We made a monumental mistake with the design of our backyard landscaping. We chose to put rocks in various places. Teeny-weeny rocks in an area designated for the kids’ outdoor play equipment and larger “decorative” ones next to the fence. Why was this a grave error in our judgement? Because they suck. They suck because the dogs and the kids kick them all over the patio, making it unsightly and painful to walk across in bare feet. They suck because we are constantly sweeping them back to their proper place. Sweeping them back to their proper place. Sweeping them back to their proper place. And they suck because they are ugly.
The kids LOVE them. Stemming from their fascination with all things egg, they treat a select egg-shaped few as if they are “babies”, fragile little things that would break if you handled them too roughly. They would deposit these babies inside, and don’t even THINK about throwing them back outside, lest there be hell to pay. Cute? Sure. At first. It gets old fast when you find them ALL. OVER. THE HOUSE. In the bottom of a full sink of water (they needs baths, right Mommy?). In the pantry. Among the pots and pans. In beds. On dressers. Wrapped in wet paper towels on the kitchen counter. On the couch. In shoes. In the fridge (that’s where eggs go, right Mommy?).
We discovered a rock solid birth control, a way to halt the ever increasing number of these unwanted off-spring coming into our house. We filled a plastic dish with them and set them next to the sink. Apparently the mere presence of these babies makes the kids happy, satisfies their egg obsession, and suspends the rabbit-like proliferation of rock babies making their way into our humble abode.
Even as I write this, I know that way too soon Braedyn and Emily will be long past this egg baby obsession. Sniff. Sniff.