I was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at my computer screen, battling a particularly sadistic program I use for work. A bulging neck vein, a furrowed brow, and a choice word or ten may have been involved. That’s when the kids began yelling at me to come see.
“Come see quick, mom! Now! Right now! Hurry!”
I would be lying if I said I wasn’t aggravated by the interruption. I mounted the stairs, preparing my praise of the Lego creation, the stuffed animal arrangement, or the Matchbox car demonstration I was sure I was about to behold.
I entered the room and found Anders and his little sister gathered at the window. They were chattering excitedly amongst themselves and I approached slowly, a little afraid of what could possibly be out that window that would distract them from their usual house-shaking play time and render them still, standing shoulder to shoulder, face against glass.
Anders lit up when he turned to see I had finally answered his call.
“See, mom. He’s looking at us. I think he wants to come inside. Isn’t he beautiful?”
I peered over their heads and found this creature perched on the window sill.
I crouched down between them as Anders told us both how it comes from a “capatiller,” how it makes a cocoon and then later becomes a butterfly. He learned this at school he said. That’s when I ceased my awe of what was in front of me. Instead it was now directed entirely at the little boy standing next to me. This incredibly smart and sensitive little creature with a face so like my own, who loves butterflies as much as super heroes, who in the simplest, most innocent ways reminds me of what is truly worthy of pause.
I got butterflies in more than one way that day.