It’s breakfast and the boys are eating at the dining room table.
Something is missing from their meal…protein.
So I ask them if they want an egg.
That’s his way of asking if it’s fried, as opposed to “round”(I.e. boiled).
“No,” I reply. “Round.”
“No.” He says. He only wants a fried egg.
Then I get a great idea I think will ensure he eats an egg.
“Wait.” I tell them and go to the other room to execute it.
With highly expectant looks on their faces, they watch me as I leave the room and go into the kitchen.
I go to the frig, grab two hard-boiled eggs, go to my art supplies, grab a black Sharpie and give those boring old white eggs some personality to make them more appealing and edible.
Then take them back to the boys and plop one friendly egg on each boys plate, where it cheerfully stares up at him in its cutest, most engaging little way.
They laugh delightedly!
Then they start discussing their respective eggs and playing make-believe with them…acting out little chicken scenarios with all the appropriate clucking and bawking to go with it.
They’re having an absolutely lovely time with their new playmates.
But that’s not what I intended.