A Short Story With a Frog.

Saturday, my mom and dad hosted an Easter egg hunt/party/ lunch at their home for family and friends with young children. My nephew, Tyler was in attendance.

(Yes, the same one whose mama, Lisa, fell and broke her arm, and then he fell and skinned his face the same day, while I was the adult in charge. Go me.)

Let me tell you something about Tyler. He loves to catch things that gross out most people. Especially things that gross ME out. Frogs, lizards, bugs…he loves ’em.

Exhibit A:

Doesn’t that frog look happy to have been caught? Poor frog.

Well, as I mentioned, Lisa has broken her arm. I’ve gotten accustomed to helping out with little things for her kids over the last couple of weeks- untying hair ribbons, putting hair in ponytails, opening things.

So when I was innocently taking pictures of a flower I liked, and I heard her mention my name, I thought nothing of it.

Tyler came to me and said, “Aunt Meghan, can you open this Easter egg for me?”

“Sure, ” I replied. I was thinking it must be stuck, and Lisa couldn’t get it open.

So when I opened it to see that toad staring at me in fear, can you blame me for screaming and throwing him- still in the egg- at the ground?

No. No you cannot.

Lisa and her daddy and Tyler all just about busted a gut laughing so hard at my freak-out. My husband might just have joined them too.

I should’ve known.

You can’t survive this family unless you can handle being the butt of a joke every now and then. After giving Lisa some (good-humored) grief over taking advantage of my willingness to help out with her broken arm, I had to laugh.

They got me. They got me good.

Heaven help his three little sisters.


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