The stuff of legend?

The other afternoon, while I was working, the babysitter said with a somewhat alarmed, high pitched tone: There is a snake...
Me: AAAHHH!
Sitter: ... in your carport. Don't worry - it is kind of small.

I ran to the sliding glass doors in the kitchen that look directly into the carport. Sure enough, there was a snake, smallish, but a snake nonetheless. And, much to my horror, the snake was banded. Having recently lived in a snake infested swamp, I have seen more snakes than I care to remember and they all were, with the exception of one memorable encounter, solid black. The snake slinking about in my carport had a brown banding pattern. Banding patterns on snakes is not a good sign.

I have a deep and abiding fear of snakes. I once screamed so piercingly at the sight of a snake that the snake itself actually froze with fear, and Mike, who was outside, on the other side of the house, listening to headphones, thought to himself, that shriek of terror can only mean one thing.

The carport is our primary access point to the house. The carport is where we park the cars, Henry's stroller, and his favorite outdoor toys. A snake, even a small snake, in the carport meant that we were being held hostage in our own home. We could never leave again.

After about 5 minutes of watching the snake slither around the carport and listening to my nonstop tirade against snakes, the sitter volunteered helpfully: I do see baby snakes all the time when I run around here. They're pretty common... but this snake isn't that small.... Most of the snakes around here are harmless. But this one looks different. This one looks like, well, a copperhead.

A copperhead! A copperhead in my carport!

Meanwhile, Henry, who didn't seem to notice the snake, was antsy to play outside with his lawnmower and trucks. Henry and the sitter exited the house through the seldom used front door. Henry was all too eager to play with his toys housed in the carport so he charged around the house toward the carport. I quickly ran outside to block him from the carport. Already, at that point, I have positioned myself closer to a snake than I have ever willingly been. The snake was terrifying close to Henry's toys. I screamed. The sitter screamed. Henry stared in bewilderment.

Quickly, I grabbed a shovel. I decided to use the shovel to push Henry's toys out into the driveway and away from the the snake. But then, as if taunting me, that damn snake slithered up on top of Henry's toy lawnmower. On top of his toy lawnmower! I screamed. The sitter screamed. I rattled the mower with the shovel and the snake slid back onto the carport floor. Again, more screaming. I released the mower, the dump truck, and just as that damn snake was taking a suspiciously keen interest in H's stroller, I was able to roll that out from the carport, too.

The sitter cheered: Henry, your mom is a hero!

I flashed forward - how will this end? A poisonous snake just can't make the carport its home. I can't stand here all day and night waiting for the snake to slither off into the sunset. And if it does, what if it slithers back tomorrow? If I don't personally see this snake slither out of the carport and then get picked off by a bird of prey and KNOW that the snake is no longer a threat, I will never be able to go into the carport again. I will never be able to let Henry touch any of his outdoor toys for fear that the snake has curled up inside of them and will unexpectedly spring out and attack our faces. I will insist on selling the car - what if the snake crawls up into the car and lays baby copperhead eggs? Moving is really the only safe option but we have a few months left on the lease. What if the snake finds a crack in the brick and makes its way inside the house? What kind of mother am I to just let a venomous snake slither all over her child's toys and to take over our lives.

So, I did something that I never thought I would do. Ever. I'll spare you the graphic details, but let's just say that I am confident that the snake is no longer living in our carport. And it won't be back. I am not proud. (OK, I am a little proud.), but I had to defend my family against a possibly poisonous snake.

I do wonder what Henry actually witnessed. I would like to think that Henry will remember that moment as the time that I courageously and selflessly overcame my debilitating fear, sounded my warrior battle cry, and single-handedly saved the family from a large, venomous snake. This version of reality is preferable to his remembering the time his mommy shrieked like a crazy lady and attacked what appeared to be a large worm.