I break the ducks!

We read a book in which the narrator makes what he calls a "Pop-Eye" and what I'd call eggs in a nest -- a slice of bread with a hole in the middle in which an egg is fried. James was hot to have one for his own. I got out the eggs and bread and was scooping a little nut of butter into the frying pan when James shouted a request for urgent help in the loo.

During the, oh, 60 seconds I was in there, Thomas pulled up a chair to the kitchen counter, got down the eggs, brought the carton into the family room, and dashed them one by one against the rug.

James and I were washing our hands when Thomas called, "Mama, I break the ducks!"

'What?' I thought. 'The pirate duck is upstairs, and it's made of rubber anyway."

Then I got back into the family room and saw what he meant.

I ended up throwing out the rug. Luckily, it was a nasty old rag that we'd been looking for an opportunity to get rid of. While bundling it into the trash can, egg seeped through the back of the rug and onto my hands. But I was out of earshot of the kids, so I could use bad language to my heart's content.