I've always dealt irrationally with spiders. I don't know where it comes from or how to get rid of it. I'm not squealy about rodents or snakes, but I can barely even type the "s" word. In fact, I usually refer to them (if I have to at all) as "redips", which is the offensive word spelled backwards.
Despite my ridiculousness, it seems my children have been spared. Noah is particularly brave and will kill them with his bare hands or feet. One was climbing up the wall today, and I tried to calmly ask Noah to kill it ("calm" as in not screaming and running away, although the words "Holy Mother of God" did come out of my mouth, so I guess it wasn't completely calm). He casually walked over and kicked it barefooted. I looked away during the actual moment of impact. I noticed Noah crawling on the floor, running his hand over the carpet, which terrified me. I said, "Did you miss it?" in my calmest possible voice.
N: No, Mom. I killed it.
M: Then why are you still searching for it?
N: I'm not. It's fine.
M: Is it dead?
N: Yes, it's totally dead.
M: Where is the body?
N: I don't know.
M: It got away, didn't it?
N: No. It's dead.
M: I need to see the body.
N: Oh my gosh, Mom. Why?
M: Otherwise I don't believe you.
N: I smashed it into pieces, so I can't produce a body for you.
M: Well then, show me a piece.
He dug around in the carpet for several minutes and finally presented me with a crumpled leg attached to a tiny bit of guts. I thanked him and told him to get on with his life. He loves me.