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."