My 3-year-old peace loving surfer boy looks at me. He is extremely angry... His face is bright red, his eyes brimming with tears, brows furrowed downward, his little chubby fists are clenched tight and his whole body is shivering from his fury.

“Moooommmm,” he says firmly through clenched teeth. He pauses as if to try to regain composure and stares wildly at me.

I look around, and there is not a sibling in sight.  I quickly try to deduce what has happened. My little guy, this irate, is an abnormality. Seeing my youngest creation acting in this manner was like seeing a pig fly or a blue elephant.

I watch as he positions himself in a defensive temper tantrum like stance and it happens - he loses it. He punches the air and he stomps one of his feet and is screaming an incoherent phrase repeatedly. I am completely confused...

“Sweetie,  calm down... “ I say firmly as if to scold the poor little bugger. My now insane child takes a deep breath,  leans back in my arms and looks into my eyes – “I stepped on the clover -- no shoes – I sorry – please stop --  burning.”  

All of a sudden I know exactly what has happened. I am quickly brought back to the numerous times I have been driven to this type of  madness – by  the  most potent of infractions made by one small earth dwelling insect… the bumblebee  -- and it’s maddening sting.

Why is it that when you hurt yourself any other time, you typically wince or cry. But when a bumblebee stings you, you become a  candidate for the UFC  (The Ultimate Fighting Championship)? You get stung and you see red. I guess that explains my fury when I am out there spraying wasps nests and other type of stinging predators. I hate to get stung. HATE it. I guess no one really enjoys it…

 I never get angry at the bumblebees themselves – I actually like bumble bees. These black and yellow bugs have a purpose, they pretty much mind their business and are extremely hard workers. The only time they truly are an issue, is when you step on them barefoot…

Anyways, I finally calmed down my “Grateful Dead” following hippy boy turned bear-like madman. I applied the never failing bandage covered in watered down meat tenderizer to the wound and sanity returned (somewhat) to the Holloway house.

A few hours later, my youngest sat on the back deck.. yellow CROC shoes on his feet. He was staring across the yard.  I came out beside him standing barefoot and went to grab a pool toy that had been thrown out of the pool. It was then that my son yelled to me in a panic filled voice. I stopped frozen from his warning filled shriek … “MOMM! NOOOOO!!! Wear these!!!!”  I look over my shoulder at my fear filled babe…. He is standing on the very edge of the deck with a pained expression on his face and he is holding in his out stretched hands, his very own yellow CROC shoes. And you will never believe what happens next ….

I stepped on the clover – no shoes – I sorry – Please stop the burning…..

(Aww…UGH - note to self)

One tough lesson – yet to be learned.