Because the internet NEEDS to know what happened with the eggs…

You are all too great.  I’ve had so many suggestions about how to handle Maura’s egg adoption situation.  One of you asked the next day how it was going, and I shared that she had adopted twelve more eggs out of the refrigerator.

Seriously, nothing gets teenagers moving more quickly than shouting “OMG Maura’s eggs aren’t in the fridge anymore!”

(They were outside, on the patio, enjoying some sun.)

(FYI – eggs from Whole Foods are much more sturdy than their generic grocery store counterparts.)

But I had a plan!  A genius plan!  I found tiny birds in the “make your own wreath” section of Michael’s, and bought some yarn to knit a nest.  When I went to check out, the cashier did her “Oh, these are cute, what are you going to do with them?”

“Well…you see…my daughter learned about the life cycle of the chicken and has now adopted eggs…”

The cashier actually put her head down on the counter as she laughed.

I was so excited by my plan.  I could carefully crack each egg, wash and disinfect the shells, place each tiny bird into the egg….genius, right?

Except my husband, the voice of reason, said no.  Actually, I think it was more “OH GOD NO!” and went on about how Maura would be looking for chicks every time we cracked an egg and may be put off of eggs for life, and want to buy eggs every time we went to the store hoping maybe this one would have a chick in it, and it would all just be a horror show of eggs…

He had a point.

Then I thought “Well, maybe we can trade the eggs for the little birds in the nest creation.”  Kind of like a consolation prize.

So she got home from school.  I brought up her eggs.

“Hey Maura, about your eggs…”

“My eggs!”

“Yeah, honey, they’re store eggs.  They’re eggs for cooking.  They’re not chicken eggs” (yeah, I know, but she doesn’t).

Maura made a confused noise.

“The eggs from the store don’t make chicks.” I explained further, grabbing the cursed “Chicken Life Cycle” page she brought home.  “See, you need a mommy chicken for the egg.  Store eggs are just for cooking, they don’t make chicks.”

Somehow, Maura understood what I was saying….because she howled in disappointment, grabbed the Chicken Life Cycle page out of my hand, ripped it into pieces, then crumpled the pieces and threw them on the floor before stomping on them and screaming some more.

I should be happy she didn’t also spit on them.

dead to her
dead to her

I then produced the bribe.  “But look at what I made you – a nest with birds!”

“NOOOO!”

She flopped onto the sofa in sobs…then noticed the Old Navy bag with new clothes.

“Clothes?”

She really is an almost-teenager, because she instantly perked up at some new clothes, and life went on.  Because Maura’s disappointments are loud and dramatic, but quickly forgotten as she goes off to the next new thing.  Like a new outfit.  Or digging in the dirt.  Or watching the two guys the property manager sent over to move the boulder back into place.  That was fascinating.  Until she thought they were going to take it away and she yelled “My rock!”

oy.

No girls were scarred for life in the making of this post.  The same can't be said of the parents.
No girls were scarred for life in the making of this post. The same can’t be said of the parents.
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