Drew was holding Rachel in his arms last night while he was heating up dinner and waiting for me to come home from work (yes, he is now capable of holding a child in one arm while stirring up beef stew with the other). He got out a small pot and told Rachel it was for the egg they were going to have this morning. (They share a hard-boiled egg on weekends; I can't stand eggs so it's their routine, not mine).
Rachel whined to be let down. He placed her on the kitchen floor and she pointed at the refrigerator. He opened it and she went right for the bottom shelf where we keep the eggs. She lifted a foil-wrapped piece of pie off the egg carton, placed it to the side and started pulling the egg carton out.
"Honey, eggs are for breakfast!" Drew said, stunned. "We're eating dinner now."
Rachel apparently was not pleased. Drew said she kicked up quite a fuss.
I have no idea how she figured out where the eggs were. She has never seen Drew or I take them out of the refrigerator, let alone boil them in the pot.
There must be a secret classroom in daycare where they learn all this stuff, just to mess with their parents' heads.
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