This morning, I watched as Audrey tried to coax her 17-month old son, Benjamin, into the house after a short trip to the milk store for some breakfast items.

Benjamin obviously sensed the beauty of this sunny, crisp New England morning, because he would not be coaxed. Instead, he ran through the dewy grass barefooted. He picked up a pail, filled with water from this past Saturday’s rain, and he got soaking wet. He stooped to turn over a rather large rock, and this is when Audrey meant business.

“Benja,” she scolded, “Do not touch that rock.”

But he did. And from under the rock wiggled the most engaging worm who ever crawled.

“Oh, great,” Audrey said to me. “He loves worms. Now I will never get him inside.”

I had to smile. I smiled because I love that Benja loves worms. And I smiled because it reminded me of story from Audrey’s childhood. A story with a bit of a different ending.

It was many, many years ago. Audrey was about as old as Benja is now. She was chasing her two older brothers in our back yard, and as boys do, they were exploring. Through the “woods.” In leaf piles. Under rocks.

It is the “under rocks” category that defined Audrey’s affinity, or lack thereof, for worms.

I was sweeping our back deck when I heard the scream. I froze for a moment with the fear that only a mother knows when her child screams. My heart stopped for that instant. I dropped my broom. And I ran.

The scream was coming from behind a big pine tree that hid a portion of our yard. And it was Audrey’s scream. I remember thinking that something must have happened to the boys, because why were they not screaming too. But as I tore around the trunk of that big old tree, I saw Keith and Adam playing with worms. Squiggly, squirming, pink, wet worms.

They were so enthralled with these creatures that Audrey’s screams were a mere secondary event.

I picked up Audrey. She stopped screaming. But she kept pointing to the rather large overturned rock. “Yuk. Yuk,” she sobbed. I wiped her tears as I winked at the boys.

Now… this is where my story will always differ with Audrey’s little experience with Benja this morning. And I will admit it now. Once, when Audrey could absolutely not be coaxed into the house, I actually said to her, “Honey, there are worms out there.”

She made a beeline for the back door, screaming. And I still, to this day, feel badly about it.

But Benja? No such luck. The worms will only keep him outdoors!