No, that’s not a vuvuzela. It’s the sound of the dying bee I flicked off the bottom of my daughter’s foot with a lightsaber.

Yes, a lightsaber.

As my poor, screaming, baby girl hopped on one foot to show me the bee and it’s stinger lodged and squirming, I instinctively grabbed the nearest lightsaber to remove the offending insect.

I’m not sure what this says about me in a crisis.

Meanwhile my son, who has been very against his sister’s crying as of late, covered his ears and ran into the house yelling ‘MAKE HER STOP MAKE HER STOP’ prompting the puppy to bark and chase him.

So to review:  my five-year old is screaming in pain, my seven-year old is running and screaming, while the six-month old puppy is barking and chasing us all.

Yes, I highly recommend you come to MY house whenever you have a minor crisis. It’s loads of chaotic fun.

Alright so maybe our first bee-sting of a child wasn’t an entire parent fail. I got the stinger out. I used baking soda paste until I found the 1st aid kit and it’s insect sting relief pads. I soothed my baby girl with hugs and ice cream and wrapped her tiny foot carefully. I had a talk with her brother about how he needs to ‘help’ in an emergency, not run away screaming. All in all it wasn’t the worst summer emergency melt down.

Of course this morning I surveyed the damage and reassessed that opinion. Baking soda all over the ground. Band Aid wrappers strewn across the kitchen. And there, on the patio… a lightsaber with a dead bee at it’s tip.

Summer vacation at it’s finest.