Today I learned that I cannot underestimate my son's empathy toward even the smallest living things. Upon returning home from work, I noticed a bee hopping around the back door. Henry was coming in and out, in and out watching the leaves fall to the ground and splashing in puddles. I did not want him to get stung by this late season, probably half frozen bee. That would ruin his afternoon. So instead I ruined the bee's afternoon. I stomped on it. While fetching a paper towel to clean up the bee carcass, I was distracted by something Liam needed. (New diaper, sock off, nose wiped, who can remember?) By the time I returned to the doorway, Henry had noticed the bee.
"Needs help, mommy, needs help!" my son exclaimed as the bee flopped around. Great, it wasn't completely dead. Almost, but not completely. "Make it fly, mommy, make it fly outside. In the sky, mommy, in the sky."
Well, I managed to distract Henry's attention for a moment while I picked up the bee and made a sweeping motion with my hand toward the sky. "Where's the bee, mommy, where's the bee?"
"In the sky, Henry. He flew away to find some flowers."
Henry returned to splashing and counting leaves. All's well that ends well, but next time I'll bee more careful.