Saving Worms

Brendan's school bus has an erratic schedule.  It is supposed to arrive at 8:01 a.m., but it gets to our house anywhere from 8:02 to 8:12, depending on who is driving it.  So, I always let Bren play outside in the morning, while I cower away from the cold by a window inside.

This morning, I saw him bending over in the driveway, standing up and walking over to the grass; bending over, standing up and walking.  He kept doing that over and over again.  Finally, I put on my hat and ventured outside.

"What're you doing?"  I asked in my best "Mommy" voice.  You know, the voice designed not to scare him out of doing whatever it was that he was doing, that he was not supposed to be doing.

He looked up startled, then turned to face me.  My stomach heaved -- in one hand was a dangling, writhing worm.  "I'm saving the worms," he said, surprised that I would even need to ask.

"From what?"

"My brother.  D hates worms and insects.  Every time he sees them, he squishes them.  I don't want these worms to die, so I'm putting them back on the grass so they can go home."

It rained heavily last night and the driveway was littered with wriggling worms of all sizes.  There was no way he was going to save all those worms, but my heart warmed thinking that he was the kind of kid who would try.  When the bus finally came, he looked at the remaining worms and gave a little shrug.  As he was getting on the bus, he said to me, "Mommy, be careful when you drive out.  Please don't run over any worms."  And with a wave of his little hand, he was gone.

I remember when he was about a year old; he was a very calm, happy child.  One of my aunts who had observed him on numerous occasions came over to me and said, "tell me your secret; what do you do that your child seems so happy all the time?"  I was taken aback by the question, so I told her the truth:  "I've done nothing; he came to me that way."

Bren isn't a perfect child, but he is a caring, loving, and genuinely happy, person.  What more can a mother ask for?