Sunday, June 10, 2018

That Time I (almost) (not really) Saved The Day

I hate bugs, guys. Like really really hate them. I have quite the extensive Burt Bee's lip balm collection but that doesn't mean I can tolerate the little jerks. I have one of those bright yellow bee (or wasp? who knows?) traps in the backyard and recently while lamenting the fact that I'm "not catching any bees" AJ's mom asked why I was catching bees and how good they are for our flowers. Yeah I know, I know, if bees go extinct I can no longer indulge in my beloved avocado toast, enjoy the 3 pack of honey from Costco, and pretty much all fruits and veggies will be gone. I know. But still....I hate bees (and actually all bugs).

This dislike of insects goes way way back. When my dad was driving me home from college (so I was 22, keep that in mind), I screamed bloody murder on a bridge somewhere outside of Couer d'Alene because I thought a bee landed on my arm. When my dad pulled over, relieved I was not in fact dying, but irritated that I  caused such a ruckus on a bridge with him operating a vehicle, I admitted that maybe it was just a shadow? I wasn't sure, but I swore something was flying! I asked my dad to search the car to make sure it wasn't lying in wait as evil bugs are known to do.

When AJ and I first got married he finally understood my fear of bugs. I don't think he believed me that once I found a moth in my apartment and when it was time to go to sleep and the little bugger still could not be found and disposed of, I slept in a hoodie with the hood on (in the summer) so you, know, there was less of my skin exposed that it could land on. I'm crazy, I know.

Well, fast forward to last week. AJ was out of town all last week doing AP grading so Hank and I were holding down the fort just the two of us. All was well and good....until Friday afternoon. I had just picked up groceries from Smith's (I am obsessed with Clicklist) and Hank cried the whole time I was unloading the car. I held and rocked him as I put frozen and refrigerated items away (the rest could wait until after naptime) and then....then....I saw it. A bee flying around the kitchen!!!!! I dropped a few choice expletives but tried to keep my cool for Hank. If you're not a worrier like me you might be thinking, umm, seriously? Kill the damn thing and move on. And looking back now, in my bee-free house, I can see that yes, that would be the rational thought. But when it comes to bugs--- rational I am not. My inner monologue went something like:

-Why is this happening with my hubby out of town?
-I've never met the neighbors across the street but I see they are out in their lawn. Think they'd come kill a bug for me? No! Bad idea, I should come over with sugar cookies, not a hit on an insect
-It is way too hot out to wear a hoodie all night if it's not caught and I need to cover maximum skin surface area
-Two words: My. Girl. Yeah, that movie where Macaulay Culkin dies from a freaking bee sting. What if Hank is allergic and I don't even know it?

So I did what any modern American woman would do when faced with a situation where her baby needs protection: I texted my husband half way across the country that's what.
In full disclosure, here is our actual text convo:
AJ calls Hank "Munch" FYI 

I knew what I had to do. I put Hank up in his crib, turned on his lullabies (he did not need to bear witness to the amount of profanity I knew I was about to unleash on my unwelcome house guest) and he fell asleep. I closed the door to his room in case I couldn't kill the bee and it flew to his room and violently stung him and I would officially be the worst mom in the world.

I pulled my hair back (somehow I felt like I needed my full peripheral vision for this task) and armed myself with The Very Hungry Caterpillar since it seemed like the heaviest board book we had. Once I got downstairs I located my target. I approached it slowly and realized smashing it with the book might take more courage than I could currently offer. I reached for my secondary weapon choice: A bottle of Windex. I took aim and then.....
it flew away by another window. Ok, ok, I regrouped and said, "you're going down, you *!*%! piece of &&%$^*" (yes, out loud).

I proceeded to attack with the Windex but when it landed on the couch, I decided to trade out my Windex for Febreeeze. I was not about to coat all our upholstery in Windex, what am I, a monster?
I proceeded to follow and spray that thing around for about 10 minutes. I felt like a damn warrior. Not today, bee. NOT. TODAY. Finally, I pelted it over and over with Febreeze until it met its untimely demise on the window sill. I shot it a few more times just to make sure our tormentor was done.

I felt legit bad ass. I am woman, hear me roar! I am protector of my turf, fierce, mama bear, warrior queen, if you will. But as I got closer I realized it was.....

just a fly. A BIG fly, but still, just a fly. But that did not stop me from relaying the whole story to AJ along with this picture:

Sometimes we take our warrior queen mama moments when and how we can get 'em.

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