Sing A Song!

Today was a rough day.

It's really hot.

And I had to take my daughter to the dentist to get 3 cavities filled.

While waiting at the dentist, watching Toy Story 3 in an air conditioned lobby, my husband sent me a text message to tell me that blue paint got spilled all over the hallway carpet. And partly on the wall and a nearby door. And all over the changing table it was sitting on. Maybe I should come home.

It's my fault for putting the paint in the hallway on the changing table I was planning on taking to Good Will. We had finished painting my daughter's room, and it seemed like a decent place to put the paint until I could work up the stamina to carry it down to the garage.

It's his fault for running into the changing table and toppling over the paint.

We're are both to blame.

So I didn't get to watch my daughter get her cavities filled.

Here's the thing: when I told her we had to go home and reschedule, she cried. She thinks she loves going to the dentist. They play Toy Story 3.

She cried all the way home.

My husband sent me out for "shop rags" to help pick up the paint. I guess while I was gone, he had to reprimand her about something and she cried. So when I got home, she was crying.

I felt like crying too. But that was because there was blue paint all over my hallway carpet.

When I went to go make her dinner, she reached for something in a kitchen drawer that I have deemed "not a toy". She cried.

When her baby brother pulled her hair,she cried. I told her, "I cry when he pulls my hair too."

Then she went outside to play.

Cue plastic microphone.

There she was on the porch, singing her little heart out. She was totally out of tune. She made it up as she went along. But she sang with gusto and I'm sure all our neighbors could hear her. She sang about trees and plants. She sang about friends and being sorry. She sang about Rapunzel. She sang about being lost. She sang and sang and sang. And she came back into the house as if she were a whole new person.

My husband was smart enough to record some of it.

Our carpets got clean-thanks to a friend who owns a carpet cleaning business. But the day was not without it's tensions and hurt feelings.

While putting my baby to sleep tonight, I found myself holding him against my shoulder and yep, you guessed it, singing.

Bee Chase

I love the Fourth of July. It's one of my favorite holidays. I love the parades, and the music, and the BBQ's. Might I add that I think red, white, and blue look fabulous together.

I get teary-eyed when the Star Spangled Banner is played. I'm such a sap.

Until yesterday, I've never had a bad Fourth of July.

I don't know if it was because it was my first Fourth of July with two children. I don't know if it was because it was 96 degrees outside with enough humidity to melt your face off. I don't know if it was because when we came home in the afternoon, between the morning festivities and the evening festivities, I decided to work on painting my daughter's room and got hotter and sweatier and stepped in paint. I don't know if it was because we were all hot, sweaty, and cranky, and then we threw my equally cranky mother-in-law into the mix.

I think that by the time I got chased by a bee, I was ready to go home and crawl into a fetal position on the floor.

Here's how it went down.

We arrived at the local University several hours ahead of firework time in order to have a picnic and get a good spot to watch the fireworks. Usually I pride myself on being able to find the prime firework spot, but I was off my game this year and we couldn't quite decide where to place our stuff. My husband had dropped my mother-in-law, the kids, and I off to go stake out a spot and get set up while he parked the car.

As soon as I set down our brightly colored towels to sit on and our cooler and bags full of goodies, my mother-in-law said, "There's a bee."

I said (now holding my ten month old), "Well, I hope it goes away. I'm allergic."

"How allergic?"

I thought of the last time I was stung by a bee and couldn't walk right for several days because my thigh had swelled up to the size of the Good Year Blimp. "Pretty allergic."

"Well, it seems to like you."

I heard a buzzing noise right near my ear. I began to panic.

Now I know that you are not supposed to antagonize bees. I know I am supposed to calmly find a way to remove myself from the situation in order not to anger the bee. But I had the baby in my arms and I began to run.

I don't look attractive when I run.

I ran the length of the grassy area, my ten month old in my arms, my four year old screaming, "Run!" following in pursuit.

And yet the bee kept on.

A few times I managed to leave him behind, only so he could find me again and buzz around my hair. At some point, I set the baby down so I could run faster. I ran and ran with that bee chasing me.

I had quite the audience. I could hear murmurs about what that crazy lady was doing running back and forth on the grass. I heard the word "bee". I heard my mother-in-law explain to a nearby picnicking family, "She's allergic."

By the time I had completed my tenth lap around the grass, I could feel my asthma kicking in. I wondered where my husband was. I stopped for breath.

Someone nearby stated, "He's still in your hair."

I think I shouted, "Get it off me!"

A woman threw a towel over my head. And trapped the bee inside the towel with me.

I threw the towel off.

"The bee's still there," my daughter said.

"He's really angry now," my mother-in-law added.

My family has excellent observation skills, if you haven't noticed.

My husband arrived just in time to see me dance around in circles.

"Bee! BEE!" I screamed. "Kill it! He's after me!"

My husband picked up a towel. "Hold still. Hold still! I need you as bait."

"WHAT!?!"

The first time my husband tried the towel, he only managed to hit empty air. I began to dance around again.

"Hold still!"

WHACK! The towel hit my arm.

"Ouch!"

"I think I got him."