This week started with a worm. A real worm. Not a metaphorical one. Two excited homeschoolers pulled it from the dirt. Stopped gardening to examine it like it was a science fair specimen.

* There were theories about the worm.

* There were debates.

* There were whispered discussions about whether worms have feelings.

They even made a plan to check on the worm the day to see if it was still alive. Our garden project turned into a wildlife research expedition.

That’s how homeschooling with little kids works. You start planting tomatoes. End up studying earthworms. I wouldn’t trade it.

This week we planted flowers. Started building our vegetable garden. The girls helped pull weeds and carry soil like farmers who were proud of their contributions. They even helped mow the lawn and clean up trash that Justin forgot to roll to the curb.

If you want to build character in children let them help clean up someone Trash mistake. It’s educational. While we were gardening I had a mom realization. They’re growing up. Not in a way but in a quiet way that slowly changes your house without you noticing.

Lynnlee started researching things and fact-checking like an investigative journalist. She asks a question looks it up. Comes back with different sources. Now I live with a six-year-old who cross-references information before accepting it as truth. At the time Harper is living her best pretend-play life with Barbies and stories.

It’s ironic that Lynnlee begged for a baby sister to play Barbies with. Now Harper loves Barbies but Lynnlee has mostly outgrown them. She’s into interests now like books, music and research projects. Watching them grow feels like watching the seasons change.

It’s not sad just noticeable. The big milestones don’t hit you hard as the quiet ones. Like when they start helping with work instead of making a mess. When they sit down at the piano and practice because they want to.

Both girls have been doing that lately just sitting down and playing. Not because I asked,. Because they want to. They’re in a middle place. They’re still little. Not as little as they used to be. They want independence. Still want to learn. They want to try things on their own. Still want me close by.

It’s a season but one of the best ones. One day they won’t stop gardening to investigate worms or ask if they have feelings. They won’t sit down at the piano with that joy that kids have before the world teaches them to worry.

They’ll just know things. Be busy with their own lives. If I’m lucky they might still come tell me what they discovered. Even if it’s not, about worms.