She was feeling kind of bad about herself this morning.
“I’m so tiny,” my 4yo lamented, “I can’t cook eggs or pancakes by myself, and I can’t see the caterpillars unless you pick me up!”
I reflected, “you feel like you are so tiny,” and tried to encourage her to think of good things about being small, but she didn’t really want me to fix it for her… she just wanted to be heard and understood.
An hour later, playing outside while I did some yard work, I moved a tarp and uncovered slugs crawling all over the bottom. She was watching me, as usual, and immediately jumped into action, “saving” the slugs by relocating them so they wouldn’t end up in the garage.
I went about other chores while she completed her mission. Once satisfied no slugs would end up shriveled in the heat of the garage, she ran back to me triumphantly. “Mama! Maybe I’m not so tiny.”
When it comes to heart, dear, I think not. Not tiny at all.
(And now *I* am off to rescue slugs from the bath she just announced for them!!)