It’s 10:00 AM, and I just watched a late bird catch a worm.
I’m in my bathrobe, but it’s my pretty one and I changed out of my pajamas to wear it — mostly because I was stepping into the shower when I realized I hadn’t had a cup of coffee yet this morning, and I have shower-taking standards, namely doing it caffeinated, so I STOPPED EVERYTHING and threw on my robe — which definitely counts as “dressed” due to the changed-out-of-my-pajamas factor.
Look, I’ve heard my whole life that the Early Bird Catches the Worm. And I’m not maligning you early birds. Cross my heart. You early birds are probably great, what with your proactivity and arriving on time and chipper morning greetings and clipboards and whistles and cheery smiles and “you betchas!”
It’s just that I’ve been under the mistaken impression that there’s a scarcity of worms. The Early Bird catches THE worm, people. There’s ONE worm and, man, if you haven’t set your alarm for 5:00 AM (4:45 to be safe), jumped out of your nest in full-tilt flight and gotten a scrawny leg up on those lazy 5:01 birds, YOU ARE NOT GOING TO GET THE WORM. The worm is going to be LONG GONE. And then your family starves and dies because you suck.
So you’ll pardon my glee, I think, as I stood barefoot on my gritty, sticky kitchen floor, staring bleary-eyed out the back window and a somewhat plump robin stumbled from her nest where her kids were squawking because their brother wasn’t giving them a turn on the Wii like he PROMISED and MOM! TELL HIM IT’S MY TURN! and, with bedhead and morning breath, pulled an enormous worm from the freshly-churned gopher pile right in the middle of the lawn.
That’s when it occurred to me. THERE IS A BOUNTY OF WORMS. Enough worms for the 5:00 crowd and the 10:00 crowd. Enough worms for all of us in the piles of grit and grime and gorgeous and gross. Worms all around!
I am 15 steps behind this morning, and that’s a generous assessment; I’m probably more like 15,000 steps behind, but I’ve lost most of the steps so I’m down to the 15 I can find ’til I unearth more of them. My list of Things To Do reads like an epic novel, I can’t find my damn clipboard anywhere, and the last time I saw my whistle, it was rusty and half buried in the backyard along with my chipper morning greeting.
What’s a mama bird to do? This morning, I choose to believe that there is enough for right now. In this minute. No matter how late I am to the worm party. In my bathrobe. Sans shower. Coffee cup in hand. There is enough. Including me. Enough.