"Mommy. Mom? Mom?" my four-year-old son, River, calls.
"Mmm-hmm," I murmur, wiping the sleep from my eyes as I walk toward the coffee pot.
"Are the bees awake?" he asks, concerned.
I peek outside, praying that the bees are far, far away. One . . . two, three, four. Nope, the bees are up and at 'em. Lively, buzzing from flower to flower steps away from the front door.
My mind searches like a frantic bunny hopping to and fro, looking for a thorny bush to shelter in. I need something to say other than the truth- the truth that is sure to break him into a million pieces. I can't handle that yet. I need coffee. If I'm going to deliver the truth, I have to have a side dish to soothe the heat. I can't just whip around and say point blank, "Yes, hunny, they are." I know better than that. As his mother, I do my job to meet his needs.
My mind races to create a little white lie. Something like, "Yeahhhhh, I think I see one, but it looks like he's getting sleepy. I bet if we eat breakfast, he will go away."
You know– those ridiculous statements we parents say to herd the kids in the direction we want them to go. I caught myself telling my daughter Indie yesterday "Baby, you gotta brush your teeth. You've got bugs in your mouth." Which isn't entirely false . . . microorganisms right? Still- I knew I had to paint a ridiculous picture to compel good hygiene action. I'm embarrassed that it was fear related, but I digress. Back to the bees.
You see, River is deeply terrified of bees. He was stung a few years back, but the pain remains. Me too, buddy . . . I always think.
He doesn't want to be hurt again. He wants nothing to do with the things. So he stays inside and hovers close to my leg when he has to venture out, staying on full alert.
I don't know how to help, and this bugs me. (no pun intended) I don't know what to do to ease his anxiety. I try the ole "hey buddy, don't move. Just stay really still. It won't bother you if you don't bother it."
He shrieks at the sight and hyperventilates at the sound. His nervous system can't handle it.
He's only four, and I wonder what other fears he will have to face in life. So many, I am sure of it. My mother hurt throbs thinking about this.
It makes me think about my fears, past and present. What makes my skin crawl? Ahd what helps get me through it? Of course, heights, death, and all those big-ticket fears flash through my mind, but I dismiss those. I want to go beyond the surface.- past being bitten by a shark or mauled by a bear. I reflect for a moment on the fears I'm dealing with daily like River's bees. . . Then, Ahhhhh, I discover the ouchie zone- being late, being seen as irresponsible, being scared that someone will think I'm a bad person.
Perhaps, we all have bees that we wish would go to sleep. Yep, I'd say we do.
Nothing left to do but serve some little white lies to help us cope. We can wrap around the leg of our mother, pray for bravery, and walk through the flowers shrieking, whether on the inside or echoing for the whole holler to hear.
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