My girls found a wasp hive in the back corner of the backyard yesterday.
I was writing on the computer and they were playing outside. (I love where the computer is- right next to the sliding glass doors going outside. I can hear them and see them.)
Suddenly, they were screaming. And it wasn't the "I'm having fun!" scream. It was sheer panic/bad pain scream.
I stood up, slid open the screen and yelled "What is it?"
"Mama, mama, mama!" With both of them running towards me crying and screaming...
Deborah got to the porch stairs and started saying something about a bite and bees. I got her inside, and then Abigail finally got there. I was talking to her when I realized there was a wasp flying around her head. I yanked her in, closed the screen door and turned around to see Deborah's hand.
She had a nasty sting, so I took her up to the bathroom. And I watched wasps fly OUT OF HER SHIRT.
I yanked her out of the bathroom, shut the door and took her back down to the kitchen. Then I realized there were wasps flying around the living room...
So, I took both of them up to their bedroom, shut the door and got them calmed down. While I was holding them, my sister braved the bathroom and killed three wasps.
Then I left the girls in the bedroom, came downstairs and helped Beth round up the last few. We got a couple to fly out the window, and killed the other two. We counted up at least 8. We aren't sure exactly how many flew out the open window... I saw at least 2, and Beth saw another one.
I let them out of their bedroom, got Deborah medicated and calmed down. Then Jake called. And I fell apart.
Isn't that always the way it is? I can handle almost anything while it is happening, but afterwards... Really, when you think about it, it's amazing we got away with only one sting.
Jake's got a pretty crazy story about him and his brother finding a wasps nest. Each of them ended up with something like 13 stings...