Sorry, I’m fresh out of donkeys. But if you see this post and feel like being my best friend forever, please let me know. I promise to end these wild and crazy experiments very soon.
(My email address is rachel@graspingforobjectivity.com)
(And, although I really don’t want you to see this post, it WAS fun getting so many emails on Monday.)
(I love you guys.)
My fruit-infused water obsession has grown tremendously since I last posted about it. I ordered two more water bottles, carry one with me almost all the time, and now refuse to drink Dasani or Aquafina even if it costs an impressively expensive $1.79 at the gas station.
Pah. Water that tastes slightly of cucumber is just better. And that’s a fact.
(Unless I have no cucumber water. Then I’ll drink any old water.)
Last weekend, we had our make-up mom’s retreat for the small group moms that couldn’t go on the original trip. (And me. Because my husband made me plan it. So I had to go on a second retreat. Darn.) I took my water bottles and my pitcher (still a bit sticky on the outside), because I’m obviously a water snob like that.
But as such, I left a large empty hole in our refrigerator at home.
I didn’t think it was that big of a deal – the kids have declared that they do not like my fruity water, and I did leave Chris his bottle of infused water for any runs he might take in my absence. But apparently, at least one of the children is more attached to the idea of fruity water than I expected.
And so Ali decided to make her own.
When I got home on Sunday afternoon and opened the fridge to put my pitcher of infused water back in its reserved spot, I discovered that it had been replaced.
There was a well-labeled concoction in its place, the origin story of which I did not know.
What was this water of fruitiness infused with? And was Ali actually drinking it? Had she come over to The Fruit Side with me?
When I asked these important questions, she obligingly walked me through her process of fruit infusion.
Step One: Put Runts in a glass.
Step Two: Add water to the Runts.
Step Three: Decide you want more Runt flavors in your infusion.
Step Four: Watch the Runts infuse.
Step Five: Watch harder.
Step Six: Stir Runts to speed up the process.
Step Seven: Enlist help in watching even harder.
Step Eight: Taste your infusion.
Step Nine: Repeat steps one through eight with triple the amount of Runts.
Step Ten: Grab an extra straw and convince your mom to try your infusion.
(It tasted like licking the unmopped floor in a Gatlinburg candy shop after a long weekend of winter youth retreats.)
Step Eleven: Fill the fridge with every flavor combination imaginable. For whomever might happen by and desire some Runt-Infused Water.
Step Twelve: Ask your mom, thoughtfully, if she thinks you might could package and sell your infused water. When you’re just a little older.
But. As excited as Ali was about her Runt Creations, she did also experiment with real fruit. In particular, our neighborhood-harvested muscadines.
After the children were in bed last night, I found this on my kitchen counter:
…which made me eternally grateful for the Runt Infusions.
Because at least they didn’t look like dissected cow eyeballs.
Still testing a feature. If you see this post in a feed reader or on my blog or in any other way (Like, if you get an email with this post), then please email me at rachel@graspingforobjectivity.com to collect your prize of a brand new pet donkey!!!
(Donkey not included.)
Testing a feature – if you see this post in any way, email me at rachel@graspingforobjectivity.com to collect your prize!! (Prize features a pet donkey. Donkey excluded.)
It’s been far too long since I’ve run into a member of The Awkwardly Intense Busybody Club. It has saddened me, really – I’ve missed their bizarre advice and awkward statements about and to my children. I blame it on the kids for growing up: The AIBC are magnetized to babies, so once you’re through that stage, you really miss out on some of the most precious AIBC interaction.
So clearly I need to borrow a baby. May I please?
But the other day, I did manage to coax a member out of her shell – even without a tiny in tow.
It was an undercover AIBC agent, as she is someone I’ve run into many times over the past several years without getting awkwardly intense advice – an employee at a local bookstore. All of the bookstores around here have kid play sections – chock full of fun activities like train tables and reading tables and puppets and such. CLEARLY for children to come hang out in and play.
Oftentimes, we meet friends at a bookstore to let the children socialize over their version of coffee – toys. At this particular bookstore with this particular employee, it has always felt strange. Working in the midst of the children’s section, she gives off the vibe of never having had children and certainly not grandchildren, as she is always clearly disturbed by the fact that children would play in her section.
She hovers. She cautions them to be careful. She asks them to be quieter. She nervously picks up and straightens up right behind them before we have the chance to get the children to do it themselves.
And, if perchance we seem to be leaving the store without making a purchase, she points that out.
“What, not buying anything today?”
…In a sad, melancholy tone as if she was watching her 401K instantly decrease in value due to our actions.
The guilt was bad enough that I started making small purchases every time we went in there, so clearly her strategy is a success for the store and they should reward her with Employee of the Year.
The last time we went in, we weren’t there to play – Noah had his heart set on buying a train he’d seen not long ago, and had his allowance ready to do so. Ali also wanted to spend money just to spend money, so she’d found a bag of candy.
Noah took the train up to the counter and handed it to the lady. She studied it, then declared it broken in a huffy tone with the implication: one of those pesky children who like to play with things they don’t buy broke this train, little boy. Stinks for you.
Sadly for Noah, there weren’t any more trains left, so he decided he’d buy a Porsche instead. He paid, he moved on, and then it was Ali’s turn.
She’d already dug around in her wallet and pulled out three wadded up dollar bills for her purchase. Her “wallet” is more of a cosmetic bag. It’s a tasteful furry pink leopard print, so obviously her favorite accessory.
She put her three wonky dollars up on the counter and the lady began fretfully straightening them out with a sigh for each wrinkled dollar.
My bookstore guilt crept up again, and I apologized for the bent dollars.
Which was the trigger the drew the AIBC out of her, and created the following conversation:
AIBC: “Well, you know, she could make a wallet.”
Me: “Actually she has a wallet…she just doesn’t line up her dollars neatly.”
AIBC: “But she could make one. And then put her money in there.”
Me: “Well, sure, but she doesn’t need another one.”
AIBC, forcefully: “…Out of ORIGAMI.”
Me, considering HOW MUCH FUN it would be to help an eight-year-old make a successful origami wallet: “Umm…”
Ali, Confused: “Mom, what’s origami?”
Me: “It’s when you make things out of paper.”
AIBC: “Very special things.”
Ali: “But wouldn’t that break really easily?”
AIBC: “But there are tutorials on the internet! For all kinds of origami wallets!”
…And that’s where we learned: Origami. It solves all the world’s problems. Especially crumpled currency.
So next time we go into the bookstore, I’ll make sure Ali shows her how very good we are at origami.
“Do you like my wallet?? I feel like I really nailed that tutorial!”
I don’t blog too much about Ali anymore – after all, she’s eight and a half and has earned the right to privacy in most matters. Not sharing her stories is my decision on her behalf, as she has certainly never expressed this to me, and quite enjoys reading back through my old blog posts about her. But even if they don’t understand it yet, there comes a time when it just seems right to not blog about everything in a kid’s life.
However, I asked her permission to share this story, and she readily agreed.
Ali is an extraordinarily good kid.
She’s conscientious, diligent, helpful, and tries to please us any chance she gets.
And I do mean ANY chance. To the point where, not long ago, I began to feel like I was going to have to have a talk with her about not trying to earn some extra measure of love and/or approval by outshining her little brother.
For example: Anytime Noah whines about something, she rather over-cheerily chirps, “Yes ma’am! No problem, Mom!”, and if he doesn’t want to do something I asked him to do, she’ll step in and say “I’ll be glad to do that for you!”
…Not to say I don’t rather enjoy her attitude, but I want it to be for the right reasons.
But the opportunity to talk about her strived-for perfection presented itself a few days ago.
We were having an “at home day” so that I could get the house back in order after all of our construction. I’d told the kids at breakfast that I was going to work on stuff all day, and it was their job to play together and entertain themselves.
I’d never given those exact instructions before, but it was impressively successful – prepping the kids regarding their responsibility of amusing themselves cut out 90% of the whining and requesting of my boredom-busting services. I was pretty proud of myself.
…Until I heard things crashing down the stairs, followed by many giggles. So I called out for them to please quit throwing all the things – and for that matter anything – down the stairs.
Of course, eager-to-please Ali called back, “It wasn’t me! It was Noah!”
(She didn’t deny her part in the giggles, though.)
“Well, no one throw anything else down the stairs PLEASE.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Yes ma’am.”
And they went back to playing quietly.
…Until about half an hour later, when I heard crying coming from the base of the stairs.
It wasn’t frantic crying, so I walked through the house and to the stairs to find out what had befallen my four-year-old. Noah was sitting on the floor whimpering, and Ali had a shocked and horrified look on her face.
“What happened?”
“I .. I threw this down the stairs. While Noah was walking down the stairs. And it hit him and knocked him down.”
I was so confused by Ali’s admission of disobedience that I didn’t quite comprehend it. She did what? That’s not an Ali thing to do. Was she sure it wasn’t the other way around? Surely it was the other way around.
The item in question was a Study Buddy pillow. It definitely had the power to knock Noah down while standing anywhere, let alone the stairs.
Once I fully absorbed what had happened, I said, “Do you know how much that could have hurt him? He could have fallen much worse and broken an arm. Or busted open his head. Didn’t I just tell you both not to throw things down the stairs?”
Ali instantaneously began crying and said, “I know! It was so very foolish. You can punish me now. Please punish me!”
Noah had quit crying by then and was looking at his sister like she was an alien. Did she just request punishment?
I was also feeling very out of sorts and confused about the entire incident, so I said “I’m going to call Daddy and talk to him about what your consequences should be. I’ll come see you in a minute.”
I walked to my office and called Chris. We were both perplexed, and discussed the situation thoroughly, including the fact that she was definitely punishing herself with her insane amount of “perfect child guilt”. Because of the latter, we decided that we did want to give her other consequences – out of mercy – so that she could feel like she received her punishment and not dwell in her misery of guilt. Finally, we agreed that she could be grounded off of TV for three days.
I found Ali upstairs in her room, where she was crying violently. As I walked in, she burst out between sobs, “I feel so stupid!!”
I’d never heard her use the word “stupid” before and I could tell that it was a gut-wrenching description of the state of her heart at that moment. Being a perfectionist myself that has struggled with desiring to appear without fault for my entire life, I felt awful for her and knew exactly how tumultuous she was feeling. A day doesn’t go by where my mind doesn’t conjure up some past mistake that makes me cringe and vocally groan at the memory – even if it happened 20 years ago.
I knew that the Study Buddy would haunt her every time she saw it for the rest of her childhood if I didn’t somehow help her train her brain better than my own. (Or throw away the Study Buddy.) So her coaching would be opposite of what her brother would need. Instead of reiterating what she had done wrong, I was going to have to convince her to let her wrongdoing go.
So I assured her that she wasn’t stupid, and that we all make mistakes.
“I put myself in time out. I don’t deserve to play today! I am so foolish. It’s like I lost my mind for a minute!”
I told her that she had to forgive herself, and began to explain to her what it meant to be a perfectionistic people pleaser. I explained that none of us can truly be perfect and that I’d already made many mistakes that week. I began telling her my laundry list of mess-ups, and she looked at me with wonder and a good deal of confusion.
“But I can’t forgive myself! It would be too prideful. I was too foolish for forgiveness.”
I tried again to explain, “Actually, it’s prideful to not forgive yourself. Not forgiving yourself is saying that you think you can be good enough if you try hard enough, and so if you mess up, you’ve ruined it all. That’s why we need Jesus – because none of us can be perfect – and all of us need forgiveness and a fresh start every day – and He washes our sins away and makes us perfect and new. You just need to do three things: ask your brother to forgive you, ask God to forgive you, and then you MUST forgive yourself.”
“I’ve already done the first two, but I just don’t know how to do the third.”
“I understand. I struggle with it, too. But you’ve got to let go of the idea that you can be perfect. NO ONE is perfect.”
She breathed a deep sigh and I could nearly see a little burden rolling off of her shoulders.
So then I told her, “Daddy and I did decide that you do need consequences – but only because I’d just told you both not to throw things down the stairs. Your consequences will be that you can’t watch TV for three days.”
Her shoulders got straighter and eyes brighter. She looked up eagerly at me, “Oh that’s fine. I DEFINITELY deserve that!”
I saw another bundle of burden roll off her back, and marveled at this bizarre yet beautiful exchange.
“None of us are good enough. We all make mistakes. We all need forgiveness. And we all need to forgive ourselves. Okay?”
“Okay. I think I understand.”
Later that day, she proudly brought me her diary to read.
Parenting a people pleaser may seem easy and even be easy on most days, but sometimes it takes a bit of backwards parenting to get through to them. And I am so grateful that my tiny perfectionist messed up so that she could realize that perfection is a hopeless cause.
…And remind me of that very same thing.
We just returned from our fifth traditional summer beach trip with our friends, David, Ashley, AJ, and Tessa. We arrived Wednesday evening in Isle of Palms, South Carolina (just a few minutes outside of Charleston), got unpacked, and hurried out to the beach to enjoy the last colors of sunset.
The skies, the water, and the full moon were a blissful start to the trip.
The next morning, we set out for a long day at the beach (after spending the required amount of hours sunscreening the little people and then distracting said little people with silly selfies so they didn’t lose patience with how long it took to sunscreen all the big people.)
We lugged our five tons (per child) of beach equipment with us, and staked our claim on the lovely and largely uninhabited beach.
I decided that before I got wet, I wanted to get some pictures of the kids. So I pulled out my camera, which immediately became covered in a fine mist from the thick humidity. And it proceeded to tell me in no uncertain terms that it would not be cameraing. At all.
I took it back to the house to put it in a dry time out, then headed back out to the beach – old-fashioned style, no camera.
I mean, I did have my phone, but something about not having my “real” camera made me just…let it go.
Not immediately, of course. I was pretty mad at the camera/worried about it/determined to fix it that evening, but that was not to be. It was cooked. But I somehow accepted the fact that this was not meant to be a properly photographed trip and settled into the most bizarre decade-old lifestyle where I simply enjoyed the vacation for myself – and shared the moments almost exclusively with the people I was with.
…I let my Twitter and Facebook feed go.
…I took very few pictures on my phone.
…I tweeted or Facebooked once a day or less.
…I didn’t take any notes for future blog posts.
And in five days of constant fun and beautiful scenery, I only put up six Instagram photos.
I just enjoyed the trip for what it was….a really, really great trip.
Bizarre, right?
And I really liked it that way.
But I captured a few moments…
The children, as always, had the most blissful five days of their year, paired with their best friends in their favorite spot.
And this year, we added a huge upgrade for everyone – we brought our babysitter, Sarah, with us.
(Yes, Noah WAS excited as well, especially since he’s insistent that he’s going to marry Sarah one day.)
The kids got an extra playmate, Sarah got to do what she wanted all day (which ended up sometimes including the kids – lucky them), and then she kept the kids at night so the parents could go out for a lovely dinner with no over-tired beach-burned children to whine throughout our entrees.
Right??
Right.
It was perfection.
On all of our previous trips with our friends, we have gone to our sandy white Alabama beaches, but Isle of Palms was a fun variety, as we had the super hard Atlantic sand to make the best sand castles,
(Even though it totally looks like mud when photographed),
And the added benefit of the fun sights and activities in Charleston.
Charleston is absolutely one of my favorite southern cities – the history and colors and beaches and atmosphere are all eloquently unique and fantastic.
….And all of it is surrounded by the most beautiful marsh waters, adding a sense of calm and elevated beauty to the entire area.
But other than the above ridiculously choppy narrative, I have no further tales or quotes or silliness to share with you – because I just completely vacated,
Almost as thoroughly as the children.
And it was fantastic.
Just as it should be.
Sunsetting is an introvert’s sport.
Only they can truly appreciate the long spans of time spent watching the skies…the fiddling with camera settings…the locating of the perfect angles…and the quiet admiration of the cloud iterations.
It’s like fishing – but minus the fish and plus a camera. And minus the water and plus the sky.
But otherwise it’s totally like fishing.
Sometimes, though, you run into other people partaking in this same introvert’s sport. And sometimes, those people are not introverted enough. And since it’s not exactly like fishing, you can’t motor your boat away from them.
I don’t mind talking to people – I really don’t. I even like people most of the time. (Okay some of the time.) I’ve met some wonderful people sunsetting. But I’ve also met some people that can befoul a sunset rather magnificently.
For instance, the lady that I’ve run into on more than one occasion who has informed me during each visit the details from her last surgery, her current medical condition, and the ailing state of her family unit. As sunsetting is typically pursued for its calming qualities, hearing about giant cysts and toe fungus does not, exactly, aid in the enjoyment of the sport.
(Then again I blog about similar atrocities and you willingly read about them so are either of us allowed to complain? No.)
However, running into her is now as thrilling and catching the Queen of England taking a few sunset shots compared to the new acquaintances I met last Friday night.
I was on a long stretch of sidewalk overlooking the city. It’s a fantastic view – a nice foreground of kudzu and framing of trees. I don’t go here as often as some of my other spots, but I should – it’s just lovely.
I was all alone in my sunset adventures – no one else was anywhere along the extended stretch of sidewalk-with-a-view, and Chris was waiting in the car with the kids, thoughtfully giving me a quiet moment to recover from motherhood reflect as I enjoyed my favorite time of day.
The sunset was changing colors and different clouds were turning on and off in brightness, keeping the night interesting and a fun guessing game – what would happen next?
I had just texted Chris to check on the kids and make sure it was okay if I stayed a few minutes more – it was getting to a good part.
Chris assured me they were fine. So I studied the skies, staked out the spot I wanted, and began shooting.
…Which is when a very loud bunch of giggly girls and one guy came bouncing down the sidewalk, all asqueal about selfies, with their phones out and ready.
And then, of that whole long expanse of sidewalk, they stopped. DIRECTLY in front of me.
To the point that one literally jumped into my photo.
I stopped shooting for a second and pulled my camera down, staring at them rather like they were aliens from the planet Narcissicia. I looked to my left, then to my right. 100 feet of sidewalk, all with a view, and I was still the only person there, except for these girls who were – are they lifting each other up on their shoulders for pictures?
Why yes. Yes they are.
But the sunset was at such a nice spot. And I didn’t want to miss it. So I took two steps to the right. At which point one of the girls noticed my presence [six inches from her face] for the first time.
“Oh I’m sorry! You’re trying to do the same thing we are!”
“Uhhhh….NO.”, I muttered under my breath, and then waited for her to follow up her apology with a gesture of moving out of the spot I had clearly just been occupying.
But no.
“Hey Mom! Take one of us doing gang signs – for Snapchat!!”
I turned my head further left to realize the female that I thought was the fourth teenage girl was actually one of their moms – I’d been previously mistaken as her shorts were as short and tight as the other girl’s – she blended in quite impressively. And she seemed to be as pleased as a Mom watching her daughter give a Valedictorian Speech to be taking repeated photos of her daughter and friends as they flashed various gang signs and toothy smiles.
“No, not that one – I hate that one!”
“Oh I know let’s do this one!”
“Is this on Snapchat yet? I bet it’s already on Snapchat.”
I let my camera hang again and began taking iPhone pictures of these girls to text to Chris. Not that they noticed – they never noticed me again after the empty apology. If it hadn’t been for that, I would have started to wonder if my introversion had somehow morphed me into an invisible ghost.
I looked over at the Dad, mentally imploring him to be the thoughtful one. But he was bored and detached, bobbing his head to the tinny sounds of rap flowing out of his iPhone.
The mom yelling at the girls jolted me out of my mental meanderings. “You’re blocking the sunset! Move over a bit so I can get you and the sunset in the picture!”
“I don’t CARE about the sunset! Just take the picture, Mom!! Geez!”
You. Don’t. CARE. About the sunset.
You say you DON’T CARE about the sunset.
THEN WHY ARE YOU IN MY PERFECTLY CHOSEN SPOT.
It’s not that there weren’t other fantastic spots on that sidewalk. That THEY could have chosen to see the sunset they didn’t care about. But I surely wasn’t moving to those other spots and allowing them that great of a victory. I was going to stand there, as close to my original spot that I could be without getting kicked when it was time for the “Let’s do Herkies and Duck Lips!!!” photo. Because I wanted to make them feel like I was standing over them like Sheldon would, saying repeatedly in a monotone, “That’s my spot. You’re in my spot. That’s my spot. You’re in my spot. Um, by the way – you’re in my spot.”
Except that I was invisible to them. So my strategy was flawed. But I still wasn’t going to budge.
“My turn!!”
I looked over and the Mom was taking her own selfie while the girls discussed their next pose. I took more pictures as I live-blogged the whole thing to Chris.
While they waited for their Momtographer to finish up her head shots, one of the girls climbed onto the other girl’s backs for the obligatory piggy-back ride pose. Because piggy-back is what I always try to capture when I’m at the sunset.
At that, I finally walked back to the car, laughing at the ludicrousness of what had just occurred, and even considering thanking them – because although they sure know how to ruin a sunset, they’re experts at creating fantastic story content.
Eli is my seven-year-old nephew.
Eli is a fantastic kid, mind-blowing in intellect and often infuriating in adventure. He is intensely curious about the world around him and has very little impulse control. As such, there is nothing I adore more than hearing my sister-in-law Lindsay’s rundowns of his daily pursuits.
Last week, those episodes included microwaving Cheetos for three minutes with the vision of creating melted Cheetos for breakfast, attempting to make “Dog Juice” for their yellow lab, Layla, by soaking dog food in water and then pouring the newly-bloated dog food down the kitchen sink, and opening his sister’s birthday presents on her behalf.
(I’ve begged Lindsay to be a recurring guest-blogger for years but I think Eli most likely poured chocolate milk on her computer as a legitimate experiment long ago.)
Eli also has a very special bond with animals and insects – if ever there were a child Doctor Dolittle, it is Eli. He remembers every fact he’s ever learned about any creature, and watches shows like Wild Kratts religiously to continually gain new knowledge. His desire and ability to befriend all living creatures even extends to cockroaches, whom he insists make wonderful pets.
(He is wrong.)
Lindsay and I took our combined brood of five kids to a playground not long ago. It was a particularly hot summer day – the kind that all of the mothers cling to the shade of the pavilion and are constantly shooing the children out of said pavilion because “We’re at a playground for goodness’ sake and we didn’t bring you here to complain about the heat and sure it’s hot but you’re supposed to be playing!”
Unlike the other kids, Eli didn’t seem to be weakened by the heat. In fact, he was quite caught up in…something. What exactly is he chasing around? What’s he staring at?
Oh.
A bee.
Lindsay was off to take another kid to the bathroom, so I felt mostly responsible for preserving Eli’s life and well-being until she returned – a grave responsibility indeed. I called him over and asked what he was doing.
He ran over with a sweaty, beaming face as if his life had recently been made complete and stuck his finger out at me.
“Look Aunt Rachel! He’s a Carpenter bee. His name is Busy. He lives at my mailbox at home and follows me everywhere I go. He flew behind us to the playground. Busy would never sting me – he’s a nice bee. And I’ll tell him not to sting you either. Busy, don’t sting anyone, okay? There. Now Busy won’t sting anybody.”
Although I was skeptical about Busy’s stated place of residence, he did look oddly happy crawling on Eli’s finger during his entire monologue. The bee seemed curious and…was that a bee-version of affection? It certainly seemed so.
There was one other Mom currently seeking shelter under the pavilion – one that I did not know. She became very nervous during Eli’s explanation of his new pet and suggested that Eli needed to be careful – he was likely to get stung. Eli turned to her and insisted that Busy would never sting anybody, and besides he was a Carpenter bee and Carpenter bees do not sting.
“I’m not so sure of that…”
She picked up her phone and Googled Carpenter bees. She reported back decisively that Busy was indeed a Carpenter bee, but she was definitely a “she” (because she was missing the male’s yellow head spot) and girl Carpenter bees do sting (but she left off the rest of the sentence usually found when Googling female Carpenter bees, which is “…but they very rarely do so.”)
The whiny pavilion-dwelling kids who heard this news nervously slinked off to the playground while Eli continued insisting to this bubble-bursting stranger that Busy was NOT that kind of girl and she would NEVER sting.
Meanwhile, Busy lazily went back and forth between flying in circles around Eli and landing on his finger in a familiar manner.
When Lindsay returned from her quest and got up to date on Busy and Google and the clear friendship that had blossomed in her absence, she instructed Eli that he must take Busy to the top of the hill and allow her to fly away before someone got stung.
Eli sadly stomped up the hill and squatted down at the top, having a long conversation with Busy, ending in an impassioned “Go, Busy! Just Go!!”
I watched as Busy would fly away for about five seconds, then come right back to Eli.
After a few attempts, Eli quietly left the hillside and went back onto the playground, Busy still following him. He played, with Busy alongside him, for at least twenty minutes. It was clear that Busy was just as attached to Eli as Eli was to Busy, and us Moms mused aloud that maybe Busy did love Eli.
Until she didn’t.
And Eli ran screaming and crying to Lindsay, holding out his rapidly swelling finger.
“SHE STUNG ME!!! HOW COULD SHE?! WHY WOULD SHE?! SHE PROMISED SHE WOULDN’T!!”
Eli cried, partially because his finger was swelling and turning white, partially because he was heartbroken over the great betrayal of Busy the Bee, and partially because he knows all the facts about all the animals – and he assumed that the sting meant that Busy now had to die. Lindsay comforted Eli and I Googled to confirm that, as opposed to honey bees, Carpenter Bees actually do not die upon stinging.
But for once, all of the animal facts in the world could not mend Eli’s broken heart that had been stung by the bitterness of betrayal.
He crawled out of Lindsay’s lap and spent the rest of our visit to the playground squatting sadly under the slide, head and shoulders drooping, mourning the loss of a best friend.
But there are many more bees in the world.
And Eli will not be deterred in his future attempts at friendship.