Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee

The floating part came about from the drugs I took to bring down the swelling and ease the pain.

But I'm already getting ahead of myself.

Saturday afternoon, after we finished buying a bunch of junk from other people, we decided to get rid of some of our own. And by our own junk I mean the hillbilly landfill we had brilliantly started in our backyard, patiently waiting for the day when there was enough to make it worth it to haul it all down to the real landfill. That day had long since come and gone, and there was more than enough to fill the back of our little trailer and pickup. Also, I think the fire marshall was about to give us a citation. So, we started loading.

Unfortunately, there was some sort of a nest underneath the trailer, and the occupants of said nest were put out about being disturbed. They fixed on me, which is weird, because I wasn't even wearing yellow, and swarmed about my face and head. I suppose this was their little way of telling me to back off. I did so. Not good enough. One of the little buggers got stuck in my hair and stung me on the head. Right in the vein that pulses above your temple when you get mad.

No big deal, you might think, but I am slightly allergic to wasp stings. It's not to the point where I have to carry a hypodermic on my person at all times, but bad enough, in my opinion. I was brave, and continued with the work, even though the side of my head started to swell up, and it felt like the stinger was in the vein, because every time my heart beat (which is generally about seventy times per minute--at that point, possibly more), it was like getting stung all over again.

That night I slept fitfully.

By morning there was a goose egg on my head (under my hair, so it could be hidden, and also some big lump next to my ear, where, it can only be supposed, the sentient stinger had worked itself in an effort to find its way to my brain so it could kill me. Still, I was valiant. I got up, despite the fact that I was having trouble moving my jaw, and attended all my meetings, screamed at the kids in Primary (not in a mad way--just so I could be heard over the din), and helped my friend with her four little ones during sacrament meeting.

I came directly home after the meetings and downed some benadryl, which caused me to sleep for five hours, even with certain kids coming in every thirty seconds to show me a picture they drew or tell me about a bug they saw. Bret claims there's something to be said for spending five hours asleep on a Sunday afternoon, and I suppose he's right, but it was a drugged sleep, and not really so much fun. I got out of making dinner, though, and there's definitely something to be said for that!

Today I'm a little better, the swelling is down, but it's still unclear how much longer I'll be around. The whole side of my face is numb. I made it to my 6:30 pool workout, and got the kids off to school. I only hope I'll be here to say goodbye when they get home this afternoon. If I don't post again, you'll know why.

Nemesis, tell Bret that I ordered your birthday present already, so when it comes in the mail he'll know what it is.

Cicada, good luck with your blinds, and I hope your hot dog party is a success. I'll be looking down on you. Tell Bret to give you your double-sided tape.

Savvymom, I've told you all I know about parenting. You're on your own.

Mamaj, I'm sorry I won't be here to take your kids for you. I'm sure Bret will do just fine. He's been a single dad before.

Sakhmet, make sure Bret sends you those bottles. They're all packed up, just waiting for someone to make a move.

Heidi, I hope you win. If I can be of any influence from the other side, you know I'll do my best.

To my dear family, I'll build you a rainbow . . .

Don't hate the wasps on my account. They were only doing what their little wasp instincts told them to do. I bear them no ill will. And so, my friends, let us not say farewell, but as the French have it, adieu!