The life cycle of your average beetle isn't usually something that makes an impact of any sort in my day to day life. Unless it's through the eyes of my child.
Let me set the scene:
I am folding clothes in the laundry room when Henry comes running into the room wearing a white onsie. Is there anything cuter than a baby/toddler in a plain white onsie? I don't think so. But I digress.
He sees a dead beetle on it's back, legs curled up to it's chest, laying in the middle of the floor. My sweet little guy gets down on the floor on his tummy with his face right over the bug and yells:
"HIYA BUG!"
The bug, being very obviously dead, has no response to this greeting so Henry leans closer.
"Hey! Are you awight?"
Again, there is no response because the bug is still dead. Henry slumps his shoulders.
"Ahhh, crap!"
Dejectedly, he gets to his feet and very carefully, very deliberately, steps on and squishes the dead bug. Then he brushes his hands together solemnly, says "amen" and walks away.
And there you have it. The passing of a bug, as witnessed by the mother of the toddler who mourned it.
Let me set the scene:
I am folding clothes in the laundry room when Henry comes running into the room wearing a white onsie. Is there anything cuter than a baby/toddler in a plain white onsie? I don't think so. But I digress.
He sees a dead beetle on it's back, legs curled up to it's chest, laying in the middle of the floor. My sweet little guy gets down on the floor on his tummy with his face right over the bug and yells:
"HIYA BUG!"
The bug, being very obviously dead, has no response to this greeting so Henry leans closer.
"Hey! Are you awight?"
Again, there is no response because the bug is still dead. Henry slumps his shoulders.
"Ahhh, crap!"
Dejectedly, he gets to his feet and very carefully, very deliberately, steps on and squishes the dead bug. Then he brushes his hands together solemnly, says "amen" and walks away.
And there you have it. The passing of a bug, as witnessed by the mother of the toddler who mourned it.
