Bugs. I don’t know about you, but I’m not a big fan of them. I’ve even been known to run screaming from the sight of a particularly icky Nasty.
Still, I’m determined to keep Tori from being a screechy little girly girl. Which means, of course, that we have to spend time exploring the insect kingdom.
I’ve let her put her hands in spider webs (shudder). Watched as she let ants crawl over her hands (double shudder). Even let her pick up one of our arachnid friends (I deserve some sort of award for that one).
But I’ve never enjoyed doing it. Until today.
This afternoon we were puttering around outside when she pulled me by the hand over to the rock border around our front garden.
I looked at her blankly—until I remembered the events of the night before. An ant had been ambling across the floor of her room and without thinking twice, I squished it. But not before she saw it. So since I didn’t want to have to admit that I’d killed it, I told her the bug went home. To his house outside. In the rocks in front of our garden.
She bought it.
So now she wanted to see the bugs at home.
Sighing, I knelt down in the grass and flipped the biggest rock upside down. Sure enough, there was an army of the little suckers milling around under there. As my stomach flipped in protest, she squealed in delight.
Seeing how happy she was, I decided to put my disgust aside and get into the spirit of things. So I took another look. And attached to the slab of limestone were 15 or 20 rolly poly bugs.
“Wanna see them do a trick?” I asked Tori.
So I reached out and touched one. He, of course, obligingly rolled up into a little ball. She shrieked with laughter—the excited peals echoing off the nearby houses.
Hearing it made me giggle too, so we did it again and again and again until every single one of the poor little bugs was curled up in a defensive ball. Then I hefted another rock over and we did it all over again.
Eventually I had to tell her that the bugs needed to go night night, or we’d probably still be out there (although I’m sure that won’t be the last time I torture pill bugs this summer).
The moral of the story? Everyone should hang out with a two-year-old every once in a while. The world’s a whole hell of a lot more fun.