“Yes, snuggle muffin?”

“There’s an icerpillar on the fence.”

“What’s an icerpillar, dear?”

“It’s a caterpillar made of ice. See all his legs?”

“I do. I wonder where he is going on such a cold morning.”

“I bet he is going to breakfast and then to be a butterfly.”

“What kind of butterflies do icerpillar’s make, I wonder?”

“Daddy—just regular butterflies. But they have snowflakes on their wings, and instead of liking flowers, they like icicles and snowmen—and—and—when they get cold, hot chocolate.”

“Snuggle muffin?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“If he is going to breakfast, what is he going to eat? All the leaves are gone.”

“Silly Daddy. Icerpillars don’t eat leaves.”

“What do they eat?”

“They eat the frost off the grass or off mom’s windshield.”

“I see.”

“And Daddy?”


“I think today is the day for him to be a butterfly.”

“So soon? Why today?”

“Because Mommy said we were almost out of hot chocolate. And we better go make some for him. I bet we could have some too, huh, Daddy? I bet he won’t want too much.”

“I bet you’re right.”



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