Crislers v. Bees

Bees.  I am so sick of talking about bees.  Now, I am normally a lover of bees, planting bee-attracting flowers in our beds, trying to increase the number of native plants we have, etc, but last week one of our children came into the house screaming.  Not my-sibling-has-pissed-me-off screaming, but rather I-am-dying-mother-come-tend-to-me-now screaming.  It took a couple minutes, but I got this kid calm enough to explain to me that they had been stung by a bee on the leg.  Sure enough, the affected area began to redden and swell, but said kid was down to sitting on the floor, snuffling and moaning, when suddenly they began to twitch.  Once, twice, then jumping up, saying, "There's... there's something in my pants!  There's- THERE'S A BEE IN MY PANTS!"  

Commence more screaming.

I yanked their pants and underwear down, and sure enough, there was a bee in their underwear, and a second, fresh sting on their backside.  

Long story short, this child stood in the middle of the kitchen for another five minutes screaming and crying and refusing to pull their pants up for fear of another stealthy insect hiding in their clothing, waiting to attack their precious bits and pieces.  This meant the other two kept trying to walk into the room, then making a sharp U-turn saying, "Oooookay," because although we're a relatively close little family unit, we're not "hang out half-naked while trembling and panic-breathing" close.  

Aaaaaanyhoo, after that intense little episode, we've been talking a lot about bees.  See, I thought I was being a good parent by showing this kid the tiny corkscrew-shaped stinger still attached to the (dead) bee, but apparently this only served to further traumatize the kid.  

Note to self:  Do not view My Girl during family movie night any time soon.

The other thing I'm sick of discussing is bees, again, of the spelling variety.  Adelaide once again participated in the Iowa State Fair spelling bee, but this time she got 11th place, an abysmal showing, to borrow her words.  Was she the 11th-best speller there?  No.  She was easily one of the top few spellers, but she was not one of the most focused this year, and you need both excellent spelling ability and intense focus to do well in a spelling bee.  She got out on a word she knew perfectly well, rushing the end and missing a letter.  Devastation ensued.  She is eligible to compete one more year; we'll see what she decides.  Congratulations must be showered upon both Derek and I for not saying some hearty I TOLD YOU SOs, as she performed in the bee the way she practiced, and we more or less saw this coming.  May I just say that this whole part of parenting, the part where you want to guide your children, yet also let them make their own mistakes, even when you see disappointment on the horizon as a result- that part?  It sucks.  I so badly wanted to nag Daughter throughout the summer to better prepare for this event, but did not.  And I still don't regret it.  Mostly.

Atticus provided some fun during the ill-fated bee (this ill-fated bee, I mean, not the previous one); sitting still and not talking is tough for our most social child, but he found a way:  he was sitting clear to the side of the stadium-type seating, and his perch overlooked the table where the contestants who had just been eliminated got to choose a free book as a consolation prize.  Atticus rarely wastes an opportunity to interact with other people, so he designated himself the official Book Table Greeter and whispered things down to them like, "What book are you choosing?" and "You're choosing that book?" and "Don't forget your book!"  He's the kid who actually enjoys those paralyzing moments in church when the pastor announces that he hates all introverts and instructs us to say hello to those around us.  Adelaide greets one person (the minimum we have cruelly inflicted upon her), Atticus shakes all the hands and announces to everyone around that his name is Atticus, and Caedmon is the third child and there is only one of me so I'm not exactly sure what he does.  I think he says hello to the overtly friendly people near him.  Sorry, Caedmon.  Maybe Dad has been paying attention.

Bees:  2,    Crislers:  0.

(Or is it Bees:  3, since our kid was stung twice?  Whatever, the point is WE LOST.)

The Good, The Sad, The Distracting, The Extraordinary

The Good of last week's spelling bee:

The small army of women who volunteered their time and abilities at the bee.

It turns out retired teachers are exactly who you want to have organizing and hosting and making a spelling bee happen for your child.  Adelaide is in the photo above, standing at one of the microphones, chatting with two of the volunteers and another contestant while waiting for one of the later rounds to start.  These women and all their superhero(ine) friends were amazing.  They were smiling and affectionate and patient and calming and encouraging, had looks of such compassion on their faces when someone made a mistake, excitement when someone correctly spelled a word, and the coordinator of it all gave each kid a hug and a few words just for them along with their certificate when they were out.  Any kid facing a competition deserves to be so mothered.

The Sad

There was a fellow contestant, a young girl, who in early rounds proved herself to be a wily speller.  She was given the word "scissors" and immediately said, "Scissors:  C-...." and then stopped.  There was a long pause, followed by her admitting aloud, "I just ruined it for myself, didn't I?" and my heart broke for her.  When she was finally able to speak again, she did so with dark humor, not even attempting to spell the word, instead uttering a rushed jumble of letters:  "D-M-O-F."  I laughed sadly- smart and funny!  I want Adelaide to be friends with this girl!  Then there was the *ding* of the bell that signified the misspelling of the word, and the poor thing shuffled off to the side for her consolation hug and certificate.  It was the closest I came to rooting for anyone other than our daughter.

The Distracting

When I wasn't torturing myself by trying to wind my legs ever tighter around each other in an attempt to relieve some of the tension caused by watching Daughter in the bee, I found a welcome distraction in the form of our boys, who were very good considering they had to be quiet and still for two hours, although thankfully Derek's parents were there and helped us keep an eye on them.  Atticus in particular helped me get my mind off my anxiety when he peeled a sticky label off a water bottle, put it over his eyes, and soon found that this was an unwise move on his part.

"I have made a terrible mistake."

The important part is he struggled not to remove his own eyelashes and eyebrows quietly.




The Extraordinary

Among her many prizes and spoils, Adelaide received two coupons for free ice cream at the fair.  As soon as we had concluded our business at the bee, we headed to the nearer of the two stands offering her free ice cream for winning, the Barksdale Concession stand in the Varied Industries Building.

Even though she had just won a competition and we were very proud, I never miss an opportunity to teach/force our children to do certain things like learning to interact with the world at large.  I therefore urged Adelaide up to the counter at the concession stand, telling her first what to do, because really, she is ten years old and shouldn't need our help with this kind of thing.  I will say we were a mere ten feet behind her, ready to jump in, just in case, so back off, internet critics.

That stand is mostly staffed by very young-looking ladies and men, and one of them first accepted Adelaide's coupon before turning to the one slightly older looking person there- who I assume was a supervisor- checking for approval, I guess.  This guy got down on Adelaide's level, took in the information, and proceeded to heartily congratulate her, announced to the crowd that this young lady had just won the Iowa State Fair Spelling Bee, and led them all in a round of applause.  He also encouraged another employee to top off our daughter's requested mint chocolate chip ice cream cone with a little extra ice cream, because she had just won first place, hadn't she?

That's Daughter in the purple shirt at the counter, Mr. Nice in the glasses on the left.

Oh my goodness.  So much kindness.  Adelaide was flying high, recounting the entire episode to me in case I had missed a single detail, absolutely delighted, and I kept asking myself WHY ARE PEOPLE SO WONDERFUL? while hollering "Thank you so much!" to the guy over the large crowd.  He smiled and waved you're welcome, and now I'm kicking myself because I didn't get his name.  I've had to console myself by emailing Barksdale Concessions and the Iowa State Fair, recounting the story and attaching the previous photo but zoomed in on his face, praying he'll get some kind of recognition for just being dang nice.

The Iowa State Fair Spelling Bee

Last week, in the days leading up to the spelling bee, Adelaide was nervous.  So, so nervous.  What had been excitement and fun anticipation turned to straight nerves for our girl, and she began saying things like, "Only four more days until the spelling bee," "37 hours from right now until the spelling bee starts," and "This time tomorrow I'll be checking in for the spelling bee."

She also began to fret aloud about her possible performance.  "What if I'm the first one out?"  "What if I misspell a word I know just because I say it wrong?"  "What if I completely mess everything up?  Why have I told so many people I was in this spelling bee?!"

Now, my answers to queries such as these were statements like, "Well, you might," and "Yes, that could happen," because when I am in similar nerve-inducing situations, that is what makes me feel better.  I play the "what if" game clear down the line:  What if I fail?  Well, I've survived worse, so I'll probably feel bad for a while and then be fine.  What if I upset everyone?  I upset people all the time.  I'll either decide I need to apologize or they'll get over themselves and stop being such thin-skinned pansies.  (I am often not a very nice person inside my own head.)  I will What If to the metaphorical death. (What if I die?  "O death, where is thy sting?"  Hey, still fine!)

Somehow, somehow this turned out to be not the most comforting thing for our scared daughter to hear, but thankfully I married a man whose face gives me helpful visual cues; in this instance after I said to her, "Well, yeah, you might be the first person out," his face turned to me and managed to communicate What is wrong with you? with no words at all, because he is very talented.  Then he told her that she would not be the first person out, and that she was going to do great, because she is a fantastic speller, and other reassuring and comforting things that she apparently needed to hear, and thank God she has a dad is what I am saying.


The morning of the bee she was still nervous, but manageably so, I think in part because we were busy making sure we had all our baked goods in order to turn in to the foods barn at the fair (and oh, isn't that a story for another day), and then we were walking around, and getting delicious food like corn dogs and cheese curds and such.  Caedmon demonstrates how seriously we take this food in the photo below, double-fisting food on a stick.

And then it was time to head for the spelling bee.

Adelaide had been pretty clingy all morning, hanging on me and squeezing me at regular intervals, and thankfully by that time I'd learned to simply squeeze back and keep my big trap shut.  When we walked in, though, she put on a brave face, found her chair, and sat herself down, leaving the rest of us to find seats and watch all the other contestants and their families file in.  I realized very quickly that I was not going to handle the experience well, and communicated my feelings to my mother via text before Adelaide had even spelled her first word.

I'm assuming most of you have attended a spelling bee or similar event at some point in your lives, so I won't give you a blow-by-blow of the event, but I will say it started with a full room and 81 chairs for the hopeful spelling contestants,

and involved much squirming and clenching and anxiety on my part.  Derek put his feelings to good use via social media, where he gave live updates on Facebook so people could follow along, and when I looked back over his feed it was so entertaining.  I might try to get it all on here tomorrow, to give you a different perspective of the experience.

Adelaide ended up spelling word after word after word right, and really, most of the words were easily within her spelling abilities.  The only two words I worried about were "conscience" ("Please, please God tell me she knows it's spelled con-science, con-science... YES!  She knows!") and "indebtedness" (Surely she knows the root word is "debt," surely she knows that... if I hear her say the letter "b" I'll know that she knows what she's doing.... YES!  She knows!").  I also half-regretted telling her to take her time, not hurry, because it would be a shame to misspell a word simply because she rushed through it.  She did take her time spelling each word, but that also gave me time to have a mini-stroke in between each letter, I swear.

And then, after two hours of spelling, she won.

I'll be back tomorrow to talk about more of the details of the day's experiences, because you know one post is not enough to contain all the words I have for this event.  For now, suffice it to say:  We were so proud, not just because she won, but because she had the guts to get up there and try even though it was nerve-wracking and hard, and at the end of the day we had to tell her that no, she was not allowed to sleep with her trophy, but it could absolutely stay in her room with her.