Almost There

Brian, my husband, just left for another late night at the office. He defends his PhD three weeks from tomorrow. Oct. 23 is a red letter day for us. After that, two weeks to make any corrections, final copy due at the library Nov. 7. It has been a little rough lately due to the extra hours Brian has been putting in at work. Eleven years of higher education and we're nearing the finish line.


I took the boys walking a couple of days ago and stopped at the park near our neighborhood. There had been a few noticeable fire ant beds there recently but I saw on this day they had white powder on them and I assumed they had been poisoned. Guess I should have checked. I kept a pretty close eye on my younger kid, James, thinking Andrew was big enough to take care of himself. At least at the park. I should say the mini-park. One large piece of playground equipment on a raised sawdust bed surrounded by railroad ties that seem to be the favorite home of fire ants. So, Andrew comes running towards me while I'm sitting on the bench saying he had ants and seemed to be getting them off his hands. I sprang into action thinking it wasn't anything too big, just get them off his exposed skin. Well, he continued to jump and scream about the ants. I looked down at his legs below his shorts and they were there, too. So I tried to get them off, realizing at this point we were at war with these nasty demons. They were the bigger kind that almost feels like a bee sting when they get you. I thought we were getting them all as we continue slapping and screaming and what probably looked like child abuse from the road. I finally turned Andrew around to see if there were any on his back and I felt sick. It was like that scene on Indian Jones were they think there are just a couple of tarantulas and when they turn around they are everywhere. Andrew must have sat right in the middle of the maddest and most-active bed in a 3-mile radius. They were all over the back of his shorts, under his shirt, and even up into his hair by this time. I was so mad! I hate the thought of those little blood-sucking (not accurate, I know) vermin all over my first-born! So, stripped and beaten and bitten we finally loaded into the stroller for the ride home. James seemed to be oblivious to what had happened and had casually watched the show from the sidelines. Happy kid. But Andrew was scratching and clawing and crying all the way home. I know his bites hurt because some of the ants climbed onto me while I was trying to help him. They stung me and they swelled up and were irritated like some kind of wasp sting. Well, several baking soda and anti-itch cream days later Andrew shows no serious side effects and seems to have forgotten about his episode. Not me. I am ready to go back to the battle with gasoline and a box of matches.