What can you do with a 4-year-old entomologist?

Joanne Haffly

Guest columnist

A plastic crème puff container sits on the corner of my kitchen counter. Rich, black dirt scooped from my flower garden houses the newest addition to our household, Wormy. Technically, it is Wormy II, because the first one perished almost immediately, since Abby, my 4-year-old didn’t realize it needed dirt to survive. I pick up the container and move it aside to wipe underneath it and set a bit of bread and droplets of water on top. I am not sure if Wormy II is still with us, but I encourage the possibility. Occasionally, Abby adds a potato bug to the habitat, so Wormy is not lonely. It’s strange having a budding entomologist in the family. OK, I admit it took me 10 minutes of Internet search to figure out the proper term for a scientist who studies worms: nematologist. Darn. That term refers to segmented worms, not earthworms. Sigh. Back to my research. Anyway, since Abby also collects spiders — yes, spiders — I can honestly say entomology is an interest of hers. Oh wait, spiders aren’t insects, either, so she would be considered an aspiring arachnologist. Perhaps I should just call her odd. I knew we were in for trouble when her older sister found a spider in her room, because her high-pitched scream gave it away. While Andrea departed the area, Abby headed directly for the eight-legged creature. She squatted in front of the wolf spider and cooed at it. Cooed? Who talks nice to a spider? Apparently my daughter, who, with the help of a brave older brother, captured the prized specimen in a jar and brought it up to the room she shares with me and my husband. Her father, like most normal people, refuses to voluntarily share bedroom space with an angry spider, no matter how small the nail holes are in the lid. I don’t like to frighten my children into compliance, but after finding her trying to “walk her spider,” I explained the consequences of spider bites, ulcerating sores and all. That prompted a promise to put on her gloves — a set of lacy Easter gloves — before handling Spidy any more. I think my 4-year-old is more fearless than a 16-year-old boy with a new driver’s license and the keys to dad’s sports car. Sorry, I can’t name a specific car. That would take me another 15 minutes of Internet search, and I still haven’t figured out what to call an earthworm scientist other than the brilliant term: An earthworm scientist. So what do you do with a child who likes bugs? First of all, you set ground rules, because the first time she set the mason jar with Spidy in it on Andrea’s lap, I thought all hell was going to break loose. Not everyone likes spiders, I told her. In fact, most people hate them, although they do appreciate that they eat the more pesky bugs, like mosquitoes and flies. Secondly, spiders and bugs in general either belong outside or in a secure container, with proper food and water. The life expectancy of captured bugs in her care doesn’t tend to match the length of wild bugs, so after a bit, I take pity on the small animals and convince Abby to develop a capture-and-release program. Third, I point out that the three dogs, three cats, her shared chinchilla and a bearded dragon more than accommodate a curious child’s need to hoard animals. Thus, Wormy II will be back in the garden by tomorrow evening — and off my kitchen counter. By the way, I am torn between calling an earthworm specialist a vermeologist or a helminthologist. If you know, drop me a line.

Contact columnist Joanne Haffly at jmhaffly@yahoo.com.