Up to this point, I was repressing my own fear of eight-legged crawly things and walking toward her. Hearing that it was a flying nasty with six legs darn near paralyzed me. Only the thought that my child was in danger kept me walking toward it.
It may seem strange that I was more bothered by a wasp than a spider, but when I clarify the details by telling you that I'm fairly allergic to anything resembling a wasp or a bee, it may make more sense. (Obviously not to my daughter who thinks it is ridiculous that I didn't know it was not a spider by the fact that she was screaming-- according to her, "I would be crying WAY harder if it was a spider. I HATE spiders! They scare me so bad." I think she thinks I'm a ninny ... )
As I watched the wasp trying to crawl inside the neck of her shirt, I was beginning to fear that I would have no choice but to use my hand to fish it out. All I could see was the image of my completely useless for the next two weeks, sausage-like fingers if I had to go that route. It's a miracle I didn't throw up from fear right then and there. Luckily, I saw my daughter's library book and was able to lift her shirt so that I could fit the book in and under the wasp. (I'm fairly certain that the poor nasty was dying or things would have turned ugly ... er ... really soon.) I flipped the wasp off and saw it flop to the floor. I had saved the day ... sort of.
Try as I might, I could not find the buzzing source of toxin. I ordered the kids to keep their shoes on (neither of them has ever been stung, and I could be perfectly content not having today be the day that we find out if they are or aren't allergic like their mum.) and sighed with regret as I realized that this likely meant my feet would have to remain encased firmly in my sturdy shoes until I crawled into bed later tonight. (I realize that this may seem extreme, but one of these days I'll tell you about the last time I got stung. You'll totally get my trauma ... )
After scouring the floor and calming the kidlets, I sat down to monitor homework time. About ten minutes later, I felt something bump the back of my leg-- inside my pant leg. I hoped against hope that I had just bumped the fabric against the couch. As I VERY cautiously lifted the bottom part of my pant leg, while trying not to let the fabric touch my skin -- just in case -- my worst fears were confirmed. The wasp had managed to find it's way into my pants.
Have you ever tried to remove your boots (that zip) with one hand while holding your pant leg and trying to corral a crawling wasp with the other? Not such a fabulous experience. If you've had that kind of fun, then perhaps you know how much fun it is to stand on one leg, still bending over and trying to limit the wasp's crawling -- desparately hoping that you don't tick the dang thing off more than he probably is-- while trying to slip your leg out? All without allowing the fabric to touch skin? Yes, my children were laughing hysterically. Why do you ask?
Finally, clad in pajama pants, I was left to stand and stare at my jeans wondering, "How on earth am I going to get the sticky thing out of my pants?" My youngest child finally brought the vacuum over, and after trying to shake it out for several minutes (I told you, I'm pretty sure it was on it's last six legs ... ) I gave up and decided to try and suck it out with the vacuum hose. After multiple failed attempts, and while trying to keep my fingers as far away as possible, I began using the vacuum hose to flip my pant leg inside out. Let's just say, not a method I would recommend.
Eventually, the wasp came out to play, and I was able to introduce it to my vacuum.