There Was Carnage. And I Felt Better.

Some wasps died today, crushed beneath the flat side of a child's garden shovel.  Whacked many, many times - definitely more times than necessary.

Let me be clear:  I am not nature girl.  But I've lived in what might be characterized as "the countryside" for two years now and felt I'd finally made peace with nature in my backyard.  I'd finally achieved a grudging respect and, in many cases, appreciation for the freakishly large insects and spiders there.

UNTIL TODAY WHEN WASPS STUNG MY TODDLER. 

He was climbing on the playset with our babysitter while I spent some time on the computer.  His shrieks were unmistakably of pain and fear - I ran outside and knew immediately what had happened.  He'd never been stung before - neither of my kids had - so I wasn't sure if he'd have an anaphylactic reaction.

I quickly removed the stingers from his wrist and hand (three of them!), washed the area, then applied a compress of wet baking soda topped with crushed ice to his rapidly swelling hand.  After he'd downed a half teaspoon of children's benedryl, I called the doctor to see what else I could do for him, watching carefully for breathing difficulties.  Thankfully, he was okay and back in good spirits in a short time.

That's when I went on the warpath.

I'd knocked down maybe a dozen wasp nests from the playset over the course of the last year.  Recently, twice from the exact same spot within two days.  Sure enough, they were back again.  I set the hose on JET and proceeded to blast the nest out of its groove, stamping and whacking the wasps with the shovel.  There was carnage.  And I felt better.