Bee gone

So, I’ve created a monster. It wasn’t entirely intentional. At least, I did it with good intentions, anyway. See, my son and I were at the neighborhood playground back in the spring and he wanted nothing more than to mess with a pile of fire ants over by the pool area. He would not leave them alone so I told him to stop playing with them because they were “scary bugs” and I said they would bite him. Fast forward a few weeks and bee season is in full swing. Now, I am terrified of bees. My husband and family might say irrationally so. I’m not sure what it stems from. I’ve seen people have allergic reactions from stings and I saw that movie where the little boy got stung to death and I think it really just left a bad stain on my psyche. I can honestly say I don’t remember ever being stung by a bee and I think there is a good reason why. Whenever a bee, or any other flying, stinging insect comes within a 10-foot radius of me, I drop what I’m doing and run like I’m being chased by a bear. I scream and even flail my arms. For some reason, flying insects find this highly entertaining and will continue to chase me. And I’m convinced something about me just attracts them because every time I go outside, I get harassed by at least one unwanted flying bug. It’s a curse I’ve had to bear all my life. It even cost me extra push-ups during marching band practice in high school because I had to run away from my mark. This is why I think Raid or other insecticide companies should make their products in handy portable containers. I am always telling my husband I wish I could have a bottle of Raid small enough to carry with me in my purse. Then, whenever I encounter one of these pests, I’ll just spray them into oblivion. Yes, I know that’s mean and I shouldn’t want to kill innocent bugs… but they scare the daylights out of me and won’t leave me alone so peaceful co-existence isn’t really possible. Case in point—a few weeks ago, I was minding my own business, folding laundry in my living room and I was stung by a baby wasp in my home. It was apparently sitting on my daughter’s hamper and I brushed it with my leg. So, yeah, now I have to be afraid of the devils inside of my home too. I think I need to fire my pest control people.

Anyways, I guess my little guy has taken notice of my fear of bees and decided it’s something he should have too. Except he hasn’t limited his fear to bees. It’s pretty much any bug… even harmless depictions of bugs.  I have a counting app on my phone that lets kids count objects. Sometimes it will put up pictures of lady bugs. My son will not count them because they are “scary bugs.” He’s apparently also afraid of the bee stickers that came with his Winnie the Pooh wall decals. For the last several days, he’s been telling me there are “scary bees” in his room. When he mentioned it again today, I asked him to show me and he pointed to the happy looking cartoon bees stuck to his closet door. I assured him I would remove the stickers later.

This came after he informed his father early this morning that there was a scary bug in the living room. My husband swears he looked for said bug and could not find it (He has a bad habit of being unable to find bugs that were just there a moment ago. They always magically reappear a short time later. I feel this is intentional and that he is secretly afraid of more than just teensy spiders.).  My son, unsatisfied, told his father repeatedly that he “hates this bug.” I wasn’t aware he knew the word “hate,” but I guess I can be impressed he used it appropriately. Of course, my son discovered the “scary bug” again after my husband left for work. This time, it didn’t go undetected by the adult in the room. Turns out, it was one of those huge roaches that always seem to come in the house during the summer. Seriously, I need to fire my pest control providers! The nasty insect had been disabled by my mischievous orange cat, who usually handles these problems for me, effectively earning his keep and my affections. But, he must have gotten bored with the pest because he left half alive on the carpet. I called the frisky feline over to finish the job, but he gave me a look that said he had done all he was planning to do with this one. I enlisted the dog, a scrawny golden retriever, to clean up the mess but she was having none of it. Spilled breast milk on the carpet… not a problem for her. Regurgitated lasagna mixed with broccoli and stomach acid… sure thing. But handle a roach? No way. My only option was to take matters into my own hands for my son’s sake. I got a paper plate and scooped the bug up and tossed it outside, all the while saying how much I hated this bug. I guess I should be more careful about the fears I pass on to my children. My husband keeps worrying that my son will react to bugs this way when he goes to school and he is concerned other kids will pick on him. I’m not too worried about this happening. My son is very much a rambunctious boy and I have no doubt he will be picking bugs up to show them to his horrified mother in no time. In the meantime, I can take comfort in knowing someone else is just as bothered by the bees as I am.