Last year while we were on vacation in Oregon visiting family, Leo was stung by a bee for the first time. Twice in one day! Poor guy. Ever since then, any "owie" in our house has been known as a "bee." For example, if I stub my toe and the kids wonder why I am standing in the corner writhing in pain, I explain that I "have a bee."
This weekend when we were playing outside a beautiful monarch butterfly fluttered into our backyard and landed on the grass. I thought, great! The kids will briefly get to see a butterfly close up. Leo was extra excited because his class at school is raising butterflies (I guess for now they are caterpillars). Anyway he is quite interested in butterflies, as is Ellie.
But then the butterfly just sat there, moving just slightly, enough for me to know that it was still alive, but to the point that I thought, Oh great, the kids get to watch a butterfly die up close and in person. (Spoiler for those adverse to sad animal tales (me): everything turned out ok in the end)
I'm glad this story had a happy ending. Maybe the butterfly was just tired. I know the feeling.
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