Hatching the Egg

I started fixing scrambled eggs for the kids for dinner. Into the kitchen skips Claire. "Can I help you, Mom? I want to hatch the eggs." "How cute," I thought, "Only a four-year-old would call it 'hatching the egg'." I let her hatch one egg into a cup. As she hatched...and hatched...and hatched the egg over and over again, I cringed when bits of shell found themselves amongst the hatchings. I carefully picked the shell out while another egg was scrambledly frying on the stove, browning faster and faster. My attention diverted between shells and smoke, I did not notice five little fingers reach up to carefully wrap themselves around another egg. A little voice asked, "Mom, can I hatch this egg?" Feeling somewhat frazzled, I couldn't catch myself in time. Unbidden, the words slipped out, "No, don't hatch that egg yet." Did I really just use the word "hatch?" Flipping the rapidly cooking egg, and retrieving the last of the shell, I finally felt back in control. That feeling of control does not last long in a mother's life. When I heard the splat, I realized what had happened. Claire's egg had just hatched itself all over the floor. Just another typical mother moment.