Mean Bug

[All posts this week have been scheduled. I am on "vacation" (accompanying my husband on a business trip) right now in the Dallas, TX area. Probably dying of heat. I will, hopefully, blog all about the trip when we get back. Including the insanely long drive, the insanely hot heat, the insanely boring days, etc.]

Bug recently found out that bugs (the real kind, not the toddler variety) can be mean!

He got stung by a wasp.

And we were -inside- the house, even!

I think we have some wasps living under the siding right outside our back door. We really need to get rid of them, because almost every time we open the door, one of them finds its way inside. And Bug is a boy. He loves creepy, crawly things. Usually, he likes to disable the creepy, crawly thing, so he can carry it around without it getting away from him. His favorite things are ants. They are easy to catch, and easy to squish to the brink of death (while still allowing them to wiggle a bit in their agony). He also really likes June beetles (or potato beetles, whatever those things are called). Nice and orange. Round. Large enough to be easy to grasp, but not too big that they are intimidating. Luckily, they don't bite. So I'm ok with Bug carrying the gross things around. I don't mind bugs, usually. The older I get, the less tolerant of them I am becoming, though.

Anyway, a wasp got in our house. It flew around, hitting and bumping the ceiling, the light, the door and the walls. I think that was just making it ill-tempered. But, then it fell behind the couch, and I forgot about it. The next day, I was sitting on the computer (probably reading blogs) when I heard Bug SCREAM. It was a mixture between a terrified scream and an in-pain scream. I ran to him as fast as I could. He was standing next to our sliding back door, holding his finger (and sticking his whole hand in his mouth, before he would pull it back out and hold his finger again). My mother's intuition, I guess, told me right away that he had been stung by that wasp. I looked in the corner of the door's track, and there was the wasp, slightly disabled, but still alive.

I rushed to the kitchen, with Bug in my arms, and got him a wet paper towel to hold over his finger. Then I called my mom, "What was the mixture you used to put on our bee stings? Corn starch or baking soda? Baking soda. Got it. Love you. Bye!"

I mixed up some baking soda and water. Then I look all over Bug's finger to find out exactly where the sting was. His whole finger was red and swelling up. Directly around where the sting was, though, the skin was white, with a little red dot at the site of the sting. I slathered on some baking soda mix. I then told Bug not to lick it (as he stuck his tongue out and was bringing his hand up to his mouth). I decided it wrap the finger in a wet paper towel over the mixture, to keep Bug from eating the paste!

He only cried for a little bit. Then he fell asleep. (It was time for his nap, anyway!) His finger was quite swollen for a couple hours. But Bug was a real trooper! And he forgot about the pain quickly. Although, he is still afraid that there is going to be a wasp by the door!

Right after I took care of my little guy, I grabbed the nearest magazine (the latest edition of the Ensign), rolled it up, and beat the living daylights out of that wasp! Take that!