I hope you had a wonderful Easter celebration.
Forgotten eggs can cause terribly embarrassing moments. I remember when my youngest child, ‘Sunflower,’ was still a baby and I had a doctor appointment a couple of weeks after Easter. I got a whiff of something stinky coming from the diaper bag on the drive there.
Once parked, I dug through it and found a receiving blanket with some spit-up on it, so I left it in the car, then headed into the clinic.
While I read a magazine in the waiting room, I realized the diaper bag still smelled. I rummaged through it, but couldn’t find the source of the stench. When the nurse called me in, heads turned as I walked across the room, carrying the baby and the reeking diaper bag.
The doctor had to have noticed the smell in that small exam room, but he never said a word. Maybe he didn’t want to embarrass me. Maybe he thought it was the baby. I just wanted to get out of there.
As soon as we got home, I rolled up my sleeves, determined to get to the bottom of the putrid smell once and for all. After dumping the contents out of the main part of the bag, nothing proved to be the culprit. Solving mysteries was never one of my strong points, but this totally boggled my mind because even after checking the items in the outside pocket, I still came up empty.
Finally, before tossing the diaper bag into the trash, I noticed a small side pocket that I never used. Eureka! I found not one, but two cracked Easter eggs.
It turned out that five-year-old ‘Lily’ had stuffed them in there at the family gathering to take home with us. Out of sight, out of mind. Until they crack!
Here’s another stinky egg story. This is a prank a father played on his little girl:
Those are brussels sprouts in her basket.
Because I love harmless pranks, here’s another giggle for you:
Would you pull a prank like these on your kid?
Have you ever dealt with a rotten egg?
Q. What came first, the chicken or the egg?
A. Neither–the Easter Bunny!
If you have a parenting or grandparenting memory
you’d like to share, please leave it in the comment section or contact me
at lynkelwoohoo at yahoo dot com.
If you’re not a parent,
stories from your own childhood count, too.
Warning: I might feature your story in a future post.
(Names can be changed to protect the guilty!)
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