I'm sitting here writing this post with a bag of ice on my toosh and dipping my hand in ice water in between sentences. I guess you could say I'm pretty dedicated to this blog.
Well, let me tell you how I got myself into this predicament of sorts.
Well, let me tell you how I got myself into this predicament of sorts.
My son decided we needed to dig a hole to China. "Great idea!" I enthusiastically replied as I found two shovels and the perfect spot to dig. I suggested we dig next to our side porch because no matter what I do, nothing ever grows there. "We're going on an adventure! We're digging ourselves out of New York and into China!" I cheered. Sometimes, we're not sure who the real kid is here. Anyway, my son wasn't listening. My little man was focused. Determined. In his head, China was just another dig away and I was distracting him with my babble. "Mama!" He excitedly shouted as a new idea formulated in his head. "I think we'll have to build a tunnel so we can slide DOWN to China!"
Don't ask me how he was coming up with any of this, but I was loving every minute. But as we dug our little hearts out, anticipating a new venture, the fun abruptly ended. All of a sudden, as I leaned over my shovel, I felt a sharp zing on my toosh. "Ouch!" I squealed. I quickly dropped the shovel and grabbed my behind. Then, another painful zing on my hand. I screamed, "I've been bitten!" My poor son didn't know what to do. He watched as I ran like a chicken with my head cut off with one hand on my buns and the other swatting the air.
When I finally was able to get my son and myself inside the house, he asked, "Who bit you Mama!?" He looked out the window searching for a bear, a snake, maybe even a dinosaur. But there was nothing. "Sorry. I wasn't making much sense. I got stung by a bee hun," I replied. "Oh." He said a little disappointed.
No bear, no snake and no dinosaur was lurking in our backyard today. Just a nasty, grumpy old bee who did not want us going to China.
Don't ask me how he was coming up with any of this, but I was loving every minute. But as we dug our little hearts out, anticipating a new venture, the fun abruptly ended. All of a sudden, as I leaned over my shovel, I felt a sharp zing on my toosh. "Ouch!" I squealed. I quickly dropped the shovel and grabbed my behind. Then, another painful zing on my hand. I screamed, "I've been bitten!" My poor son didn't know what to do. He watched as I ran like a chicken with my head cut off with one hand on my buns and the other swatting the air.
When I finally was able to get my son and myself inside the house, he asked, "Who bit you Mama!?" He looked out the window searching for a bear, a snake, maybe even a dinosaur. But there was nothing. "Sorry. I wasn't making much sense. I got stung by a bee hun," I replied. "Oh." He said a little disappointed.
No bear, no snake and no dinosaur was lurking in our backyard today. Just a nasty, grumpy old bee who did not want us going to China.
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