No instant gratification

This morning, not yet fully awake, my son spotted the scattered sections of my daily newspaper and asked me, "Mommy, where is the person?"

"What person?" I asked
"The person in the newspaper."
"What person in the newspaper?"
"Mommy!" He was getting impatient. "The one with the sea turtles."

Then the conversation finally made sense to me.

The night before, I let my son tag along on an assignment where we got to watch 13 loggerhead sea turtle hatchlings released at the beach. The hatchlings had been pulled out from one of the last of the turtle nests of the season. They were the last group in the 100=plus clutch to hatch, so fresh out of the shell that they still had the remaining egg yolk sacs attached to their bellies.

So the field biologist kept them one night, hoping they'd be ready for release the next day.

As far as my work goes, I needed to witness this, so that I could add one last bit of detail for a story I'm planning to do in a week. I had already interviewed her so I wasn't going to ask any questions this time. And the timing worked out as far as my son's afternoon care schedule went. And he just LOVES sea creatures. He's a budding marine biologist, I think.

We watched the hatchlings wander in the sand, until the biologist decided to round them up and bring them into the shallows. It wasn't too long before they disappeared into the deeper surf.

Of course, my son then expected to see the sea turtle lady and the sea turtles in the newspaper the next day. He's becoming aware of my career and what it entails. But the turtles weren't a daily deadline for me. I just didn't realize that I would have to explain that part of the process to him.

Mommy's sea turtle article is coming out in a week, I told him. And you'll get to see your turtles again, then.