Bee Stings

Yesterday, I was taking care of this little girl, who (I think) is going into either first or second grade. Anyway, she was outside playing in a soccer field. She and her friends screamed when she saw a bee and tried to kill it by stepping on it. I tell them to leave the bees alone.
They, being intelligent females, decide to try to catch the bees with cups. I take their cups away. (It's a rather dramatic story with a rather dramatic struggle, but I'll skip that. It ends with them smuggling a cup and running away from me.) Then they find a shoe and start beating the bees. I take the shoe away. They get the shoe back.
So I'm looking down, entertaining a kindergartner, and then I hear a girl cry...

She got stung by a bee.

She starts hopping up and down and yelling, even when I tell her to lie down. So we hobble over back into the room, and she lies down (finally!) and I roll up her pant leg with a credit card to scoop out the stinger and...

There was no stinger.

And that was one of the small highlights of my day.

My Fake Arm

Yesterday, I was asked if my arm was fake (by like a fourth grader). I told him no. He kept insisting that it was fake, so I pulled up my sleeve and showed him where it attached to my body. So he gives up in that department.

A minute later he asks me if my leg is fake.

Don't little kids say the darnest things?