Attack

I was right in the middle of reading Barbara Walters, “Audition,” when an ear-piercing shriek made me jump to my feet. Little Squirt came running into the house, crying in hysterics. Apparently, while playing with his cars in the grass, he’d encountered a mob of bees. They were already irritated that Rock Star had disturbed their nest while cutting the grass earlier in the day. Little Squirt was a convenient target for their wrath, and he was stung on his finger and head. And as I was examining him, another one ventured out from under his shirt, stinging him several times on his tummy.

He was given benadryl and ice packs, lemonade and chocolate chip cookies. He was made comfortable under his favorite blanket on his favorite couch to watch “Sponge Bob.” His Spiderman band aids, which magically heal every kind of ailment in Little Squirt World, were applied to the assaulted areas. But his feelings have also been injured by these vicious insects. He previously considered them his friends who loved to dance upon the flowers. Now he is afraid he’ll be attacked again during the night, and is insisting on sleeping with someone. Anyone. Butterfly, Rock Star, us; one of the Infallible Big People in his family, who he is certain will guard and protect him, should the angry mob come calling again.

In the meantime, Super Hubs is the courageous Bee Slayer, killing and banishing the insects from their prior residence. It is war and he will win. And I am playing Nurse, scrutinizing Little Squirt for any signs of distress. (Big sigh.) It’s always something. Even on a day when the sunshine is warm and the sky is at its bluest.