Wasp killer

This is the life of the wasp killing mama.

4:00 am. Silhouette of younger daughter in my bedroom doorway, announcing her tragedy before entering. A wasp had tried to cuddle up next to her on her pillow. She thought he might be cold because she swears he was trying to burrow under the covers too.

4:03 am. Younger daughter is now tucked in my bed, spooned up against me, tears subsiding.

4:05 am. I am nearly asleep again when younger daughter asks me to check on the wasp. She’s worried about him.

4:07 am. After some discussion, I relent.

4:09 am. In a drowsy fog of terrified stupor, I go wasp hunting in my pjs. I am armed with a magazine I fish out of the trash can and it smells of last night’s pasta sauce.

4:12 am. The wasp is located. I smack it several times until it is beyond dead and then I drop it in the toilet.

4:15 am. I am back in bed and report to younger daughter that the wasp has been handled. She is happy and gives me a hug. But she wants to stay in bed with me – just in case.

4:17 am. I am on the verge of total sleep. She pokes me to ask for an extra blanket.

4:20 am. We settle under the blanket I retrieve from the hall closet. She needs several minutes to fluff the blanket and get cozy.

4:23 am. She is drooling lightly on my arm and her teddy bear’s rump is mashed against my face.

4:26 am. I am awake.

4:31 am. I am awake. I check the weather forecast on my phone.

4:38 am. I am still awake. I check some emails on my phone.

4:42 am. I get out of bed and fix myself a cup of coffee. I sit silently at the kitchen table and watch the room grow lighter and listen to the light rumble of my snoring younger daughter.

This is the life of the wasp killing mama. Glad to be of service.


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