I was washing dishes one day in May 2020 when my youngest, 11-year-old Nathan, came running into the house.
“Mom, you won’t believe what I found in the mud puddle. Come see!”
We were two months into pandemic lockdown by that point, and remote learning hadn’t been holding Nathan’s interest. I was glad to hear him excited about something.
I dried my hands and followed Nathan out to a large puddle in our driveway. “They’re tadpoles!” he said. “Dad said a frog must have laid her eggs in there.”
I bent down for a closer look. There were hundreds of tadpoles swimming around.
“Aren’t they cool?” he said. The next few days, Nathan kept his eye on the tadpoles. One afternoon, he asked if he could use my phone to check the weather. “The puddle is drying up, and it’s not supposed to rain this week,” he said. “We have to do something or the tadpoles will die.”
“What can we do?” I asked, hesitant about where this might lead.
“Operation Tadpole. I’m going to move them into the pond where they’ll be safe.” He grabbed a bucket and headed outside. Within a few minutes, he was back. “Mom, the bucket is too big. There’s not enough water, and I’m just scooping up mud.”
I handed him a red plastic cup. “This should work.”
“Can you help me? There are so many tadpoles.”
“I have things to do…” I started to say, but the look on Nathan’s face stopped me. This was important to him. I grabbed another cup and followed him.
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