Ticked Off

My son went on a class field trip to the zoo yesterday. It was dreary, overcast and cool – following two days of 70 beautiful degrees. Just his luck.

He was totally exhausted when he got home. At 6:30 he announced he was going to bed. I insisted on a quick shower or bath to get the “zoo grime” off first. As he was stripping down, he noticed a block dot on his leg. He picked at it, it didn’t budge. “I have a new freckle,” he announced.

I took a look. It wasn’t a freckle. It was a tick. “What’s a tick?” he asked – ok, yelled – while terrified and screaming.

“It’s just a little bug. We have to get it off though, so sit still. I’ll get daddy.”

My husband proceeded to call his mom (yes, we still call our moms in moments of panic –who doesn’t?) Because my father in law and nephews are hunters and anglers, they are often ticked, and know just how to dig them out.

My son wouldn’t cooperate. He kicked and screamed and panicked. Given all this little boy goes through with his health, he didn’t want any more drama. But my husband lost his cool. “If we don’t get it out, you could get sick and die!” He may have overreacted a shade in the moment, but with no immunity, our son really could have gotten very ill.

But this outburst didn’t help my son’s cooperative mood any. I finally calmed both of them down; distracted my son with dental floss and my husband dug the little bugger out. It was deep, too. It left a bruise.

My son has now decided he will NOT be playing outside or going to the zoo again this summer. He’s ticked off. And he has every right. Stupid bug.