Yesterday, when I arrived home from picking up Harvey at school, I was happy to see Hayden’s car already in the driveway as he had been out of town for work the past few days. Hudson and Harvey tumbled out of my car to hug Dad and I went around back to grab a bag of groceries. While I unloaded the tamales I had picked up for dinner, Hayden took Hugo out of his carseat and we met behind my car for a quick kiss/hug/slap on the ass. During this time, Harvey ran down the driveway to get the mail as he loves to do.
Within seconds I heard him scream. He raced up the driveway toward us and I immediately noticed he was being chased by several wasps. Knowing he’d been stung, I took the baby and Hayden raced inside with Harvey to get some ice. It turns out that practically overnight wasps had built a small nest under our mailbox and a good dozen were frantically working on it. One of those fuckers got my poor baby right on his ring finger, just above the palm. As I made my way into the house, I could hear him sobbing, “I’m NEVER going outside agaaaaiiiiin… (he’s always been a little hyperbolic)…but we need to take the garbaaaaaage out, Daaaaad!” Clearly, his top priority is never far from mind.
I took over finger icing duties and Hayden made short work of the wasps with some Raid. Seriously, fuck wasps. I was less upset about the sting than I was the visual of those meth-head wasps CHASING my 3-year-old up the driveway. Plus, you know if wasps could talk they would be total bigots and have like the most annoying whiny voices ever. I am reminded of this:
To lighten the mood, I baked. I mean, I would have baked anyway since that’s how I do, but it made Harvey feel like he was getting a special treat and no one loves sweets more than Harvey. I swear, you say cookie and his pupils dilate. So, I busted out some delicious (if unseasonable) pumpkin chocolate chips cookies and all was right with the world.