When I wake up in the mornings, I sometimes wonder what mother Earth has in store for me over the course of the day. Will I save a family from a burning house? Will I pull a man from his wrecked vehicle mere moments before it explodes in a mushroom cloud of fire and destruction? With I thwart a bank robbery? Or will I simply go through my normal routine with work, come home to a delicious dinner, and spend the evening with my family?

It’s a tough call. I know that I’m destined for great things *cough*winning the lottery even though I never actually remember to play*cough*, but it’s anyone’s guess if today will be the day that greatness happens to me.

I’ve no doubts on what Tyler thinks in the mornings. Eat. Food. And when Tyler’s ready for breakfast, boy oh boy, you better hurry, because he’s not much for waiting. Almost every morning, he gives the same response when asked what he would like to eat. “Eggies and ancakes.” Eggs and pancakes, for you non-parents. Does he wonder what each new day will bring? Does he know that today, for example, I will be finishing the wheelbarrow that he so desperately wants to play with? I’ll blog about that later, by the way.

What it comes down to, though, is this. We may think we know what a particular day with bring to us. We may even be right in some of those predictions. The fact is, anything can happen on any single day. Things we could never have predicted. I only say all this because I wonder, I really wonder what that worm thought this morning. Did he wake up and think, “well, here comes another day of digging through dirt, looking for stuff to eat,” or maybe that he might find a mate later that afternoon?

How much did those thoughts change when I unearthed that worm while pulling weeds and moving mulch in our garden area? This particular worm was probably the the ninth or tenth worm I’d come across while working in the garden. Most times, I just picked them up and threw them in the garden. And, most times, I’d tell them to poop in there and make my soil rich. A few times, though, I’d say, “Tyler! Worm!”

Tyler would drop whatever he was doing at the time (playing tug-o-war with Delilah, pushing his toy lawnmower, playing in his sandbox) and come a-running. I’d point, he’d laugh, then I’d tell him to put it in the garden. Each time, he did. Until this last worm.

“Tyler! Worm!”

After doing this toddler-run over to me and laughing at the worm, he said, “Tyler have it.”

“You want to have the worm?”

“Yeah. Hold it,” he said, while bending over and delicately grabbing the worm with his clumsy fingers.

“Tyler, will you put the worm in the garden?”

“No. Ride inna wagon,” he replied, and gave one giant nod.

Before I could try to beg for the life of the worm, Tyler was off. It brought back a memory of when I was a toddler myself. Heck, maybe I was a boy, I don’t know when one is no longer considered a toddler. I had decided that I wanted some pet worms. With my mom in the house, and my dad working on a car in the driveway, I started digging for worms in the backyard. I don’t remember exactly how many I collected, but there were more than a few. I put them (delicately, if I may add) into the back of a toy truck I had with me.

When I checked on them a few hours later, I was devastated. At that tender young age, I learned the consequences of leaving worms to bake in the hot summer sun.

And here I was, watching my son as he claimed his first pet worm. This same son that likes to squeeze orange wedges until juice and orange guts start to ooze from his fingers. He’s running to his wagon with a worm pinched between his thumb and index finger. I thought to myself, just let it be a quick, painless death for the unlucky little bastard, and continued weeding. In the distance I heard Sarah say, “Oh, you’re bringing a worm with you on the wagon?” and Tyler replying with “Yeah. Ride inna wagon,” before climbing into the wagon with it.

Ten minutes passed. I was in my own world of thoughts as I pulled weeds and loaded the wheelbarrow with mulch. Suddenly, I heard Tyler’s voice behind me.

“Put worm a garden,” he said, completely as a matter-of-fact.

I turned to see him still ever-so-gently pinching the worm in his fingers. He walked to the edge of the garden, knelt over, and placed it right on top. He watched it for just another moment before running to go play again.

Did the worm have any premonitions for that day? Did he know he’d face a giant with a giant shiny tool in his hand? Did he have any idea that the giant would call over a smaller giant to laugh at it? Did he expect to be pulled from his home and taken for a ride in a place he never even knew existed?

Oh, worm, the places you’ll go. Will you succeed? Yes, you will indeed. (98 3/4% guaranteed.)

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