Our caterpillar emerged yesterday.
|Through the mesh butterfly cage.|
I know you all expected this. It’s not remarkable at all.
|He was a little stunned that first day! Who wouldn’t be?|
Except that it is. That fat, twitchy caterpillar hid himself away for a week. Somehow, during that time, he rearranged his entire body from a squirmy, wormy little creature into a majestically fragile, astonishingly patterned, perfect butterfly.
|The empty cocoon is amazing.|
|This is the other cocoon. That caterpillar is just waiting his turn.|
It’s like magic.
I would love to write a pithy sort of post about the kids or I also going through some sort of striking transition process, emerging into something lovely and graceful and magical.
Unfortunately, people don’t quite work that way. At least around here. One day we’re caterpillars toiling away, the next we’re butterflies reveling in a new skill or triumph.
But just as quickly we’re back at the caterpillar stage, learning something new again, growing, stressing, eating… hiding away for a bit. Waiting around for that next stage of butterfly magic.I see it in the kids all the time. They fret and work and don’t sleep well in their stages of growing or “becoming.” They tantrum and bicker and are generally frustrated most of the time.
Then suddenly, the skill is learned or the problem overcome. They sleep like babies. They blissfully perform their new skill for us. They are cooperative and hopeful. Until they’re not. And back we go to the caterpillar stage.
The funny thing is, I’m the same way. Periods of zen harmony, inter-spliced with the ragged worry of wanting, striving, and becoming.
It seems to me we’re on a bit of a butterfly loop. There’s always something new to learn, some new growth spurt to send us back to our awkward beginnings. It’s not a linear mountain we’re climbing.
It’s a loop.