It has been raining for a few days now, and this morning Jack and I slept in (yes, this is a recurring theme) and then lay in my bed listening to thunder and watching cartoons all morning. We finally got ourselves dressed and fed and as we were leaving to go to school, Jack noticed that there were slugs all over the driveway. Baby slugs. Very slow baby slugs. He was so cute squatting in the rain, in his bright-yellow fireman raincoat, watching the slugs squirm across our driveway at the speed of molasses. I finally got him in the car and he started yelling, "Oh no! Oh NO!" and crying. Baffled, I calmed him down and got the story: He was worried that I would squish the slugs when I pulled out of the garage. I looked at his tear-stained face and explained that I would avoid them. "No Mommy, you will squish them!"
And so began my Princess Bride-esque version of motherhood...starring ME as the farmboy. I actually moved not one but three (!!) inch-long slugs from my driveway into my garden. It took me forever--they are like overcooked, cold noodles. Ugh. I made Jack wait in the car as I washed my hands, and then, finally, we got to school. I fear that I am not setting a good precedent, but I was moved by his empathy for those tiny, slow creatures. He will be a great older brother someday.
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