Kissing Caterpillars

My week began with an oppressive darkness lording over me. If down in the dumps meant you were depressed, it would be better said that I was smack dab in the middle of the smelliest landfill in Jersey. I wanted the world to go away, to rid myself of the responsibilities of being a mother and wife.

Tired of being jabbed by the book my tenacious toddler kept shoving my way and hearing a loud and exuberant, "Readit 'gain, Mummy!" I decided to pack up my two girlies in the double stroller so they both would be distracted by the outside world and I (maybe) could get a few minutes of blissful peace.

I grumbled to myself as I tried to steer the uncooperative stroller down the street. I kept my head down as I focused on maintaining a straight path. I blocked out the rest of the world, pumped my legs, and walked as fast as I could. I don't know what I thought I was going to accomplish in doing so. Maybe escape from my world and all the unwanted bombardments life was lobbing my way. I honestly don't know.

We turned onto one of the less busy, more wooded streets and the noise of the traffic died down. Though being so consumed with my frustrations, I barely noticed the change. The quiet was then interrupted by my excitable eldest daughter who was hollering, "Waita second, waita second!!! Goback, goback, goback!" I didn't want to stop, but the only way to silence her would be to stop and figure out what captured her ever-curious mind and hope that I could satisfy her perked attention. I walked to the front of the stroller and she enthusiastically pointed at something that had, in my haste, escaped my own attention. "Slimy Wormmmmm!"

Aha! A woolly caterpillar had invaded the sidewalk. It was the first one I had seen this fall season, and the first one my toddler had ever seen in her little, young life. I decided to seize the moment and give her a little lesson in science and nature. Gently, I picked up the little fur ball and brought it to my child, whose eyes had widened in sheer wonder. For the first time that morning, I smiled.

Her curiosity consumed her as much as the frustration with life had consumed me, and she couldn't resist poking at the little black-orange-black banded fellow. I tried to remember whether the band pattern was predicting a mild or rough winter. Though given we are in Massachusetts I guessed that his forecast was for a difficult winter, or if otherwise, then he must be stupidly optimistic.

Of course as soon as her probative little finger came in contact with his fuzziness, he (I assume it was a he... how does one tell the gender of a woolly caterpillar anyway?) he curled into a tight little ball. No amount of her coaxing could get him to uncurl, and though slightly saddened at first, she soon resumed her delightful smile and proclaimed that he needed kisses. Again and again the woolly caterpillar received gentle pecks from the full lips of my little angel. Her infectious laugh caught the attention of her infant sister, who smiled at the sound. I regretted that I had taken this long to delight in the joy of my children that day. Shame on me.

The caterpillar couldn't be convinced of her good intentions and remained tightly holed up in his isolated world. It was then that it hit me. I was not so different from this small worm-like creature. I had allowed the outside world to get to me, and it had caused me to retreat within myself. I willed the world a way, and in the process was missing out on the joy of the world around me. How lucky I was though, to have a child pull me from my misery, to convince me to open up and allow life to distract me. God bless the child...

We sat and played with Mr. Caterpillar for sometime and I became quite the philosopher in those minutes with him. I hoped that my daughter would never allow herself to retreat from the world for too long and miss out on so much wonder that the world has to offer. I

I was disappointed in the thought that she would not remember the first time she came face to face with a black-orange-black woolly caterpillar, but honored to know that, in the least, I certainly would. I prayed that she would always be kissing the caterpillars she encountered during the falls of her life.

With time my daughter's attention became focused on something else, and I knew it was time for us to resume our walk. However, I promised myself that I would be walking with my head up and eyes open, so I could take in all the joys of nature- and more importantly, my children. Mr. Caterpillar needed to be returned to his place on the sidewalk and I needed to be returned to my role as mother and wife. A blessed role at that.

However, before letting Mr. Caterpillar resume his secluded life, I made sure that my lips gave the ole boy a tender kiss.

It tickled.

I laughed.

And so did my daughter.