

It’s good to have a friend with such a long history of friendship and loves me for who I am…warts and all. (OMG…did that sound as cheesy as you read this as I felt writing it?)

Love you Jill!!!! Let’s get together again really soon.

And look....I drank a green Lime Jarritos and toasted the little frog.

I still don't know what caused the little frog to have been killed so close to the ocean's edge.

It's not easy being green.