If you insist on collecting eggs in your pockets.
Which I do.
And if one of your pockets has a hole.
Which mine does.
And if you never count how many eggs you put into your pocket.
Which I don’t.
So that you inevitably lose an egg in the lining of your coat without realizing it.
Of course I do.
And the egg breaks inside your jacket.
As mine do.
So that you wonder why you still haven’t sewed that hole shut.
As I do.
It’s best to have a helper to carefully remove as much egg and shell as possible through the hole before the wash.
And I have the best one of those.
The girls dyed Easter eggs tonight.
I named this one Pearl.
And that my friends is how you B.S. your way through a daily prompt.
*Dusts off hands and heads to bed.*
(chicken, duck, chicken, goose, chicken)
E is also for excuses…
Me: Go back to bed!
Jane: But I didn’t even eat dinner!
Me: What about all that pizza you ate?
Jane: That doesn’t count!
Me: Back to bed!
E is also for empathy…
I didn’t have any for the girl who ate half a pizza before bed.
Weekly Photo Challenge: Careful
I suppose one could call out to the three year old with the dozen eggs traipsing around outside in nothing but her swimsuit on a chilly October day to be careful.
But I don’t.
I’m not that kind of parent.
She knows all about broken eggs. She knows what breaks them and what to do with the broken ones. She’s been there and she’s done that.
And after a few run-ins with thistles, raspberry canes and other less desirable things, she knows how to watch what she’s stepping on.
And as for the swimming suit, all you grandmas out there shivering just looking at her, will be glad to know that after an hour or so she told me she was going inside to warm up.
I could tell her to be careful.
But I won’t.
I am a temporary, treasure repository.
At the end of the day my pockets are filled with treasure, the front of the car has extras handed up from the back and the kitchen counter has a collection of interesting things.
Some days, I get pretty rocks and precious toys.
Other days, I get small handfuls of vomit and bits of garbage.
These are the three best treasures I was given today.
Jane collected the eggs today and I caught her rolling the warm smoothness of them across her cheeks. Then she handed them to me with them same enthusiasm she does every morning that she gets to pluck them from their nests.
The molted shell of a cicada.
Ivy and Clara found this in their favorite climbing tree. As they hauled me out of the house to see and take custody of it, they were so giddy with excitement you never would have guessed they had found one in a similar spot the day before.
And a small duck feather.
Another find of Jane’s, she had me hold it in my pocket and randomly requested it back throughout the day.
She looked at that feather with wonder and excitement every time I gave it back to her.
It was good day to hold the treasures.
While your climbing technique may not quite rival your middle sister’s…
…you certainly don’t need help like your littlest sister does to find eggs.
And when it comes to proper containers and egg handling, you’ve got it all figured out.
All you have to do is keep finding those eggs. Um… Ivy?
Errr… Ivy? Umm… Did you look just under…
– Oh! –
You were saving that one for Jonas and Jane?
Silly me. Silly me…
Take off at a run toward the highest egg you can see.
Stop at the bottom of the tree. Carefully hang your (optimistically sized) bag on a convenient branch.
Climb back down as you place your new egg in your giant bag.
Come to the sad realization that while you’ve got the best climbing style around, you’re never going to fill that bag.