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How could she?
How could this sweet, so adorable-I-could-eat-her-up, sugar-voiced little imp DO such things???
Where some see sweet, adorable and precious I see a calculating, mischievous and methodical spitfire.
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The latest crime is of eggstraordinary proportions.
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I should have seen the precursor when Evie came down stairs last week with an egg in each fist and said, "Mom, here are the eggs from Eliza's room."
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Wha?
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I went to the stairwell to see Eliza sulking at the top of the stairs holding a third egg, clearly thwarted by her sister ratting her out.
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Fast forward to this week when I thought I would check Eliza's seldom-used pocket in her backpack to perhaps find some hidden artwork from preschool. As soon as I unzipped it I was assaulted by the foulest and overwhelming odor. After my eyeballs stopped watering I saw two crushed shell, half dried balls of goo and a third egg still intact.
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Wha?
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"Eliza," I said in my sugar voice, "why do you have eggs in your backpack?"
"Becauth they don't have any eggths at thchool."
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Of course. How dull the pretend play kitchen must be when everything is just, you know, pReTEnD!
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Being the quality wife I am, I made Alan clean it out when he got home. Two days later we just can't get that smell out.
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**Dear Minnie backpack, it has been a great two weeks use we have gotten out of you. But backpacks - just like towels, sheets, shoes, underwear, pillows and anything else that gets bombed by putrid odor saturated fluids, are considered disposable to us.
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Off to Target to get a new backpack, a fresh carton of eggs, and possibly a refrigerator lock.
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