Pushee, Raleigh, and Never Named

Our post-nap afternoon was spent on our warm deck, playing with an endless row of Matchbox cars. The blue recycling truck repeatedly got his front wheel stuck in a hole, and Heath repeatedly used his hand cell phone to call a tow truck.

Yeah, Mr. Tow Truck, uh, my wheel is stuck. Gotta come help me.

Okay, the yellow tow truck responded, then quickly shot out of the "parking lot" to come to the waste services truck's rescue.

Stella alternated between rolling her blue and white cement mixer, and gnawing on a 1974 Dodge Monaco police car. Every time I would say, Not in your mouth, Stella, she would take the Dodge out of her mouth, laugh, then shove the cement mixer in. Not in your mouth, Stella. Cement mixer out. Laugh. Dodge back in. And on it went.

Until something caught her eye. She pointed her little index finger at the top of the white City Fire Department hook-and-ladder and squealed with delight. It was a caterpillar, wriggling its way across the rescue vehicle.

Both Heath and Stella leaned in to watch (and poke) the little creature. Heath liked its fuzz and was particularly happy about seeing the caterpillar as Eric Carle's The Very Hungry Caterpillar has made its way back into reading rotation at the Ropko house.

Gentle hands, don't touch the caterpillar, I repeated, and repeated, and repeated.

Suddenly, another caterpillar appeared. Then another.

Heath named one Pushee, because He pushes the nails up, he explained, pointing to a wayward nailhead on the deck that Pushee was making its way around.

He named another one Raleigh. He's my friend, Heath said, as Raleigh travelled up and down Heath's arms, across his chest, and over to his back. He can come in and eat dinner with me. He needs ice cream with a cone.

I convinced him that Raleigh and Pushee needed to stay outside to ready themselves for their amazing butterfly metamorphosis. Perhaps we could set them free in the grass in our backyard. Heath agreed and put them each out to pasture.

There was a slight moment of chaos, and well, the third, yet-to-be-named caterpillar met his untimely demise beneath a pink Keen.

When Heath caught sight of the poor John (or Jane) Doe, clearly having seen better days, he said, Oh no, Gigs! He clucked his tongue, shook his head, and pronounced, He's nice and dead.

Stella crouched down by the insect formerly known as Caterpillar and gave it one last gentle poke. Then she stood up, waved, and said, Bye-bye.