Natalie burst into my bedroom, interrupting the sleep that had played hide and seek with me all through the night. "Mommy! Mommy! Your eggs are getting old! They're drying out!"
If I hadn't already had all the children that I would like to have, I might have been offended. Hmph.
Those eggs? Scramble chicken eggs that Jim and Natalie made for breakfast an hour or so earlier. My share waited for me (not so patiently) in the oven, whose heat could very well dry them out.
© Jennifer Linney | bug and the sweet banana
Burn One. Take It Through the Garden. Pin a Rose On It.
Half Breakfast, Half Lunch
