Ladybug and the Great Doodlebug Relocation Project

I spent the entire day cleaning my house yesterday, and when I say "entire day," that's exactly what I mean. I started at about 8 am, and was finishing up at about 6 pm. I vacuumed under the cushions on the couch, located a missing princess shoe, and even managed to get the sliding glass door cleaned. I pulled off a more amazing feat by zipping outside to mow and fertilize the back yard while my hubby was home for 45 minutes between jobs. It was a good day of hard work, and I was feeling pretty proud of all I had accomplished.

As I was putting the finishing touches on my day of domesticity by baking homemade banana bread, I heard the plaintive cry of my little Ladybug, Avari, as she was playing outside. She was frantically yelling, "Get it, Mama, get it." I ran to the door expecting to see some unruly piece of nature attacking my darling daughter. What I found was a tear-stained 3 year-old grasping two rather large tufts of freshly fertilized lawn - one tuft per hand.

As she stood on the little piece of concrete that serves as a canvas for her sidewalk chalk masterpieces, I quickly scanned the area for the cause of her outburst. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, relatively speaking, I began to ask her what was wrong. She, still crying in that stuttering, panicky fashion, replied, "The doodlebug, Mama, get (sniff) the doodlebug." I again looked around trying to locate the poor, unsuspecting creature only to find . . . nothing. As she used one of her grass-filled fists to point to the edge of the patio, I figured out that the little guy had disappeared into the grass, thus, the rampage against my lawn.

I knelt down and pulled back the grass to see several little doodlebugs cowering in fear. I scooped one up, and cheerfully said, "Look, Mama found him." I proceeded to pry the remnants of my once verdant lawn from her tiny grasp as I produced the balled up bug.

Then, still gasping and sniffling, my little one told me that I needed to put him in the flower bed. Easy enough, I headed to the nearest flower bed, which immediately induced a fresh wave of panic and tears as she cried, "not that flower bed."

At this point, I seriously wanted to retreat to my kitchen to finish my bread before my dog devised a plan to somehow climb up the stools around the island and eat the batter. I not so calmly asked, "Which flower bed would you like Mama to put him in, sweetie?"

She pointed a shaky finger behind me, and I slowly turned to see her indicating the flower bed on the other side of the yard, the side of the yard I had finished watering only minutes before. Translation: the side of the yard that was going to require me to take another shower after the relocation was complete. I tentatively replied, "Are you sure you want to take him so far away from his friends?" To which she unwaveringly answered, "Y-y-y-yes, w-w-with the buttercups (sniff)."

I obligingly hiked my pants up around my knees while balancing the frightened ball of doodlebug in the palm of my hand and began the short trek to my embarrassingly overgrown, buttercup-filled flower bed. The whole time I'm thinking, "We are now relocating this poor fella to the doodlebug equivalent of 4,000 miles from home." When we arrived at our destination a mere 15 seconds later, I placed our "rescued" doodlebug next to a buttercup and hopefully asked, "OK?"

Again, I endured a seemingly unending round of cries and tears. I hurriedly scooped up the bug and inquired as to my mistake. The conversation went something like this:

I asked, "Wasn't that where you wanted him?"

Ladybug said, "Put him by the buttercuuuups."

My response: "You mean where I just had him?"

Her reply: "Yeeees, Mamaaa."

My desperate request for reassurance: "Are you sure?"

Her meager attempt to allay my fears: "Yes (sniff), by the buttercup (sniff)."

Again, I placed the little ball of bug next to the buttercup and said, "I'm sure he'll be happy here in the flowers." As I walked away (I would have run, but kids can smell fear), I heard her cry, "My doodlebug!!!"

Is there a message in my story? Oh, I don't know. I just really thought it was too cute not to share.

I suppose after it happened I thought about how that poor little bug, from his perspective, got picked up by giant hands and placed so far out of his comfort zone that he's probably still rolled in that tiny gray ball.

I feel like rolling up in a tiny gray ball sometimes. Of course, if I was limber enough to roll myself in a ball it wouldn't be tiny by a long shot.

On the other hand, as Ladybug insisted on relocating our friend, she had his best interests at heart - a vast expanse of beautiful wildflowers where he could roam to his doodlebug's heart's content.

It reminded me that although I can't see the big picture of my life from down here in the grass where I try to roll up in a ball when confronted with new obstacles or fears, my Father is carefully and gently moving me toward his perfect plan. That is a relocation project I can get behind!!

Blessings!