Boogers on the Wall

I have officially become grateful for something that I absolutely detest: worms.

I have pretty much hated worms my entire life. I don’t like that they slither out of the soil when it rains and sneak up onto my sidewalk. I don’t like that mischievous little boys toss them at undeserving little girls on the elementary school playground. I don’t like how I can’t figure them out. They don’t even have eyes!

I even hate the way it smells after it rains as the slimy things dry out in the sun. And no matter how much my boys beg, I refuse to take them fishing as bait.

Yet this spring my heart has been softened and I have started to change my mind about worms.  Without them, I wouldn’t be able to work in my garden. See, the juicy, wiggly guys keep my two crazy boys occupied while I weed, water and plant.

My children have become completely obsessed with digging for worms and I couldn’t be happier, as long as I don’t have to touch them. Normally if I spot one I’ll dangle it over the side of my shovel or rake, and then holler at one of the boys to come and get it.

They fight over who can grab it and then pick it up with their bare hands and rush it back to their bucket, bug cage or worm home they’ve created.

A couple of weeks ago my husband and I planted a bunch of tomatoes in our garden while the boys made worm soup. Disgusting? Yes. Creative? Maybe. Occupying? Definitely.

Is it horrible that I let worms babysit my boys while I work in the yard? I absolutely love gardening. I love raking, weeding and harvesting. Nothing calms me down or helps relieve my stress like pulling out some nasty weeds.

That is why I have become grateful for something I hate. Thank you, worms.

I’ll let my boys play with worms all they want if it gives them something fun to do while I work in the yard. I only have three rules: worms do not enter our home, they do not enter our mouths, and we wash our hands as soon as we are done playing with the slimy, nasty guys.