As Chippie has decided that Dinner Cooking Time is going to be his new Me Eating Time, Grumpy has taken over the domain of cooking the evening meal.
Which is a bugger, coz, really, I don’t mind doing it at all. Its the only time in my day I feel completely in control. And I like being completely in control. It’s nice.
So, there I was, dealing with littlest person, and eldest child, because he always seems to be around when littlest child is, when Godzilla came racing up, slightly on the upset side.
“Daddy is killing our little ducks in our dinner!”
RIghy-oh then. Um, we don’t have any ducks of any size. Unless, of course, he’s whipping me up some duck based dish, in which case, I’m all for it.
“Our little ducks. Our little teensy tiny ducks.”
This is just getting weird, coz I’m sure I’d know it if we had ducks. Even teensy ones.
“Ok, I really have no idea what you’re talking about. We don’t have ducks.”
“Yes we do. We do!”
“No. We don’t.”
“Yes we do!” he informs me loudly. “Teensy ones in the eggs. He’s putting them in our dinner.”
It took me a while, and then it clicked. Some weeks back we were given some very fresh chook eggs and duck eggs. Usually, we just called our eggs, “eggs”. But we differentiated when making something and Monkey Boy