a peek inside the fishbowl

[Edited to add Tuesday morning: believe it or not, it’s still alive!]

Whoever invented the whole “you can’t tell anyone what you wish for” rule was not thinking straight.

Early on I decided to ignore this common wisdom and do my own thing with the girls, the simple reason being that I wanted to know the details of their childlike wishes …  whether they were wishing on stars, birthday cakes, or wispy dandelion seeds. Who wouldn’t want to know what lay deep in the hearts of their children?

Tonight, when Emma and Sarah wished on the wishbone, Sarah was the victor. She broke off the biggest piece. Naturally, she offered to tell us what she wished for. I wasn’t sure what to expect. One never is. A pony? A castle in the sky? What?

Sarah wished that she would become a great artist. Emma wished that our family would always be happy.

–
When Mark and I picked the girls up after school today, Emma had a butterfly in her hands. It was a Mourning Cloak. We didn’t know whether it was dead or alive but she was very concerned, and convinced it was still alive. At first we tried to persuade her to leave it in the school garden (“but it’s the circle of life!”), but she was adamant. She wanted to bring it home and nurse it back to life.

Okaaay. But first, we had errands to run. She held it as we walked to Westboro Village. She held it in the bakery, and all the way to the pharmacy. And then she held it for the whole walk home. I couldn’t figure out whether it was dead or not. It was very still, but every once in awhile it gave a tiny tremble and shudder… so slight and gentle that I thought it might be the wind.

Back at home, the girls quickly found a shoebox, lined it with tissue paper and added the remains of one red Remembrance Day poppy, the flowers of two small mums, and sat the butterfly (now named Hackberry) on top.

I asked Emma how she came to find this poor little bug.

She found it fluttering around in the schoolyard. She called to her friend J to come see, but another boy, A, came over and stepped on it.

That bit of info tugged at my heart a little. Who would step on a butterfly? Does his mother know? What would she say if she knew?

The girls are long in bed. Mark decided to check on the poor thing. It is alive, barely. We set it down on a fresh orange slice hoping it had one last little happy memory before departing.

It’s breaking my heart tonight, just a little bit.