A Second Chance by Way of an Inch Worm

As parents, we all have those nights when we are trying out hardest, but our best isn't received by the kids in the way we had hoped. I had an opportunity to be "the fun parent" by letting the boys slip down a cardboard box like a slide. They were having a blast. However, it was within ten minutes of bedtime, and though I warned them repeatedly that the fun would end, my cautions fell on deaf ears. And I would like to be the kind of parent who allows her kids to stay up late playing with a cardboard box, but I had been pushing through a crippling, multi-day migraine. I needed to finally be able to put my head under a pillow and hope for relief.

So, the bedtime routine began. Putting Jack in his pjs as he cried--though I did not raise my voice at him, I still felt bad about his protests. I lifted him over the rails into his crib, and he let out a loud, "NO! NO! NO!" Fortunately, by the time I turned off his light and closed the door, he wasn't crying at all. He just went right to sleep. I then turned down Eliot's request to read "just one, short book" before bed or to sing him a song. "No," I said. "Go pee in the potty. You're going to bed."

I was frustrated, and though I was not lashing out or being cruel, I was being cold. To be honest, my head hurt so badly that it was a struggle to even get words out.

After I closed the door, I resigned myself to do a few dishes before going to bed myself. Eliot crept around the corner. "Mom, I want you to cuddle with me. I can't sleep without a cuddle. And a song."

I didn't answer. I lifted Eliot's soccer water bottle from the counter to rinse it. There, a bright green inch worm scrunched up its body as it traveled down the bottle. It reminded me of one of Eliot's favorite books: If You Want to See a Whale.

I bent down and showed him. "Look," I said. "An inch worm. Do you want to hold it?"
"Is it slimy?" he asked.
"No," I replied. "Maybe just tickle-y."
"I want you to hold it."

I tried to convince the inch worm to climb on my finger. He wasn't interested. He stood up, challenging his balance, and looked for somewhere to go--anywhere but my finger. Eventually, though, I did scoot him on. I thought of all of the bugs that I have shown to Eliot over the past four years, the times I have tried to teach him gentleness and to value life (no matter how small), and how intrigued he has always been by all things in nature. I told Eliot that I'd put the worm outside and I'd be right back.

"I want to come!" Eliot cried excitedly.
"But it's raining," I said.
"I like the rain! And here are my shoes!"

All too often, the answer is no when really there is no reason why the answer can't be yes.
I helped Eliot get his shoes on, and we hurried into the rain to lead the worm to climb onto the frond of a palm tree by the deck. "This way he won't get too wet if he doesn't want to," I suggested.

We went back inside and I lay in bed with Eliot and I sang him to sleep. I am thankful for that second chance at a good night, even though it wasn't necessarily a bad night before, by way of an inch worm.