Make me laugh, make me cry

Matthew made me laugh today. We were driving to the store with the windows down and he says, "Yaaay! I like vuh windows down! Except when I have snot on my awms. Ven I jus' git fweeeeezing!"

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Robert made me want to cry today.

I brought a tomato hornworm home from the farm. Tomato hormworms  are gigantic caterpillars that can decimate a full-sized tomato plant in a week. They're ravenous. They're perfectly camouflaged. And if you're lucky enough to spot one and tenacious enough to finally wrestle them off the plant, they flail and arch their bodies like they're trying to turn around and bite you. Nasty "little" things.

Anyway, I brought one home from the farm to show James. All the kids were amazed at its size. We picked a volunteer tomato start from the compost pile and put it in a vase to house/feed this guy. Well, this guy was a bit of an escape artist. While the other kids and I were off hearing about freezing cold snot arms, Robert was home with Bobby. He went to check on the caterpillar and couldn't find it in its box. He started looking around for it and felt something squish under his foot. He was horrified to discover that he had wounded the back end of the caterpillar that had somehow fallen onto the floor. Robert was almost crying when we got home. He couldn't stand the thought that he was responsible for this creature's suffering and possible death. He would not forgive himself. Even for an accident. I was touched that he felt so deeply for a pest of a worm he had only met an hour earlier. A caterpillar that I would have gleefully stepped on in the farm parking lot if I hadn't promised to show James the next one I found.

Well, the caterpillar kept moving around. It wasn't clear whether he would live or die. Robert was all torn up. He said he didn't want it to suffer, but he didn't want to mercy kill something that might heal on its own with a little time. He wished for an insect vet. He followed me around inside and outside the house as I worked, feeling a little insecure, concerned, but being patient and watchful.

After dinner tonight, Alice walked by the caterpillar's enclosure and gasped. Jumped, actually. She said, "I think I just saw the caterpillar die. It just fell off its branch." She was right. Robert was truly sad, and his mouth curled downward and his voice shook as he asked about what to do next.

He asked for a funeral. A proper burial.

Robert was more shaken by all this than James.

I hugged him tight and he hugged me back. I understand the guilt. I understand the feeling of loss. I wonder how such compassion can exist side-by-side with the abrasive and competitive bits that flare up whenever James is nearby.

*sigh*

No matter. He's a 9-year-old boy. I love him. We will have a caterpillar funeral.