The boys danced on a rock and then hopped onto the next rock in a line of boulders. Baby Brother carefully followed Long Legs’ every movement. His confidence was linked to the ability of his brother to clear each jump.
I envisioned many hours of unstructured play around these rocks; climbing, jumping, sitting, bug watching. Was I on easy street and off the official swing pusher duty with the discovery of this new place zone? I could prop my feet up and read a book while the Wildings entertained themselves.
Life was sweet.
Little Legs nailed another incredible jump from rock to rock. My heart raced with anxiety at the obvious risk of a fall. I calmed my nerves with self-talk, this is a good form of exercise, they are fine, learning about physical limits and spending time in Nature.
Baby Brother hesitated and crouched down, suddenly less confident in his own goat-like hopping capability. Then he began to shriek in pain.
“Ow, ow, ow,” was all he was able to get out.
I ran to Baby Brother while Little Legs watched from the platform of the next rock.
“My butt,” he managed.
Bees buzzed around us as I turned him around and found a bee trapped in a perpetual sting in between his underwear-less cheeks.
I flicked the bee, sent it into orbit and personally began to understand the source of the squalling as another bee stung my hand. I picked Baby Brother up and stepped back. It was in that single step that I unearthed a colony of yellow and black striped demons straight from Hell.
Yellow jackets began to attack with dives into our arms and legs.
Little Legs was quickly down from his perch and next to me, “Run,” I yelled.
He needed no further encouragement. Holding a hand to the sting on his neck, he sprinted inside.
I batted the bees away from Baby Brother, grabbed him and ran for the house.
Most of the bees gave up the chase but the ones trapped in our clothes had no choice but to continue with the attack inside of the house.
To say it was a rough afternoon would be an understatement. The boys howled with pain even with the baking soda compresses and ice.
“When will it stop?” they asked.
“Soon,” was all I could say, nursing my own wounds.
What lesson did we learn? I fall short of any deep epiphany aside from misery loves company.
We were in it, and out of it, together. What is a better way to bond?