Bea vs. the Worm

 

The kids had beaten me to the front yard. As usual, I hadn’t paused to put on my belt before I left the house, so I was busy struggling to keep my pants up while I juggled my 24 oz. Tervis full of ice water when I heard a high pitched yelp. I broke into a run as my jeans threatened to take me down at the knees.

When I rounded the corner she was already up. Cora told me that Bea had tripped on her sandals. She was fine, just startled.

I knelt and performed the inspection. Head, check. Knees, check. Hands, check. All good.

“Look Dad, a snake,” Bea said, without missing a beat.

“That’s not a snake, it’s a worm,” I said.

“It’s a worm. Aww, how cute.”

“It’s not cute, it’s dead,” I said.

“Eww, Step on it!”

I knelt again to snap a photograph. I was a bit letdown that I had cut off the top of her head. Bad form, Talbot. No skinned knees, though. I’m going to call that a win.

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