MyThreeDaughters

Last Saturday, the two older girls and myself were out in the back yard. I was trying to get some weeds pulled and rubbish removed, so was delighted when the girls found something to do that required little Dad maintenance. We found a couple of earthworms and they started a *worm farm.* Whenever I moved a log or something (you’d think I was talking about The Back 40, but if I am, it’s 40 feet) and found another worm, I delivered it to the worm farm. Fontaine (almost 6) and Elizabeth (3 and a half) got dirt and pulled grass for food and shelter and covered the worms up.
I worked, they played, it was great.
When a worm would try to escape the farm, I would hear Elizabeth say, “Oh, no you don’t….” and drag the poor sucker back home.
Elizabeth became the worm doctor. And don’t think Dad doesn’t dig two things about that: his three and a half year old girl loving to play with worms and hold them and get dirty hands. Plus, I figure if you aspire to be the Anything Doctor, that’s pretty good.
Ten minutes passed and Fontaine came over: “Daddy, we need some more worms, because all of ours either died or broke in half.”
Oh man, what happened to the worms?
“Well, Elizabeth is the doctor and she stretches them out first to measure them.”
The worms were good for, I’d guess, about 45 minutes of wholesome entertainment, which surpasses the total amount of time they have spent playing with most of the Christmas presents we got them. If only Elizabeth could get a tiara to stay on a worm.
Today, a week later, it was caterpillars that the girls got into. We found some really colorful ones, and they made a house for them, and got greenery for food, and some water. Fontaine said at one point she got one to drink water out of a crevice in the porch. “He must’ve been thirsty, because I think he looked up, and I saw a bit of a smile.”
The girls think these things are going to become Monarch butterflies; I think they are going to become whatever bag worms turn into.
Oh, what a grizzled old fart I am.