I wish “tending earthworms” was some cool analogy or whatever for my writing process. But, no. I’m babysitting worms.
TK’s doing a science project and it involves worms. Worms that I must check on during the day while he’s at school to make sure they have food and moisture and nurturing. I’m like the grandmother, only my grandkids are slimy and not very good at Chutes & Ladders. The project has something to do with proving higher thought processes or something. There’s a T and to the left is food with a sandpaper rumble strip and on the right is food with no sandpaper. After a couple shots of going left, the smart worm doesn’t even try to go that way anymore. He hangs a right. (Let’s just say the other worm would flunk an IQ test.)
This morning I came downstairs to find the smart worm (henceforth known as Wormini) on the kitchen floor, trying to make a break for the bathroom. He was being thwarted, however, by the cats. They were content just to stare at him unless he moved and then Jinx would bat at him to make him curl back up in a ball. I rescued Wormini and, despite the fall from the kitchen counter and an encounter with the cats, he seemed fine. I put him back in the box there’s no way he could escape from and now I’m checking every five minutes to make sure the cheeky little bugger isn’t running amok again.
Tonight TK assembles his data and photos, which are due tomorrow, and then he’s supposed to bring the entire project to school on Thursday (although I did tell him to double-check that they do, in fact, mean for living creatures to be included in that.) I’ll be relieved when this is behind us and Wormini and Tweedle-Dee-Dumber can be released back into my garden. Being a grandmother’s exhausting.