For the most part of this summer I've had to keep my eye on this fellow when he is outside at Grandpa and Grandma C's house. They have a lot of flowers, that not only draw the attention of beautiful butterflies, but also, well, of course, bees.
Emmett loves the bees.
We've warned and lectured and whisked him away from potential danger. He wasn't getting it. Finally, this weekend, after more warning, lecturing, and whisking, he was stung. He was a bit surprised. A bit offended. He cried. Thankfully, there were no allergic reactions. Josh and I were actually glad it had happened, you know the whole "experience is the best teacher" kind of thing. Surely NOW he would understand why we leave bees alone.
Alas he did not.
This evening he was back at it. While the older siblings gleefully caught butterflies, Emmett was determined to catch another bee. I reminded him of his previous experience. I warned, I lectured. And then I saw his hands cupped around something. I thought he had finally gotten a butterfly, I actually saw a glimmer of fluttery wings through a space in his fingers.
Then I heard the angry buzz.
And once more I had a surprised, offended, and crying Emmett. Leaving me to wonder, as I watched him contemplating his favorite "bee hang-out" minutes later, just how many times will he need to be stung before he realizes bees do not like to be caught? Certainly at some point he will realize this fascination isn't worth it, right?
UPDATING ON THE 20TH TO ADD: and he was stung again this evening. Didn't even cry this time. This makes it his third sting in 6 days I believe.
humility vs. humiliation
4 weeks ago