Bugged.

Ah, nature.

At school today we set up a low table on the concrete (A tabletop on some blocks) with some toys for the kids. While I was at the door waiting for a child to finish in the bathroom, Emma (a young four) was at the little table and started screaming bloody murder, and by the frozen way she was holding her arm, I thought, “NO! Her hand is pinned under the tabletop! Crushed bones! Crushed bones!”

I couldn’t leave the door and frantically shouted to other staff to please go help her. Donna did, and walked her over to me, saying something quietly that I completely missed in the panic. (I found out later.) Emma was still holding her arm stiffly and I said, “Where does it hurt?” She vaguely pointed, which I thought was weird, so I had her go and get a paper towel (the first step in preschool first aid). She returned holding the towel in her hand. I again inquired where it hurt and she replied in terror, “It’s still there.”

She pointed at the ladybug on her shoulder. (That’s what Donna had said. I missed it.)

Good grief. I thought she was dying.

I put the ladybug on her paper towel and told her, “There! Now you can take him outside and shake him onto a plant where he’ll be happy.” Instead she took him back over to the table where he watched her play.

Later in the day one of the aides was reading a story about animals and Emma piped up, “Ladybugs are very nice.”

What a one-eighty.