Cary and Owen planted carrot seeds in the garden this year, and patiently watched them poke through the dirt and grow towards the hot summer sun. Towards the end of August, the young leafy carrots attracted a host of Swallow tail caterpillars. Every day, we would watch the beautiful caterpillars with their rings of green, black, and bright yellow, slowly eat their way down the carrot greens. The caterpillars were bulking up on carrots so they would have the strength to build their cocoons for their slow transformation into butterflies. We decided to bring one of the caterpillars into the house so we could watch its amazing transformation at close range. We read about the process and outfitted a glass bottle, equipped with a branch for the little guy to hang his cocoon on, carrot leaves to get him through the night, and a mini-bar for: you know. What more could a caterpillar want? Owen named him “Calla”. We kept vigil outside Calla’s house to watch him change.
Errol doesn’t grow on a straight line. He seems to take one step forward and then two steps back. A week ago we went to our pediatrician. I was thrilled when she told us that Errol had reached the developmental level of an eight month old. Errol’s being only ten months behind schedule was reason to celebrate! But this week, we took Errol to a different pediatrician, one who specializes in developmental delays, who painted us a different, less rosy picture. She said that Errol has developed to the point of a five month old (we lost three months in one week!) Sometimes I feel like we are moving in reverse, and I think that Errol is never going to grow up. Errol has taught us (forced us) to be patient. In fact, Cary says we aren’t patient at all, we’re just hanging by a thread, in limbo, waiting.
Errol’s big brother Owen is a very special child, himself. One of his most rare and wonderful traits is his active imagination. Owen loves (and demands) stories. It’s one of the main ways we communicate (that and break dancing). In Owen’s mind, the line between past, present and future is often blurred (I get that way after a few too many, but that’s a different story). Sometimes, the subject of the stories is his brother, Errol. “Daddy,” Owen will say, ”tell me the story about when Errol was big and we went to Africa.” Or, “Mama, tell me about the time Errol was bigger and we played together.” Owen’s just saying what we are all hoping, dreaming, and waiting for, but it tears a hole in my heart to hear him anticipating things that might never happen. These are hard stories to tell without choking on the tears.
The swallow tail has sewn himself into his cocoon, which hangs by a thread to the stick in his glass house, in our kitchen. We watch him every day as we wait for him to spread his wings and fly. He’s been in there for three or four weeks now, and we are beginning to wonder if he’ll ever come out of his cocoon, but we haven’t given up. It’s hard to be patient (or whatever it is), but day by day, we are learning to wait.
