Day 6: Time for Worms

Yesterday I babysat a friend's son for almost 5 hours while she cared for her mother-in-law (who just had a mastectomy). I haven't had a toddler to myself for that long in many moons. As expected, not much was accomplished around the house or in my writing. However, I had time for worms and that is a joy.

Yesterday was a rainy day. My friend had packed her son's raincoat, and the little guy really wanted to play ball. "Play football. Outside," he insisted. How can anyone resist a cutie? Despite the soppiness of the day, we bundled into our raincoats and out we went. Little Guy brought the football, but the closest we came to playing was him passing it to me so he could concentrate on getting down our steps. Once outside, the wet world held far more interest than football: drips on a raincoat sleeve, puddles, and -- most of all -- a long, skinny worm worming his way across the driveway.

I've always loved worms. As a girl, I spent rainy days rescuing them off the sidewalk, picking up their ungratefully squiggly bodies and tossing them into the safety of grass. It was a matter of conscience and a matter of loving animals of any shape and size.

But part of growing up is no longer taking the time to rescue worms. It still bothers my conscience when I'm out jogging and step over or around a worm -- a big chunk of me wants to stop and rescue it. However, exercise time would be compromised by worm rescues (it wouldn't be fair to only rescue one) and so I let nature take its course as I run mine.

Little Guy might be only two years old, but he is clearly a thoughtful, quiet, gentle soul. He hugged the football and spent a full 5 minutes crouched over a worm I pointed out. "Big worm," I said. "Big worm," Little Guy repeated. (He's at that darling stage where he repeats every word.) We watched the worm's strange method of locomotion, the pointy front ("head"??) noses about and then pulls forward in the chose direction; the pull then ripples and flows down the body, inching the front of the worm forward in little sections. The last segment ("tail"??) then gets dragged forward and -- behold! -- all that motion has propelled the worm half an inch.

Little Guy giggled after a few minutes of watching. I was impressed that he had the patience to watch the slow progress, and that he could even see the humor in worm movement. For me, I loved that life had slowed down to worm time. The fascinating movement that I had taken time to observe as a child (between rescues) maintained its  fascination. Why do I continue to live by my to-do list? Why don't I take more time for worms? Or ants? Joy is in the little details of life, an appreciation of day-to-day miracles.