a present from daddy

My husband returned from work late last night, while I was doing dishes in the wee hours.  My only thought was:  I want to get these done before Beth wakes up--again.  I vaguely remember him saying something about catching a bug for Peter.

This morning Beth woke me at 6:30.  I nursed her, with the hope that she'd fall back to sleep.  Instead, she nursed briefly, and then crawled off the end of the bed, telling me in baby talk that I was to follow.

Oh, how I wanted to sleep!  "Mommy is still tired, Beth.  Do you want to lie down and hug Mommy?"

She shook her head, said na, and put out my slippers for me.

I didn't budge.  I put my head back on the pillow, hoping so hard that she'd just crawl back in bed with me.

She got back on the bed alright, but only so she could pull my nightgown toward her.

I didn't budge.

Next, she got up further on the bed and pulled my hair.

Whose the boss around here, anyway?

I guess it's not me, because at that point I got up.

We made our way to the playroom, where we found Peter carefully studying something in a bug container.

Daddy was asleep, as were the others.

"Daddy caught me a beetle!  It's huge!"

Half asleep, I said some mundane thing, like "That was nice of Daddy."

I hadn't remembered, at this point, that he'd told me about a bug when he'd arrived home last night.

My world is way more about bugs than I need it to be.  Many hundreds of creepy crawly things have been shoved in my face in the last seven years.

Did I ever tell you Peter picked up a Black Widow spider in California, when a toddler, necessitating an urgent care visit, where it was determined he'd not been bitten?  My dad had been bitten years before and was very ill for about four days.  Black Widow bites, especially in children and in the elderly, can be dangerous (although fatalities are few).

 I love nature, too.  Really.  But I draw the line, see.  Daddy and Peter?  Not so much.

When we moved to Ohio I considered the absence of poisonous, dangerous creepy crawlies (in our region) a huge, tailor-made perk for our family.

Never mind that I used to own a Chilean Rose tarantula as a first-grade classroom amusement.  The worst thing it did was release hairs from its back, which caused itching.  I also bought a green iguana and a beautiful green snake, at one time.

That all happened in my first five years, when teaching was my. entire. life.

So the bug obsession.

It's rubbing off.  Mary will now pick up any bugs she finds.  She is especially fond of catching Japanese Beetles--any beetle really.  Whereas two months ago bees scared her, she now catches them for sport (then lets them go, at my pleading.)

Peter shoved the container in my sleepy face, giving me a good look at his present from Daddy.

"Oh, my gosh!  That's huge.  Is it a cockroach!?"

"I think it's a beetle",  Peter tells me, smiling.  He must have known I was expecting some smallish, non-distinct bug.

"What does a cockroach look like?", he asks me, going after his insect field guide.

"This is smaller" I tell him, "but it reminds me of the Madagascar cockroach we saw at an animal display in California.  You were three the last time we visited that museum.  But I don't think Daddy would bring you a cockroach.  It must be a beetle."

Peter, a happy soul, sat there watching his beetle, while perusing the beetle section in his insect guide. This went on for a long time.  He kept up a steady stream of conversation, telling me why it wasn't this beetle or that beetle and maybe it was this one.

Beth and I read some board books, while I feigned interest in the beetle pictures he kept showing me--against my will.

As Mary, and then Paul awoke, the beetle remained all the rage.

Daddy, bless his soul, knows how to choose good gifts for his children.   Like Peter, he loves nature--insects, spiders, and birds especially.  Nature relaxes him, too.

The day before, I'd wanted all day to clean my floors.  Interruptions went along non-stop, though.  At night, I was too tired.

Thanks to Daddy's fascinating present, the floor got cleaned today.  The children spent two morning hours outside, walking around all the tiger lilies and the rhododendron bushes and the trellises, looking for creepy crawlies.  I guess they wanted to find something equally fascinating.  They often bug hunt, but not for extended periods like this morning.

They reported back to me later:

Twelve honeybees, two squash-vine moths, and a dragonfly--which was apparently stung by one of the honeybees, if that's even possible.

The dragonfly died shortly thereafter.

Hearts were broken.  Peter, the ringleader, got upset that Paul put honeybees in with the much-coveted dragonfly.

Much later in the day, Peter tells me this:

"Mommy, I'm not as excited about catching fireflies anymore.  Did you notice I haven't been begging you?  I think I'll do what Lorrie says--just sit and watch them."

I felt surprisingly sad, hearing this.  Even though it's a maturing, of sorts.  Come next June, will his heart be all aflutter once again?  Will he be watching the windows at 9:00 p.m., begging to go out in his pajamas, bug container in hand?

His boyhood.  I'm not ready to give it up.

Will my boy morph into a preteen, eager to sit with Momma on summer nights, watching fireflies--giving me a steady stream of commentary about this or that?

I will cling to that thought.