Signs of Spring

Paul found a robin's egg in the yard yesterday. It was beautiful--a perfect little specimen of God's handiwork. (I'm pretty partial to robin's eggs--they're my most favorite color in the whole wide world.) All the kids took turns holding the egg. Elizabeth got the idea of putting it in the old bird's nest the kids found last Fall. She retrieved it from the furnace room downstairs, brought it outside, put the little egg in it and placed it in the sun "to keep it warm."
I burst everyone's bubbles when I informed them that the egg wouldn't hatch if it wasn't with its mother. Then Paul spotted a robin on the lawn and set out to catch it. I believe he had high hopes of introducing a potential adoptive mother to the wee little egg.

All day long the egg was picked up, admired, passed around, shown off the Grandma--and then, they let Joel hold it. My mom came in the house to inform me that there had been an accident and Joel was covered in robin's egg. I thought, "How bad could it be?" Well, he really was covered.

"Chick egg. Chick egg. Chick egg," Joel said when I saw him. "No it wasn't a chicken egg, son." I stripped off his clothes for the second time that day (the first time being when he finger painted his church clothes with semi-gloss house paint).