Ukraine Adoption

Tears and caterpillars

Sometimes we race through life and miss the little things that are really the most important.

A few weeks ago, little Tara Vika caught a ladybug and a caterpillar and put them in a jar. I poked some holes in the top for air. She filled the jar with leaves, sticks, acorns and a splash of water. She carried that jar around with her a lot. She took it in the car sometimes, and even on a road trip to Grandma's house. She put fresh leaves and splashes of water every so often.

She'd shake it, peer inside, and get so excited to see her little friends. We were always relieved when we spotted them actually moving.

Then Sunday came along, and Tara realized she hadn't changed the leaves or splashed them with water for days. Panic was upon her little face. She took her jar outside and slowly poured out the icky contents; black leaves, sticky acorns, and a live ladybug (!) She set the ladybug free to go back with her family. We don't know when she decided to do that, or even why.

But there was no sign of the caterpillar. And Tara had just picked out a small butterfly cage at the store. She wanted to transfer the furry critter into her cage and watch him in the weeks to come. Tears streamed down her face as she told me she couldn't find her little friend. I was thinking the dark smudge stuck on the bottom of the jar might have been all that was left, but I wasn't certain and I didn't let on.

Tara was genuinely upset, tears and sobs and a little anger, too, when I tried to console her. Finally, I suggested that we go back outside and look for another one. Surely there are more out there, and I even remembered seeing one on the porch before. This cheered her up. The two of us, her clutching the little butterfly cage, walked outside and began looking for caterpillars. I knew this was a longshot, but the possibility made her feel better. We each got a stick and poked around near the porch. No sign of a caterpillar, but she was optimistic.

This was when I got one of those moments that you freezeframe into your memory: Tara and I outside at dusk, dragging little sticks through the grass and leaves near the porch, hunting for caterpillars. All the while, we could see Austin through the living room window, practicing at the piano; we could hear the music, the mistakes, the improvements. John was in the back yard grilling dinner. It is these moments that matter, not the chores and work and errands. But these simple moments.