I Hate Bees.

As a survivor of 6 rounds of bee stings, I have a legitimate reason to hate the stupid bugs.  Now I have another.

Last Sunday we were heading to a friend's house for dinner.  I was upstairs getting ready when I heard Seth screaming.  He's been a little bit of a punk lately (pushing the rules to see if we'll follow through with the punishment) so I assumed he'd gotten in trouble with his daddy.

But then Catherine started screaming, too, so I headed downstairs to see what Jon was up to.  He had a sobbing Seth in his arms (Catherine was ticked off because he put her down).  Apparently Seth had stepped outside without shoes on and somehow managed to land right on a bumblebee.  One of those big, fuzzy ones that I didn't think could sting.  They can.

I got a baking soda paste on his toe as quickly as possible and then Googled, "How to tell if your kid is allergic to bee stings."  Reminding ourselves to check him for swelling and rashes, we headed out the door.

He was totally fine by the time we left.  No allergies, no pain.  All that's left is pure terror--every time he sees a bee he panics and runs.  Yesterday he even wet his pants because he was so scared.  Part of me is so sad that he's afraid of everything that looks like a bee (flies included).  But the other part of me is glad--now he knows them for what they are: horrible, nasty little monsters who are out to get him.

If I were in charge, all pollinating would be done by butterflies.  And yes, I can totally live without honey, thank you very much.