Yesterday my PTL job at the twins’ school was to host a Teacher Appreciation Lunch. Thanks to the help from the tons of volunteers (including M, who taught Third Grade like a pro), we pulled off a tasty celebration that made the teachers feel loved.
I had never done anything like this, so the whole day was fun and exhausting. And hot. Summer is almost here, so it’s in the 80s everyday. Not to mention the humidity is slowly creeping back.
When I picked up the kids from school, they were hot. I was too, plus a little worn out from the big day.
So, when they asked to get in the pool, it took me about ten seconds to throw on my suit and join them outside, where they were jumping around and putting on sunscreen with questionable accuracy.
They ran for their new Pool Bazooka things, I ran for my super-comfy lounge chair, and we all looked forward to a peaceful afternoon of sunbathing and spraying water at each other. (To be clear, I never look forward to the Pool Bazooka things. They always cause problems. Keep reading.)
Looking back at the afternoon, it was these moments when I made my stupid error. Everything felt so peaceful and easy, I sort-of let my brain slip into thoughts like, “What wonderful kids these are! Spring is so beautiful. We are so blessed to have this pool. I can’t wait until summer; it will be so relaxing!”
This is just about the exact moment Nate loaded up his Pool Bazooka, snuck about two feet from the side of my head, and sprayed me with freezing water.
There was screaming (me, from shock of the water in my ear, soaking my phone, and running down my bathing suit) and screaming (Nate from shock Mommy was not laughing) and time-outs (Nate to learn his lesson and Mommy to dry off).
The second Nate got out of his time-out, he walked over to the other side of the pool, where Catie was yelling something about the bugs in the pool. Apparently, she was yelling something about bees because seconds later, Nate started screaming. I mean, an ear-splitting “something-is-very-wrong!” scream. He crouched down on the concrete, shaking and screaming and rocking back and forth.
Because I figured this had something to do with the stupid Pool Bazookas or his injured pride from the time-out, I didn’t rush over there. In fact, I told him to come to me. While he was slowly walking over to my lounge chair, Catie started screaming, “I think he stepped on a bee!”
Oops.
“I stepped on a bee!” he screamed while I scooped him up and searched frantically for the stinger.
Sure enough, the stinger was lodged in the bottom of his foot, and a welted line of venom puffed up the whole area.
It didn’t look good. The kids and I all started doing exactly what we all do in an emergency. Sam and Elisabeth nervously danced around me and asked questions “Can I see the stinger? Why can’t I look at it? Please?”). I got very calm and quiet and started giving directions through clenched teeth.
“Everyone. Sit. Down. Over. There.”
I used the subscription card from a nearby magazine to try to scrape out the stinger.
It didn’t work. I picked up my phone and googled “bee sting.”
And this is where I ask Google or anyone out there who wants to get a million website hits to, please, post how to handle a bee sting in an emergency. Because my Google search yielded recipes for cakes, the history of bee stings, and some minor-league baseball team. But nothing about what to actually do when you’re kind-of freaked out your two-year-old may be going into anaphylactic shock
“Catie. Go. Get. My. Credit. Card.”
Catie did what she always does in emergencies: mimics my calm, but with her limited, eight-year-old understanding.
“Which one?” she asked through her clenched teeth.
“It doesn’t matter. Just. Hurry.”
She came back with a credit card, which didn’t work. Then some tweezers, which also didn’t work. I couldn’t get a good angle on the darn thing, which was really lodged in there. Finally, when Nate’s foot was starting to really look nasty, and alarm bells were clanging in my brain, I brought him inside, held the screaming, wriggling toddler on my bed, and yanked it out.
It took two frozen GoGurts (one to soothe the swelling on his foot and one to cool off his hungry, screaming mouth) to calm him down.
Finally, I turned on the TV and set the whole group down to rest after all the drama. I was really exhausted now, so I joined them on the couch.
And for a blissful thirty minutes, we all snuggled and relaxed together.
It was so nice that I was almost (ALMOST) tempted to start thinking how wonderful and easy summer would be.
