Tyler's class has been studying bugs, spiders, creepy crawlers, and butterflies. He has been all about this, loading me up on details about all these little critters.
He is an expert on spider webs, cocoons, the preying mantis, and he tells me a ladybug peed on him last week. I really didn't know a ladybug could urinate, although I guess it makes sense. I should google that.
They did a close study of the butterfly life cycle, watching in their little labratory. And when their caterpillar was free from his cocoon, when his wings were dry and he longed for freedom, they took him outside and let him fly away.
That afternoon, Tyler didn't want to talk about it.
"I just wanted to keep it. I didn't want to let it go."
"But, Tyler, butterflies were made to fly."
"He could fly. In his cage."
"Buddy, he was born to fly anywhere he wants."
"Well, I'm going to the pet store. And I'm buying a cocoon. And when he's a butterfly, I'll keep him forever. I'll never let him go."
His first encounter with wanting to hold tightly to that which must be free.