We have what has become known as “the construction site” in our backyard. It is an area of dirt and gravel that has been home to many “projects” of our children and their diggers over the past few years. One day G came inside and asked for a container.
“Look” he said, as he held out his hand with a slithering worm in his grubby palm, “I have a new pet!”
I gave him the nearest container I could find, and sent him out again. And then he started to take care of it. He put the worm at the bottom of his largest bucket, and then proceeded to give it a home: to pack it full of gravel.
"Why are these tongs out on the counter?" I asked later that evening.
“I used them; Daddy said that worms don’t eat dirt, so I went in the compost bucket to find it some food.”
Right-o.
At least he told me.
The next day, Naomi showed up at the back door, also wanting a container. She was as pleased as punch, holding her hands behind her back. “Mummy! I have a new pet, too!”
I will admit my heart was thumping as to what was in her little palms. She held out her new pet.
“Pet leaves!”
I can handle that. Even if I do end up with branches all over my house.
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