Baby Egg

So I've come to the conclusion that it's the littlest things, coming at you out of unexpected left field that make this whole parenting thing worth the uphill slog. 

The kids wanted eggs for dinner....they eat their eggs differently. Caiden likes his scrambled. Rebecca has a complete aversion to yolks, and an uncanny ability to detect them, no matter how they are masked. Needless to say, their egg meals are ALWAYS cooked in a different pan from each other. 

I had just finished Caiden's eggs and was putting them on a plate to cool, when Rebecca showed up behind me with this:

Yes, that is an egg. In a measuring cup. Cradled in shavings scooped from the gerbil cage. 

She says very sincerely, "Here Mom, you can use THIS egg for my dinner. I know I'm going to eat it. But I made it a nest to be comfortable until you crack its head and fry it up."

I wish someone gave me a dollar every time I kept a straight face around this house. 

And yes, the egg is sitting in its nest, on the counter, right now. While I prepare the frying pan of death.    :P