“Be gentle,” I told her.
My baby girl was four years old and on her way to show-and-tell day at preschool.
There she sat in the minivan, cradling this tiny wind-up caterpillar toy, purple with polka-dots, in her four-year-old hands. She’d rediscovered it in the toy bin the week before and declared it worthy of a trip to the school to show her classmates.
I had slipped that tiny $1 caterpillar into her stocking two Christamases ago and he was a survivor, more or less intact after all this time with only one missing antenna.
But was he up for the trip to the school? Was he hardy enough to face one four-year-old and her 19 classmates?
I tested him out on our coffee table. Wind, wind, wind and then I let him go. He inched across the wood quickly and my daughter giggled at the sight.
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