Fire. Fire on the legs.

So there we were, having a delightful time by the pool. Allie was swimming and singing, Parker was splashing around and laughing, and I was sitting on the side. Probably whistling. A bluebird may have even perched on my shoulder. Suburban utopia.
Parker decided to hop out and come over to where I was. He stopped about 10 feet from me and got a curious look on his face. It was a mix between confusion and fear. And then came the dance. It was a dance I know well. It was the dance of someone being mauled by fire ants.
In a blur, I went over to grab Parker, all the while he was speeding up the dance and swatting at his legs, screaming, “ANTS! DADDY! ANTS!!!”
I grabbed Parker by the arms and dipped him in the pool. Allie did a backstroke, making sure she was as far removed from any ants as possible. I was holding Parker by the wrists and had him in the water, and he was kicking furiously in the water, screaming in pain. I am fairly certain the bluebird flew away.
My wife wrapped him in a towel and took him inside. I told Allie it was time to get out of the pool, and she looked at me as if I told her it was time to cut off her own ear. “Uh, Daddy – there are ANTS over there.”
I assured her she would be fine, and that I would lift her over the ants in question. After some minor negotiation (“Fine. A pony. And you can get your driver’s license. Yes, and a tattoo.”) I got Allie inside. Parker was sitting on the couch with my wife, and it was clear the ants had not held back. All over his legs were huge welts, and the area around each welt was turning a bright red. And they hurt. Bad. For those of you who have never been bitten by a fire ant, I offer this comparable experience: Heat up a metal shish kabob to 1,000 degrees. Now jab it into your flesh. Repeat.
We tried to put ice on the wounds, but Parker wanted none of that. As bad as the bites felt, he said the ice felt worse. He had close to 20 bites, and his little legs looked just brutal. Eventually, we got him somewhat calmed down.
We gave him some Benadryl, which makes some children sleepy. Parker is not some children. If we could figure out a way to hook Parker up to an energy grid, we could easily power a city the size of Seattle. He was in fast forward mode. He would run to the den, hop on the couch, jump to the table, sprint upstairs, say something like, DaddycanIhaveajuiceboxIlovedinosaursweneedanotherpuppy!” Eventually, we were able to settle him down (I was amazed at my wife’s accuracy with a dart gun), at which point it was time to finish the battle the ants had started.
Sure, I’ve had run-ins with fire ants. The last major one I had with was courtesy of a nest that had taken up in an extension ladder. When I raised the ladder, the ants came raining down on me, bringing about their exceptionally unnecessary viciousness. But I’m a grown-up. I can take it. We settled it like men. Or, at least, one man armed with poison.
But NOBODY bites my kids repeatedly. Except my kids. But I think we have gotten through the biting phases. This was going to be more than straight up poison. This was going to be a message to the other ants.
I went out on the pool deck and found where they were coming from. That was easy because they were coming from, well, everywhere. In between the concrete slabs of the pool deck are these little white plastic spacers. They are apparently hollow, because streaming out of both ends were ants. There are eight of the spacers around the pool, and each of them had a steady stream of ants going from the pool area to the yard. I can only assume that they have a nice little colony underneath my pool area, which I also hope does not suddenly collapse in on itself as a result of their efforts.
So I armed myself with some ant killer and a thirst for vengeance. At each opening, I put a little bit of the powder in, filling the gap.
Normally, that would be enough to take care of it. But they attacked my son. They would pay.
As the ants returned to find their pathway blocked by a deadly white powder, they would begin to cluster around in little groups, clearly not knowing what to do.
So, I took the powder and made little circles around the clusters, trapping in groups of 20 or so ants in a little poison death corral. I then would scream, “NOT SO TOUGH NOW, HUH?” or “ They may bite our children, but they’ll never take ... OUR FREEDOM!!!”
I continued to taunt and isolate the ants, all the while lecturing them on coming in to my yard and disrupting our Rockwellian pool time.
After about an hour, my wife told me to come inside, as she needed my help. And the neighbors were unsettled with my warpaint.
Parker was pretty much healed up after a couple of days, and I think I have cured the ant problem. And hopefully any other ants in the vicinity got the message, leaving me to focus on other issues. Such as how to get Allie a driver’s license.