Well, the rumors are true.
I was attacked this morning. Yep. And it’s not the first time.
I was reading our morning story (with great expression and flourish and flair, I might add) We Gather Together, Now Please Get Lost by Diane de Groat, when one of my kids raised her hand.
Let me explain something to you.
My kids know we don’t interrupt the teacher when she is reading.
Number one: It’s not polite.
Number two: It’s rude.
Number three: It’s . . . well . . . just don’t interrupt me. I don’t like it. It’s like a commercial during The Housewives that I haven’t recorded. It’s not good – let’s put it that way.
So I ignored the child with her hand raised.
But she persisted.
Ugh. I finally said, “Do you have an emergency?”
“Yes,” she said, quite earnestly.
“What’s up?” I said, tiredly. And almost positive that it wasn’t an emergency, at least none of the lost limb variety.
“You have something in your hair,” she replied.
My first thought was . . . seriously? I just got my hair done last night and if it’s not a stupid mole on my ear, then it’s something in my hair? Really?
I asked the kids in the front row if they saw anything.
In a very shaky voice, she said, “It’s on the side.”
I turned my head to the side. The front row gasped.
I thought, that’s not good. Surely it’s not a booger? Or cream cheese from my bagel thin?
So I swiped my hair. Flick.
And yes, it was a bug. In fact, it was a bee. A killer bee, to be exact. Don’t ask how I know. I just know. Nothing is ever just normal in my life so that settles it.
The bee landed on my new girl who came back today. (When I told the hubby this story tonight, he said he couldn’t believe I flicked the bee onto a student. In my defense, I didn’t know it was a bee until I flicked it. And, also, aren’t kids more resilient that adults anyhow?)
My new girl was still and silent. (Another reason I like her.) I said, “Come here. Let’s go outside.”
I am proud to say that I said it quite calmly. I am actually very afraid of bees. This could be due to the fact that I was trapped in our staff bathroom with a wasp one time. I say trapped because I was in such a panic that I could not get the lock undone (there we go again). One of our male teachers was on the other side of the door listening to me scream and wail and act like a baby as he tried to jiggle the handle and help me escape. Turns out, you just slide the lock to the right. I can do it really easily on most days. Just not when I’m being stung. Yes, it did sting me. And, if I press my inner arm really, really, really hard, you can still see where the stinger was.
But as my new girl stood up to come outside with me, the bee flew into the general direction of where all my kids were sitting on the carpet.
I’ll let you imagine the rest.
Oh, and don’t forget to add the detail of the parent volunteer, as well.
It was mass chaos.
When I was able to gain control (nothing that a fire hose and a megaphone and a few tranquilizers couldn’t handle), we returned to our seats. I turned off the lights and opened the door in the hopes that the bee would go for the outside light.
He sort of did.
He went to the window.
I hemmed and hawed about killing it myself.
But I was skerd. Skerd silly, people. And I was trying to be brave, but every time I went up to it, I chickened out.
I decided to call for back up.
Our custodian came (who is amazing, by the way) and he asked, “Where is it?”
My kids whispered, “By the window.” (I had told them not to make a sound or the bee would hear them and
sting them possibly come over to where they were. Those five minutes of waiting were really peaceful.)
Mr. Custodian went over to the window. He asked, “Do you want me to kill it?”
What to say? What to say? Please don’t kill the killer bee? Please allow the killer bee to live another day? Please do not traumatize these first graders?
Well, what could I say? Me? The one stung by the wasp in the staff bathroom as I was trying to get out?
I chanted right along with the kids, in my best whisper voice, “Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!”
Oh, just kidding. Relax.
In all honesty, I just nodded. Pretended to be sad. I mean, we had no other choice. It was a KILLER BEE. Our hands were tied.
So our custodian killed it with his bare hands.
My kids cheered. And laughed a little.
And then we returned back to the carpet and finished the story.
The rest of the day went really well . . . until a cricket showed up at the Writing Center . . . for real.
People, I can’t make this stuff up.