What happened? I used to climb trees, go outside barefooted (still do, but I wasn't afraid of parasites then!), play in the creek, hold fireflies in my cupped hands. Now I look wistfully at the fireflies, but fall short of catching one. On purpose. I will occasionally kill a teeny bug with my bare hand, but if it's a roach, I find my shoes AND the biggest, heaviest book I can carry. Lord knows I don't want roach guts on my shoes. I was brave enough to touch a rolly polly bug with my finger the other day, after considering looking for a stick. Even the beautiful butterfly makes me nervous. There's a turtle that frequently hangs out in our backyard. Do I pick him up? Heck no! I figure having two boys will force me to go back to my tomboy ways eventually.
My neighbors gave Evan a net and a little firefly lantern last year. We never caught any fireflies, but we had fun with it inside...mostly catching little boys! One of these days Duncan is going to expect me to pick up that slimy frog, and I won't be able to disappoint him. Sigh. I'll just have to scream, "Ewwwwwwwww!" on the inside.