Don't put a worm on your brother's face

On the 4th of July, Paul and his dad headed out to Burley Park to sell their "inventory" (aka junk) at a big holiday flea market.  Although I am glad that Paul has a profitable hobby, (like my profitable sewing hobby...) I have absolutely NO interest in accompanying them to the flea market. So the kids and I stayed home for the day to relax.

We spent the morning relaxing. Finley watched a little PBS while I finished up some work projects. We soon decided it was time to paint our toenails blue and color a birthday card for Big Poppy (Paul's dad). Later in the afternoon, the kids and I went outside to weed the gardens. Finley was getting antsy and wanting to go back inside. She kept singing the clean up song and was taking all of my gardening tools back into the garage. The trick to buying some more weeding time was finding a big, juicy worm for Finley to play with.

Never did I realize the words "Don't put your worm on Fisher's face", "Please don't touch the worm to your mouth" "Please keep the worm off of Fisher's arm" would come out of my mouth so frequently. Surprisingly, this single worm entertained Finley for at least 20 minutes until Paul and Big Poppy came home. Toward the end of her time with the worm, Finley came up to me and told me she made a worm sandwich. I looked in her hand and in between two pieces of mulch was a curled up, not moving (dead) worm. I told her that he was sleeping....